Receive the Blessed Sacrament

In his homily at Mass this morning, Pope Francis spoke of Saint Joseph as a just man, a man of faith, a man who recognized that he was not in control.  He lauded Joseph for his ability to enter into mystery.  At the same time, he warned that if the Church forgets how to live in mystery, She forgets how to adore.

Our life most particularly as Christians is to enter into mystery that we may adore the Lord by our daily lives.  That is what it means to belong to the Mystical Body of Christ.

In these days of social isolation and the cancellation of public Masses, we are called to a deeper recognition of that truth.  We no longer have the distraction, if you will, of the sensory elements of our faith that make visible the invisible.  Instead we have only the living reality of our own union with Christ through the gift of His grace made possible by the great mystery of the Incarnation which we will celebrate in only a few days.

Although most of us cannot receive Christ physically in the Eucharist, we can still receive Him.  Thanks to the benefits of modern technology we can still assist at Mass and we can make spiritual communions not just then but throughout our day.

Even more, however, we can receive Christ in every moment of every day.  Father Jean-Pierre de Caussade calls this reality the Sacrament of the Present Moment.  He traces this idea from the life of the Blessed Virgin and of Saint Joseph in his book Abandonment to Divine Providence:

"There are remarkably few extraordinary characteristics in the outward events of the life of the most holy Virgin, at least there are none recorded in holy Scripture. Her exterior life is represented as very ordinary and simple. She did and suffered the same things that anyone in a similar state of life might do or suffer. She goes to visit her cousin Elizabeth as her other relatives did. She took shelter in a stable in consequence of her poverty. She returned to Nazareth from whence she had been driven by the persecution of Herod, and lived there with Jesus and Joseph, supporting themselves by the work of their hands. It was in this way that the holy family gained their daily bread. But what a divine nourishment Mary and Joseph received from this daily bread for the strengthening of their faith! It is like a sacrament to sanctify all their moments. What treasures of grace lie concealed in these moments filled, apparently, by the most ordinary events. That which is visible might happen to anyone, but the invisible, discerned by faith, is no less than God operating very great things. O Bread of Angels! heavenly manna! pearl of the Gospel! Sacrament of the present moment! thou givest God under as lowly a form as the manger, the hay, or the straw. And to whom dost thou give Him? “Esurientes implevit bonis” (Luke i, 53). God reveals Himself to the humble under the most lowly forms, but the proud, attaching themselves entirely to that which is extrinsic, do not discover Him hidden beneath, and are sent empty away."

In these days there shall certainly be few extraordinary characteristics in our lives.  Our exterior life becomes simpler and simpler.  We suffer the same things as do others across the world.  We are called to reach out to those around us and to live supporting ourselves by the work of our hands.  Yet in all these things we likewise can receive treasures of grace.

If we are humble enough to accept what the Lord wants to do within us, it may be a powerful time of sanctification for us.  We must shed the false mask of pride, however, that seeks to control—that believes it can be in control—and recognize that to God alone belongs that power.

Our role is rather one of receptivity as both our Lady and Saint Joseph model for us so well.  The words of Father de Caussade on this point resonate well with our current situation:

"The passive part of sanctity is still more easy since it only consists in accepting that which we very often have no power to prevent, and in suffering lovingly, that is to say with sweetness and consolation, those things that too often cause weariness and disgust. Once more I repeat, in this consists sanctity. This is the grain of mustard seed which is the smallest of all the seeds, the fruits of which can neither be recognised nor gathered. It is the drachma of the Gospel, the treasure that none discover because they suppose it to be too far away to be sought. Do not ask me how this treasure can be found. It is no secret. The treasure is everywhere, it is offered to us at all times and wherever we may be. All creatures, both friends and enemies pour it out with prodigality, and it flows like a fountain through every faculty of body and soul even to the very centre of our hearts. If we open our mouths they will be filled. The divine activity permeates the whole universe, it pervades every creature; wherever they are it is there; it goes before them, with them, and it follows them; all they have to do is to let the waves bear them on."

Today, as always, that great treasure awaits you wherever you look: in your prayer and in your work, in your frustration and isolation, in any little joys that come across your path, in your gratitude for what you have, in your fears for the future, in your sorrow for those who are sick....

In all things, Christ is there, giving Himself to you in as true a fashion as through the Holy Eucharist.  He cannot help but give Himself, for He is love, and it is the nature of love to give itself until it has nothing left to give.  That love pours itself out into our hearts to the measure that we open them to receive it:

"Divine love then, is to those who give themselves up to it without reserve, the principle of all good. To acquire this inestimable treasure the only thing necessary is greatly to desire it. Yes, God only asks for love, and if you seek this treasure, this kingdom in which God reigns alone, you will find it. If your heart is entirely devoted to God, it is itself, for that very reason, the treasure and the kingdom that you seek and desire. From the time that one desires God and His holy will, one enjoys God and His will, and this enjoyment corresponds to the ardour of the desire."

Let us seek within ourselves for that desire and when we have found it, no matter how small its flickering flame, let us feed it that it may grow more and more.  The more we desire to receive God's love, the more we become receptive to it.  What we have received we can then in turn pour out in love of the Father's will manifest in every moment of our lives and in every face who turns to seek God in us.

That is the path to enter into mystery—into the mystery of relationship with the Creator of the universe who is Existence Itself—whose infinite nature must transcend our finite understanding.  As we live in that mystery, let us enter also into adoration: let us adore God in the Sacrament of the Present Moment.

Why Don't We See More Miracles?

Perhaps sometimes as we hear of Christ giving sight to the blind, healing the lepers, and even raising the dead, we wonder why He rarely works such miracles today.  More often, though, we merely accept that miracles are a thing of the past and not of the present.  By our own lack of faith we confirm their absence from our lives.

Take a moment to ask yourself this question: do you really want to see miracles in your life?

It might seem easy to answer yes right away, but if so then I would dare to say that it may arise from a failure to understand the demands that a miracle makes upon you.  For a miracle requires metanoia—conversion of mind—conversion of heart.

In a talk my friend Josh gave a while back, he spoke directly to this reality: "Miracles happen when God tells us what to do and we do it."

If we deeply examine our own hearts and minds we may find the opposite reality existing: we want to tell God what to do and have Him do it.  That is the miracle we hope for.  We want to see the sufferings in our lives—or in the lives of those we love—removed.  We want to rejoice in the glory of the healing power of the Divine Physician right now.  We want to be restored to the fullness of life that we may live more abundantly as has been promised.  We want to be fully alive because we feel so far from it.

Yet those good desires leading us to Christ often drag along with them a reluctance to give up whatever is keeping us from union with Him.  We end up clinging to patterns that prevent us from receiving the grace He wishes to give us.  Merciful God that He is, He allows that.  He never takes away the suffering we see as evil when it saves us from worse evil or gives us a crutch to rely upon in our own brokenness that we are not yet ready to give up.

Moving out of that brokenness means letting go of our own victimhood.  However, as my friend Joseph reminded me recently, so few are willing to do that.  Whether we realize it or not, we often like to see ourselves as the injured party.  It's a safe place to be.  For who can fault the victim?

Instinctively we know that if we remain as victims before the face of a cruel world we can't blame ourselves for our fate.  Where we have failed again and again, we can become martyrs of circumstance  and therefore save ourselves from the heavy burden of guilt.  When everything seems against us and we want to hide in our beds, we can assure ourselves that after all it isn't our fault and that if God had wanted us to do more He could have made it possible.

It is far harder to embrace all the failures and sufferings as part of our reality without accepting also the crushing condemnation that certainly is not of God.  For to do so means to stand vulnerable as Christ did before Pilate—silent and without defense.

Yet think of what Christ said finally in answer to Pilate's questioning:

"You would have no power over me if it were not given you from above."

Nothing has power over us except by the will of our Heavenly Father.  Nothing can harm us against His most loving will.

Yet just as Job wrestled with his sufferings, as everything he held dear was taken away from him, we too wrestle with our own pain, the worst of which may be our own failure to live up to our own expectations of ourselves or seeing how our brokenness hurts those we love.  In that darkness and confusion, we can rebel against our situation without yet being willing to open ourselves to God's love.  We can fall into self-hatred and despondency, forgetting that the Creator of the Universe rules our lives.

Why should we not see miracles?  Why not expect God to transform our lives radically even where we struggle most?

The only reason I can see is because we go to Him with outlined expectations, limiting Him to the finite box we have prepared for His working, instead of going to Him with open hands and open hearts.  What might happen if we began to listen?  Would we hear God's voice if we let our inner selves fall silent in adoration before Him?

"Miracles happen when God tells us what to do and we do it."