NGC 346 Star Cluster (detail)

What if it had been cloudy when the Wise Men were looking for Jesus? What if the sky had been a total blank, with no star visible? Although with today’s light pollution, a cloudy night sky may be lit up by reflected light from the city, the Magi would not have had even that artificial glow to encourage them.

And what about our own journey? 

Few of us will be called to climb on our camels and head out across the desert, relying only on the night sky for a GPS. But most of us will probably have times when the lights we do rely on seem to vanish. Here are some indications (and you can probably name others) that despite the darkness, we have not lost the star of Christ:

When, rather than giving up on life, we get up in the morning and put one foot in front of the other.

I admire more than I can say some of our homeless brothers and sisters. I have long suspected that if I were in their situation I would curl up on the sidewalk or in the woods and abandon hope altogether. Many of these women and men not only survive but manage to attain a level of humanity beyond the reach of some who have never known hunger or deprivation.

(See, for example, “Junkies and Hookers in God’s Kingdom.”)

When we are kind and compassionate even though we don’t feel like it, claiming the light and goodness of Jesus, rather than our own.

When we admit we are lost and ask help from someone we trust.

Finding someone trustworthy to consult can be tricky though.  The three Magi sought help from a very unreliable source—from Herod, who told them, “‘Go and search diligently for the child; and when you have found him, bring me word so that I may also go and pay him homage” (Matthew 2:8). Much heartache came from their mistake (see Matthew 2:16-18 on the massacre of the innocents), even though they heeded the dream that told them not to return to Herod, possibly saving the life of the child they had just left.

When we acknowledge our sins and our mistakes—of which there will inevitably be many during our lifetime.

When we humbly and gladly accept God’s forgiveness for our sins, rather than thinking our own virtue will suffice.

And when we ask God to bring good out of both our sins and our mistakes.

Then we may hear Jesus say to us, as he did to Paul, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness” (2 Corinthians 12:9).

And in the blessed night our stumbling prayer, our inadequate words and images, our divided hearts, all reach toward that unseen divine light, greater than any star—that Light and Love toward which we are being drawn (sometimes in spite of ourselves), and for which we were made.

The Lord will fulfill his purpose for me;
your steadfast love, O Lord, endures for ever.
Do not forsake the work of your hands.
(Psalm 138:8)

Where is God when I sink in the swamp or trip in the stairwell? Where is God when I am out of work, or sick, or watching a loved one die? Where is God when the bodies of young men and women are brought home from war? Where is God when problems overwhelm me and I am feeling lost and abandoned? Where is God when my faith is faltering?

What does Divine Providence mean for our lives?

Merriam-Webster gives these popular definitions of Providence:

a : divine guidance or care
b : God conceived as the power sustaining and guiding human destiny

We have heard Jesus say, “Look at the birds of the air; they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they?” (Matthew 6:26)

Yet many people are hungry, and not by their own fault.  When we look around us, when we hear news reports, it can appear as if injustice and violence reign unchallenged.  In such a world, can we believe in the reality of Divine Providence?

The theologian Paul Tillich (1886-1965) ponders this question in a sermon called “The Meaning of Providence,” from his collection, The Shaking of the Foundations, originally published in 1948, when the memory of World War II was very much alive.

Tillich remembers the response of a Jewish man to receiving news of the transport of Jews to concentration camps.  “He said that the thought of this unimaginable misery prevented him from being able to find meaning in even the most powerful message concerning the divine Providence.”

Tillich goes on to ask:

What answer shall we give, what answer can we give to such a crucial problem, a problem in which Christianity as a whole is at stake, a problem which has nothing to do with a theoretical criticism of the idea of God, but rather which represents the anguish of the human heart which can no longer stand the power borne by the daemonic forces on earth?

Like many Christians before him, Tillich turns to the letter of Saint Paul to the Romans:

We know that all things work together for good for those who love God, who are called according to his purpose…

For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.
(Romans 8:28, 38-39)

However, Paul knows, as we inevitably learn, that God’s divine guidance of human affairs does not ensure that all of our ventures will turn out well or that we will be spared suffering.  The life of Jesus teaches us that this expectation is an illusion, and our own experience provides an unwelcome confirmation.  Sometimes, in our weakness or sinfulness, we are the ones who fail.  Sometimes other people fail us.  And still other times life simply proves itself unfair.

In spite of all this, Divine Providence will not disappoint us.

As Tillich writes,

Faith in divine Providence is the faith that nothing can prevent us from fulfilling the ultimate meaning of our existence. Providence does not mean a divine planning by which everything is predetermined, as is an efficient machine. Rather, Providence means that there is a creative and saving possibility implied in every situation, which cannot be destroyed by any event. Providence means that the daemonic and destructive forces within ourselves and our world can never have an unbreakable grasp upon us, and that the bond which connects us with the fulfilling love can never be disrupted.

The promise is not to make life easy, but to fulfill God’s purpose.  We can accept this gift of Providence with more than a sigh of resignation, for the gift is indeed sufficient.  Through joy and pain, through the daily events of our lives, Divine Providence has been working and will continue to work to fulfill God’s purpose for us — which is to say in other words, to satisfy the deepest desire of our heart.

God calls, not just at the moment of death, but through our day-to-day lives.

Anima Christi – 9

(1. Soul of Christ, sanctify me.)

(2. Body of Christ, save me.)

(3. Blood of Christ, inebriate me.)

(4. Water from the side of Christ, wash me.)

(5. Passion of Christ, strengthen me.)

(6. Within thy Wounds, hide me.)

(7. Let Me Never Be Separated from Thee.)

(8. From the Wicked Foe Defend Me.)

(9. At the hour of my death, call me.)

(10. That I May Praise Thee Forever.)

- – - – -

At the hour of my death, call me
and bid me come to Thee.
In hora mortis meae voca me,
et iube me venire ad te.

There is a book by Alfred McBride, which seems to be out of print now, called Remaining Faithful (or perhaps it is called Staying Faithful, which is the only similar title I can find by Father McBride).

In this book he speaks of a woman who founded a Baptist Church in Washington, D.C., ministering to poor black people who had traveled north from the rural South to find work.  Called Bishop Jones, she had a radio show on Sunday mornings.  Here is a passage from a sermon given on Palm Sunday:

Children, remember how hard it was when you worked on the farm.  At the end of the day your back was sore.  Your arms ached.  Your head throbbed.  But then you heard your mother come out on the porch and say, ‘Come on in.  It’s time to eat.’  And as you sat and ate, your aches and pains melted away and peace filled your heart.

Now next Thursday is Holy Thursday.  Christ will come out on the church porch and say, ‘Come on in and eat.’  And when you do he will take away the ache in your heart and the sorrow in your soul.  He will fill you with love and peace and forgiveness.

And an even greater day will come, the day of your death.  Then Christ will come out on the heavenly porch and say, ‘Children, come in and eat.  I have an eternal banquet ready for you.  Welcome home.’

God is leading us where we want to be – to our heart’s desire.  We are being led to God.  God is leading us home.

What a wonderful prayer – “bid me come to Thee.”

According to Pope John Paul II:

This is the prayer of Christian hope, which in no way detracts from the joy of the present, while entrusting the future to God’s gracious and loving care.

“Iube me venire ad te!” [Bid me come to Thee]: this is the deepest yearning of the human heart, even in those who are not conscious of it.

Grant, O Lord of life, that we may be ever vividly aware of this and that we may savor every season of our lives as a gift filled with promise for the future.

(Letter of His Holiness Pope John Paul II to the Elderly, October 1999)

At the hour of my death, call me
and bid me come to Thee.
In hora mortis meae voca me,
et iube me venire ad te.

- – - – -

“Call Me” image by Rose Hoover, rc

Am I the only one who has had this experience?  I wondered: Do my glasses need changing?  No. Was the sharpness set too high on the television?  I don’t think so.

I think the problem is that real life just doesn’t happen in high definition.

Part of the beauty of the world around us is that human faces do not reveal every flaw to the casual glance, and objects are not always distinct from each other.

Outside my window right now I see live oak branches covered with resurrection ferns and draped with Spanish moss.  The whole effect is one of graceful softness, highlighted and sharpened here and there by splotches of sunlight that make leaves, fronds, and moss glow.  In spots, the details are completely overwhelmed by the brilliance of light.

If every green frond were distinct from the other and from the branch, if each gray strand of moss in shadow appeared just as clearly defined as the ones in gentle sunlight, much of the beauty would be lost.

In our own lives as well, we move from day to day in a state of blessed blurriness, though we may often long for a higher resolution monitor, so to speak.

• The future is unknown in its details – though we know, through the Resurrection of Jesus Christ, that there is a happy ending to the human story.
• In many cases, it is not even clear to us what our next step should be – we have to trust in the guidance and good will of God as we navigate the ambiguities of life.
• The deepest truths of human existence are in the form of paradox and mystery – and when we try to codify them in high-definition propositions, we may take pride in our certainty and forget the mystery inherent in what we were attempting to clarify.

I find this quotation from Gerald May helpful:

When we were children, most of us were good friends with mystery.  The world was full of it and we loved it.  Then as we grew older, we slowly accepted the indoctrination that mystery exists only to be solved.  For many of us, mystery became an adversary; unknowing became a weakness.  The contemplative spiritual life is an ongoing reversal of this adjustment.  It is a slow and sometimes painful process of becoming “as little children” again, in which we first make friends with mystery and finally fall in love again with it.  And in that love we find an ever increasing freedom to be who we really are in an identity that is continually emerging and never defined.  We are freed to join the dance of life in fullness without having a clue about what the steps are.

Gerald G. May, M.D., The Dark Night of the Soul (New York: Harper, 2003), 132-3.

The obscurity is blessed, because we are indeed dwelling in divine Mystery, and that is where we are meant to be.  It is there that we find goodness, love, mercy, and peace.  It is there that we “join the dance of life in fullness without having a clue about what the steps are.”

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)

This was the moment when Before
Turned into After, and the future’s
Uninvented timekeepers presented arms.

This was the moment when nothing
Happened. Only dull peace
Sprawled boringly over the earth.

This was the moment when even energetic Romans
Could find nothing better to do
Than counting heads in remote provinces.

And this was the moment
When a few farm workers and three
Members of an obscure Persian sect
Walked haphazard by starlight straight
Into the kingdom of heaven.

U. A. Fanthorpe, “BC:AD”

I am convinced that most of us stumble into the reign of God, not because of our sterling virtue or our skill in prayer, but in spite of ourselves,

Sandro Botticelli, "The Mystical Nativity" (detail showing an angel pointing out the Christ child to the shepherds), National Gallery, London

thanks to a loving guidance of which we may be totally unaware. And sometimes where we find ourselves – what turns out to be filled with grace and glory – is not at all what we would have expected.

You might enjoy listening to Paul Simon’s song “Graceland,” which is ostensibly about a trip to Elvis Presley’s house in Memphis.  As the song goes on, however, one realizes that it is really about something far bigger and infinitely deeper. Here is one verse:

There is a girl in New York City,
Who calls herself the human trampoline,
And sometimes when I’m falling flying
Or tumbling in turmoil I say
Whoa, so this is what she means,
She means we’re bouncing into Graceland…

The shepherds and the Magi “walked haphazard” or bounced into Graceland. And so do we bounce — usually awkwardly — into the glory of God where we are expected, longed for, and welcomed.
In the words of Paul Simon:

Maybe I’ve a reason to believe
We all will be received
In Graceland