St. Catherine of Siena
Fr. Philip Neri Powell, OP
Notre Dame Seminary, NOLA
Our
Lord doesn't ask much of us. Love one another. Trust one another.
Believe in one another. Correct one another. Remain in his love.
Write our papers. Keep his commandments. Receive his peace. Take our
final exams. Teach and preach all that he has taught us. Baptize in
his name. Remember him. Forgive. Show mercy. Serve. Write
evaluations. Keep his word. Feed the hungry. Visit the sick and
imprisoned. Mourn the dead. Bless the poor. Grade exams and papers
and turn in the grades. Drive out unclean spirits. Heal the blind and
crippled. Complete faculty evaluations. Deny ourselves. Pick up our
crosses. Finish up paperwork for accreditation. Compose syllabi and
book orders for fall of 2016. Follow him. Oh, and, at last. . .die
for the love we have for him.
O
Lord! I am tired. My knees are swollen! My back aches! I have
calluses on both my typing fingers! My eyes itch. I haven't slept
well in four days. And I'm breaking out like a high school freshman.
My room looks like a FEMA camp after Katrina. And I've not done
laundry since the third Sunday of Lent. . .2014. I've forgotten how
to read and I can no longer do basic addition or long division. I'm
tired, Lord. I'm tired. What do you have to say, Lord? “It was not
you who chose me, but I who chose you.” Well, thank you, Lord. One
thing: can you unchose me?
The
answer, of course, is no. He can't. Or, he won't. He knows our
limits. And the limits beyond those limits. And he knows all that we
give and all that we hold back. When we've given everything we have,
all that we've held back. . .he gives us a new limit and the strength
to reach it. The strength he gives is not some sort of magical
grace-dust or a boost of sanctifying merits. He gives us himself.
He's the limit. Not as an example, or a model, or a roadmap. He is
the Limit. The Omega of all our striving. Think about it. Our end,
our goal – Christ himself – comes to us in our soreness and
sleepiness and crabbiness and hands himself over to us so that we
might be made perfect as he is perfect. The Perfection we seek
surrenders himself to us, the Imperfect, and dares us to surrender
ourselves to him in return. How do we accomplish this astonishing
task of surrender? “This I command you: love one another.” And
forgive, show mercy, preach and teach, deny yourself, and follow him.
Looking
for answers, or maybe just some small consolation, I've searched the
ancient libraries of the world – Oxford, Cambridge, Rome, London,
Beijing, Ole Miss. . .and I've read hundreds of books and
manuscripts. Talked to masters, professors, mystics, seers,
soon-to-be saints, and quite a few sinners. How do I surrender? How
do I hand over my life, everything that I am to God? I found the
answer. My guide: a diminutive mystic of the Thomistic kind, a fellow
renowned for his wisdom, patience, and kindness. I asked him my
desperate question. He hefted his walking stick. Climbed a chair. And
locked his eyes with mine and said, “Do,
or do not. There is no try.”
Expecting further distinctions or a citation from the Summa,
I hesitated for a moment before breaking into tears. Love, or do not
love. Forgive, or do not forgive. Believe, or do not believe. There
is no try. Surrender, or do not. There is no try. There is no limit
to surrender in love. Love one another as Christ loves you. He will
not unchose you to complete the work he has given you to do.
Therefore, with sore knees, cramping fingers, grouchy disposition,
blurry eyes charge head long and recklessly into the work you have to
do. . .knowing, knowing
that Christ is your end, and he is always with you.
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