Two years ago, with the help of Sister Elizabeth, the county housing authority, and a number of generous people, Carol — the mentally ill homeless woman about whom I have written before — finally moved into her own apartment.  One day shortly before Christmas we drove her to sign forms and take care of assorted bits of red tape.  The real estate agent is a compassionate woman who treated Carol with the same courtesy that she would have shown a millionaire.  She took obvious delight in handing over to her the key to the apartment.

Stopping for lunch

After leaving the real estate office, we stopped for lunch at a fast-food restaurant. Carol was too excited to sit still and eat.  She half-danced among the tables, raising her hands and praising Jesus for all to hear.

A woman working there asked if we were from a church group.  I told her that we were Catholic Sisters, and she asked if we were from Saint Augustine parish.  I replied that we do indeed attend Saint Augustine .

“I’m Lulu,” she told me. “I’m on work release.”

“Good for you!” I replied, not knowing what the proper response would be, as being on work-release meant that her place of residence at the moment was prison.  (Should I have said, “Oh, I’m so sorry”?  Or simply, “Oh…”?  On second thought I decided that “Good for you” was appropriate after all, because she is working hard to prove herself a responsible citizen and to take her place in the community.)

“I’d like to be going to Saint Augustine’s,” she added.

“I’ll hope to see you there one day,” I said. And we agreed to pray for each other.

After lunch, Sister Elizabeth, Carol (key in hand), and I headed for Carol’s new home.  In the car she was singing,

O holy night, the stars are brightly shining,
it is the night of the dear Savior’s birth.

Moving in was uncomplicated, as she had few belongings.  Though devoid of furniture, the apartment was warm and clean, with a real bathroom, and a kitchen to prepare the food that she buys with food stamps.

However, while Carol is streetwise, she is not house-wise.  She does not know some of the simplest things most of us take for granted.  She has to be taught the necessity of putting the garbage can out at the curb on the designated day.  Or that you don’t turn the thermostat up as high as it will go to warm the apartment, then turn on the air conditioning when it heats up too much — unless you want to run up a bill impossible to pay and have your electricity turned off.

Getting there in spite of ourselves

Those of us who have been more fortunate than Carol and Lulu — in our parents, in our economic situation, in our mental or physical health — are not for all that closer to the reign of God.  Neither are we more worthy of the Christ who comes, just because we have never been in jail or in need of food and shelter.  All is gift for each of us, including what we imagine we have merited.  We have not earned the good things in our lives any more than Lulu, who is for the moment not even free to come and go as she pleases – or than Carol, who must be approved for SSI if she is to stay in her new lodging.

This is how the British poet U. A. Fanthorpe describes the events surrounding Jesus’ birth:

… a few farm workers and three
Members of an obscure Persian sect
Walked haphazard by starlight straight
Into the kingdom of heaven.

“BC:AD,” Christmas Poems
(Enitharmon Press, 2003)

Are we not walking haphazard into the kingdom of heaven along with Carol, Lulu, shepherds, Magi, and the kind real estate agent?  Or, to borrow the words of Paul Simon, are we not all more or less “bouncing into Graceland”? There is no AAA TripTik to show us ahead of time each step of the journey, and most of us do meander, sometimes on track and sometimes off.

If we are really paying attention, we will be struck with wonder at finding ourselves there in spite of ourselves.

We may be walking beneath a starlight that seems no different from yesterday’s light, in a world where war still rages, where the hand of oppression lies heavy on the poor, and where earthquakes and hurricanes and mental illness leave ordinary people homeless.  What has changed, we say?  The grip of evil is still unbearably strong.

Nevertheless, through all the sorrows and joys and anxieties and tedium of our lives, we are bouncing into graceland.  Held by a hand stronger than sorrow and evil, we stumble into the kingdom of God.

And unlike the shepherds and the three wise men, we know how the story ends.

“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.”

(Matthew 5:3)

• that there are about 118,000 vacancies for registered nurses in the United States;
• that the baby of a pregnant woman has died after his mother was kidnapped and set on fire;
• that soldiers in the army of former Liberian President Charles Taylor, had been known to eat the hearts of enemies they had killed;
• that the world food supply is dwindling.

Then I remember that on Christmas we are going to hear that the angels proclaimed, some 2000 years ago: “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace.” We might well wonder what happened.

Standing boldly against the daily news reports is the testimony of some of our wise Christian thinkers and mystics, for example:

Josef Pieper (a 20th century follower of Saint Thomas Aquinas), writes in Happiness and Contemplation.

How splendid is water, a rose, a tree, an apple, a human face—such exclamations can scarcely be spoken without also giving tongue to an assent and affirmation which extends beyond the object praised and touches upon the origin of the universe. Who among us has not suddenly looked into his child’s face, in the midst of the toils and troubles of everyday life, and at that moment “seen” that everything which is good, is loved and lovable, loved by God! Such certainties all mean, at bottom, one and the same thing: that the world is plumb and sound; that everything comes to its appointed goal; that in spite of all appearances, underlying all things is—peace, salvation, gloria; that nothing and no one is lost; that “God holds in his hand the beginning, middle, and end of all that is.” [Plato, Laws, 715e.]

In the 14th century, Julian of Norwich hears the consoling and mysterious words:

Sin is behovely [fitting, useful], but all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.

And surpassing all other testimony is that of our own beloved Scriptures:

We know that all things work together for good for those who love God, who are called according to his purpose. (Romans 8:28)

The Lord will fulfill his purpose for me. (Psalm 138:8)

Which is true?

Is the world an irredeemable mess where sin and sorrow are the ultimate truth?

Or is the promise of peace and goodwill on earth true? Can I believe that God will fulfill the divine purpose for me and that everything comes to its appointed goal?

We read in the gospel that the kingdom of God is among us. But we are also told to pray for the coming of the kingdom of God. We know that Jesus is here with us — and yet we still call out, “Come, Lord Jesus.”

The problem is that we live in the mystery of the already and the not yet; and this is so both in our own personal lives and in the world around us.

Nevertheless, I believe that at times God gives us the grace to glimpse the already through the not yet. We may glimpse it in terms of goodness, like the Cenacle co-founder Saint Therese Couderc — or as love, for example, or beauty, or the perfection of all things.

At the heart of things, all is in God’s hand. Christ has not only come but has died and is risen. God is sovereign; goodness triumphs.

Does this mean that we can ignore the evils we see around us? That we can say, for example, that since God is sovereign and goodness is triumphant, we don’t have to do anything about the state of our planet and our society? That we can concern ourselves with satisfying the ego, and let all else go?

Paul also struggled with this question: “What then are we to say? Should we continue in sin in order that grace may abound?”

He answers his own question: “By no means!” (Romans 6:1)

God’s plan does triumph, but just as we are called to be participants in the divine life, we also have a role in the divine mission. We pray for our own sinful and divided hearts to be purified. We work to end violence, injustice, poverty, homelessness, and pain. But we do not despair, either because of our own weakness and sinfulness or because of the state of the world, for once again, Jesus has come among us, has died and is risen. God has triumphed — in us as well as in creation as a whole.

We claim as our own the vision of Isaiah, who saw that:

The wolf shall dwell with the lamb,
the leopard shall lie down with the kid…
They will not hurt or destroy
on all my holy mountain;
for the earth will be full of the knowledge of the Lord
as the waters cover the sea.
(Isaiah 11:6,9)

EVERYTHING WILL BE OK.

Who had put it there? Did every Times-Union vending box carry this assurance, in startling contrast to the messages found in the paper itself? Or had a hope-filled vandal struck?

Was it pure chance that I was sitting there gazing at this mystifying communication? Or was it a reminder to me of a truth that I was neglecting?

The sign on the newspaper box was one of those small mysteries that have no explanation (mysteries are not puzzles to be solved), but which nudge us into mindfulness.

I thought of the words Julian of Norwich heard from Jesus:

All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.

I thought also of Romans 8:

We know that all things work together for good for those who love God, who are called according to his purpose. (8:28)

Events of our own lives, however, can sometimes make it very hard to believe that all manner of things will be well. Reading the newspaper, watching CNN, or surfing the internet, we may find it even harder. What about the genocide in Darfur, the war in Iraq, or global warming with all its implications? What about the victims of Hurricane Katrina who still reside in tiny FEMA trailers? What about the homeless couple who appeared at our door the other day, eager for work that we could not offer?

Christians live in hope. We are always looking not only at what we see here and now, but toward what is promised. We live in hope of the fulfillment of all things, which in some deep sense is present to us even now through the Resurrection of Jesus. We believe that time is going somewhere, not just in circles. God is leading us beyond where we are now. Our future is good.

So we contemplate the Resurrection, and we cling to hope. We continue to hope beyond all hope. For nothing in our lives is wasted. Goodness, despite all appearances, does prevail.
. . . . . . . . . .

P.S. A friend called after reading the above reflection. She wanted to know if Sister Elizabeth found her sunglasses. So for all who feel as if you have been left hanging, I am happy to report that yes, she did find them right where she left them.

The thought of my affliction and my homelessness
is wormwood and gall!
My soul continually thinks of it
and is bowed down within me.
But this I call to mind,
and therefore I have hope:
The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases,
his mercies never come to an end;
they are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness.
‘The Lord is my portion,’ says my soul,
‘therefore I will hope in him.’

(Lamentations 3:19-21)

Consider the spirit of the old hymn by Anna L. Coghill (not an American, but an Englishwoman):

Work, for the night is coming,
Work through the morning hours;
Work while the dew is sparkling,
Work ’mid springing flowers…

In the second verse the work continues through noon, and even, in the third verse, “under the sunset skies.” God is never mentioned in this call to ceaseless labor.

The look-busy and keep-busy approach can extend also to the human spirit. I am lax – even perhaps in mortal danger – if I relax for a moment in my interior toil directed toward my virtue and well-being or that of my loved ones. This often translates into constant worry. I must make myself worthy of salvation, lest by negligence I be lost forever. What is more, if I notice that I am not worrying about something, I become anxious that I am not doing enough to satisfy the demanding will of God.

My refrigerator magnet

If I were to promote a refrigerator magnet or button, my choice would be one that proclaims,

What is rest?

But what is rest? Collapsing in front of the television? More than that, surely.

Rest is knowing that if I could make myself worthy of salvation, I wouldn’t need Jesus. But I cannot – and I don’t have to!

At home in God with Jesus, rest is freedom from all that fatigues: from fear, from trying to be God.

Rest is being enfolded in the arms of my heavenly parent, at peace with knowing I am too small to deal with my own mistakes and sins all by myself.

Rest is knowing that, as Julian of Norwich says, “All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.” Sin is real, and so is pain, but all shall be well.

Rest is trusting that God is working out the divine purpose in the universe and in my own heart, although it is obvious that neither is finished yet, according to human time. Rest is knowing that the fulfillment of God’s cosmic plan is not up to me, although I do have a role to play in it.

Rest is knowing that there is a time for waiting, and that waiting bears fruit, whether it is waiting for crops, waiting for the birth of a child, or waiting for God’s good pleasure in God’s own time.

So we say, not frantic, not fearful, but in peaceful expectation, “Come, Lord Jesus!”

‘Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.’

(Matthew 11:28-30)