Valentine’s Day behind. Lent ahead. Love and sacrifice are a common motif in our thoughts and resolutions. How shall we love more in the days ahead?
You know, sometimes it seems we just hear the voice of the saints at the wrong time. A word, meant to inspire, instead depresses and deflates our spirits. And we wonder, where is the Holy Spirit in this? How is this in any way going to lead me deeper into grace today? As in the moment when I was delving into St. Francis de Sales Introduction to the Devout Life, ravenous for more spiritual wisdom after adopting his conviction that holiness is attainable in all states of life – only to read his requirement of a l e n g t h y morning meditation, and then the following list of everything a lay devout person must do during the day if for some unimaginable reason he should miss his meditation.
Forgive me, Father, I love your spirit, but I don’t think you had quite envisioned my day as a homeschooling, part-time working mother, with four littles making my every contemplative attempt a circus.
A similar moment occurred on the feast of one my dearest saints: I sat there, in contemplation (one child climbing all over me as if I were a jungle gym, another asking me again and again to explain every planned aspect of the day, and a third relating the happenings within her newest favorite novel). As I rued not awakening earlier despite my prevailing cold, I read my saint’s words on how suffering is the greatest treasure in life.
I closed the book. I tried to wrest some meaning or encouragement from that sentence. I utterly failed.
Yet, there is hope in the mystery which lends our lives meaning. For words of light, which may momentarily stricken us with burden because we cannot derive strength from them, often later resurrect in a time to renew us.
The Lesson of the Two Sisters
One Gospel passage that has always slightly irked me is that of Mary and Martha. I love these two sisters, I wonder what their relationship was like, and I am certain so many hard-working women have looked to Jesus’ words with disappointing acknowledgment: Yes, Lord, to listen to you would be the most beauteous thing but you are also a man, and you need to eat, and she’s making you dinner! At an earlier time in life, when we had that sweet, unnoticed leisure that accompanies youth, we may have sat at the feet of the tabernacle and exclaimed, Yes, Master, it is so good to be here with you! Yet, opportunity for quiet adoration sometimes drifts away with the passing periods of life and for us surviving in the craziness of utter chaos, it is tempting to take Christ’s words as a disheartening admonishment instead of as encouragement.
Until…experiences He was waiting for us to embrace have wiped the dim, smudgy mirror clear and we see – in a glimpse – His face.
Two ideas easily conflated are love and duty.
In a struggle to see the big crosses and the daily trials as gifts to accept, how many fall into the narrow way with a dutiful spirit rather than a movement of love? After all, tough love (i.e. duty!) abounds – the Father allowed His Son to suffer a horrendous death, St. Paul writes that suffering creates endurance and endurance- hope, and children allowed to get up on their own after the hundredth tumble of the day can often more easily return to their play than those always coddled.
Yet, the Father who breathes life every moment into our being doesn’t hold us in existence with a sense of duty! The Savior who desired to have dinner with his best friends didn’t enter Martha’s kitchen with aloofness and obligation. Unconditional love trumpets in every exhalation of the day.
A commentator once wrote that Martha could have reached Mary’s level of communion with Jesus even through her work, but Mary’s way was faster – why? Because Mary’s heart was open.
Martha’s, in that moment was calculating how much effort went into every moment working for her king.
Hers wasn’t a gift of love – it was an act of duty.
Still, I can hear you cry – how can fulfilling your duty be bad? Honestly, what about those of us who motivate ourselves with lists? Who detail ever ledger in our planners? Who strive to smile though we’re exhausted with juggling unending tasks? Duty demonstrates commitment, diligence in finishing the race.
But, in that case, how are we ever supposed to be happy servants who come wearily in from the fields, and without expectation or hope of rest cheerfully respond to the master’s abrupt call to prepare his dinner?
Living only by the completed lists in our beautiful planners ensures our failure to succeed, when we cannot control our lives.
I realized in that aforementioned moment before God’s mirror– I am only miserable because I act out of duty. I cannot be at rest because I see each moment as its task to be accomplished rather than as a moment to be with Him. I claim my to-do list is an aide, but I treat it as my end. The reason I resent that child bumping at my elbow, is because I consider this chore of mine as my vocation this minute rather than this minute as my vocation. I rush to check off my tasks at work or hurry those babies into bed, because I feel I have deserved my nightly time of Netflix and a martini as a just reward for my hard-fought day.
Duty does deserve a reward. But…love finds fulfillment in loving.
If you came in from the fields, exhausted and harried, but the face of the master asking for food was that of your Savior who has given his life for you, who washes your feet, and who waits every minute to be with you – wouldn’t you desire to bring him a plate?
Perhaps Martha did need help. And maybe, after lovingly reproving her begrudging spirit, Jesus himself rose with Mary to set the table.
We all need moments of rest and relaxation, to clear our minds and calm our bodies to refuel for the next mission – be it tomorrow’s work or the next child to wake from sleep. There are diapers that have to be changed, clients who must be called, suppers that need be made. I will often be tired. Always have more I could do than I will realistically accomplish.
And here’s the crux of the call – to live with joy, I “simply” need to stop dwelling on how the demands are never-ending, and choose to love anyways.
Because then Love will be waiting to return to me.
“Simply” stop? You can laugh now.
Yet, that same saintly friend who challenged my understanding of suffering this morning, sent me a message tonight before bed.
When I see that the burden is beyond my strength,
I do not consider or analyze it or probe into it,
but I run like a child to the Heart of Jesus
and say only one word to Him:
“You can do all things.”
And then I keep silent,
because I know that Jesus Himself will intervene in the matter,
and as for me, instead of tormenting myself,
I use that time to love Him.
St. Faustina
Missionary of Divine Mercy
