Last thoughts

The end of the year, and in this case, of the decade, is not significant. Time is constant and persistent, it will always roll on. All of God’s time is holy and important.

But as humans, we like to mark the beginnings and the ends of things, to measure our growth and progress, to remember the significant moments that make us say, “Ah, that is better left behind,” or, “How I wish I had done that differently. Next year I will do better.”

For the sake of playing along with this spirit of reflectiveness, and in recognition of the innate human desire to make resolutions and look ahead, I have a few closing thoughts for this year.

One is that I have been foolish this year. Maybe you have, too. I did not understand others or myself as well as I could. I communicated at the wrong times and in the wrong ways; I assumed, I misinterpreted, I wished. I wanted my will, and not God’s.

In other words, I was human.

“I will give you a new heart, and a new spirit I will put within you. I will remove the heart of stone from your flesh and give you a heart of flesh.” (Ez 36:26) At times, it feels my heart is far too flesh - too susceptible to this weakness and foolishness.

On the Feast of the Holy Family, I was at a parish where the crucifix is suspended from the ceiling with wires, which are adorned with pretty silver balls, maybe to steady vibrations. I was looking up at one of those during Mass and a strange thought settled into my mind: even when tragedy occurs, and especially loss, life is not over. It does not end, even if we want it to, and even if our grief tells us that nothing good is possible from here on out, and that, “I will not survive this grief.” That I cannot survive this grief - my goodness, I do not deserve to.

What does God want with my weak heart? Or maybe it is one of stone - how could He not look away?

But something about looking up at the cross and its little silver adornments - maybe just the action of looking up to God, in a literal and metaphysical way - this truth came through for me, that not only does life go on, but it must go on. It is not over. Even in my stupidity and shortcomings, God still calls me. Maybe because of these things. I am not a lesser person for experiencing the heartbreak of life. No one escapes that anyway, you know.

And God says, now you see. Now you see how much you need me, and I have not for one moment looked away, and that now, more than I ever, I need you, and I call you. Still - always.

I saw my own heart in that moment - very fragile. Very different from Jesus’s. I wanted to give it to him in that moment, so He could make it more like His. It isn’t that I can’t be trusted with my own heart, but it is that He can. And it belongs to Him, anyway. Who better to care for it?

Next year I do not resolve to be less weak, but rather, to truly turn that weakness over to God. To beg, if I must, for the grace to give in to the flow of time and accept God’s will. To recognize, as Jean Vanier wrote, that my deepest identity is that of “beloved by God.” Pray for me to understand and receive these things, and I will pray the same for you.

May the peace and freedom of Jesus Christ fill your heart in 2020 and forever.