The Longing of God

The longing of every human heart is to see the face of God.

The Psalms describe this longing in miriad ways:

"As a deer longs for flowing streams, so my soul longs for you, O God" 

"O God, you are my God, I seek you, my soul thirsts for you; my flesh faints for you, as in a dry and weary land where there is no water" 

"In your presence there is fullness of joy; in your right hand are pleasures forevermore"

Moses, when meeting the Lord on Mt. Sinai, makes this bold request - "Show me your glory, I pray".

The world's religions demonstrate the search for God, seeking the Creator who we all intuitively know will fulfill our desires.

But in the Song of Songs, Our Lord's heart is revealed in a mysterious and beautiful way:

He longs for you.

Like a child anticipating Christmas morning - you are the gift He desires to receive. 

 

Like a father missing His child. 

 

Like a bridegroom waiting for His bride.

When the God of the universe formed you, He did it lovingly.

The One who is fully complete in Himself, who needs nothing to be satisfied, delights in you - your face, your voice.

As much as you may desire to know Him, His joy is found in drawing near to you.

In four days, we celebrate the stooping down of He Who Is, seeking us out when we were lost. Taking on our humble humanity to offer us His Glorious Divinity, in an act of extravagant Love that continues to this day.

But He can't draw near to us - He can't delight in our presence - without our being prepared to receive Him. This is a life-long process of stripping away all that separates us; distracts us; turns us away from Him.

Being made holy; radiant; beautiful. Like a bride the morning of her wedding day - she is already beautiful in the eyes of her beloved, but she desires to please him all the more.

Will you find your joy in delighting Him, simply by allowing Him to form you into a Saint? Will you give Him the great pleasure of seeing your face and hearing your voice in all its beauty?

To the Ones Still Waiting for Redemption

What do you do when things fall apart? With tragedy, loss, unexpected suffering? When you are Judah in exile, waiting for redemption?

I have, if I'm being honest, spent the large part of this year sitting in that painful intersection of sorrow and hope. Wondering about ... well, everything. Looking back and permitting myself to grieve; remaining fixed in the present circumstances that for months felt foreign; anticipating an unseen future and trying to avoid grasping at any particular outcome.

Waiting.

I'm finding myself grateful for Advent, because it so perfectly fits my current posture of hopeful expectation. I don't know what Our Lord is doing or where He is leading me, but I'm excited to find out and trying to remain patient until He reveals it. There is joy in the waiting, and I find myself simply depending on Him, praising Him for the gifts He has not yet given, but that I find myself patiently anticipating.

But this morning I wanted to speak into the pain and the sorrow of those of you who are still carrying immense suffering - who are justifiably grief-stricken by loss, trials, and loneliness.

What does joyful hope look like when your redemption is still a long way off?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When we speak of sorrow and hope, we are tempted to force one to supersede the other:

• On the one hand, to see only the darkness without any possibility of grace

Our current culture speaks to the dangers of seeing suffering as only awful. When there is no possibility of redemption - of suffering having meaning - of our sufferings actually allowing us to draw nearer to God - then tragedy stands on its own, disconnected from any deeper significance. From a Catholic perspective, we have to continue to trust God in the midst of all that we endure in this valley of tears. The truths of our faith are beautiful, enriching, and so helpful when we are confronted with loss.

• On the other, to suggest that future promises in some way blunt the loss

In an attempt to avoid the reality of the situation, we can rush to platitudes or insistence that the person in grief rejoice in their sufferings. We use theology as a defense mechanism, because being confronted with circumstances beyond our control ... we want to maintain some sense of control by reminding them it will be alright. But in doing so, the great risk is to unintentionally have a distorted view of the current situation.

After all, if we can see the silver lining, things must not be quite so bad - right?

The irony is that we limit God's goodness by focusing on one to the exclusion of the other. When we reduce the size of the loss, in a way we are saying I don't know that God can fix something so broken.

The reality is much more fearsome, but also much more beautiful: God can bring good out of the worst situation imaginable. As Catholics, we leave Christ on our Crucifixes to serve as a reminder that the moment of our redemption was full of grace, mercy and love - but simultaneously full of pain, agony, and loss. We hold both these realities in tension, honoring them to the fullest extent possible.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Which brings me back to my original question: for those of you still experiencing the full pain of your loss, how do you process that during a season that wants you to move ahead to fulfilled promises?

My most sincere suggestion is simply this: Come before the Lord exactly as you are, expressing the full depth of what you are experiencing. Give Him your whole heart, with all that you are carrying. Our Lord is full of compassion and mercy: He will draw near to you and heal all your wounds, but to permit Him to do so requires that you first expose them to Him.

Find friends - ask The Lord for the gift of loving friends - who will sit with you without judgment. Those who will wait with you in your waiting. They are some of the gifts He will send you in your moments of isolation, and He will bring you healing through them.

Beloved, He is so gentle and patient in His healing - He will not rush your grieving. He has known the deepest losses imaginable, including your own. He carries your pain with you, and He will never leave your side (though I must also admit that at times He may appear absent). Wait for Him - He will come. He will wipe away every tear. He will bind up every broken heart. He will bring something unimaginably beautiful out of this - even this.

But, if I'm being honest, you may not see the fulfillment of those promises in this life. Sometimes, we never get to understand what He is doing. I pray that you will - but if not, He is still good, and worth trusting with our very lives.

As we find ourselves waiting in this season of longing and hopeful expectation, may we be consoled by the joy that comes from knowing we follow a God who is unafraid to enter into the broken moments of our lives, making even those times a point of contact with Him.