Yesterday's Gospel is a very emotional read for me. This is one of those readings that God has seen fit to unravel for me in different stages- because in His infinite Wisdom, He rocks!
Several years ago, I was given a penance- one that I was really not enthusiastic about. I was told to pray the rosary... using the joyful mysteries... from Mary's perspective. I really don't like praying the rosary. Maybe I'm just not "there" yet. I don't know, but it really isn't my "thing." So when I decided to do my penance that time, I tried something different. I turned on my iPod, set it to random and played some Christian music. I was hoping that if I had something potentially distracting around me, that it might help me focus more on the rosary, because I'm always struggling to keep focused.
It was an amazingly profound experience, probably the closest to a "charismatic" experience I've ever had. The songs that played randomly seemed to fit the mysteries perfectly. They helped me stay focused and I found myself having just enough time in each song to pray 10 Hail Marys. But the final mystery, The Finding in the Temple, really became the climax of this experience. "Randomly," my iPod selected Here is Love, Matt Redman's take on a classic hymn.
Several years ago, I was given a penance- one that I was really not enthusiastic about. I was told to pray the rosary... using the joyful mysteries... from Mary's perspective. I really don't like praying the rosary. Maybe I'm just not "there" yet. I don't know, but it really isn't my "thing." So when I decided to do my penance that time, I tried something different. I turned on my iPod, set it to random and played some Christian music. I was hoping that if I had something potentially distracting around me, that it might help me focus more on the rosary, because I'm always struggling to keep focused.
It was an amazingly profound experience, probably the closest to a "charismatic" experience I've ever had. The songs that played randomly seemed to fit the mysteries perfectly. They helped me stay focused and I found myself having just enough time in each song to pray 10 Hail Marys. But the final mystery, The Finding in the Temple, really became the climax of this experience. "Randomly," my iPod selected Here is Love, Matt Redman's take on a classic hymn.
In my mind, I saw Mary, standing in front of the Tabernacle in my church, pointing to it and saying, "This is your mystery. This is where you find Jesus." I remember lying on my bed, crying- but not a sad kind of weeping, just feeling this incredible grace. Here is Love.
It was an experience I often found myself reflecting on over the next few years. In 2010, S and I lost a baby, G, very early in our pregnancy. We found out we lost G on a Monday. That Thursday night, I had a meeting at the church. Probably by grace, I unintentionally ended up at the church about 30 minutes early. I didn't want to, but I knew I needed to go sit in the chapel with Jesus. I was so raw and I just didn't want to cry anymore and I knew going to the chapel was going to bring tears. But I needed to be with Jesus. I sat in the chapel with my hands on the edge of the pew, gripping and hanging on for dear life. I begrudgingly offered God, "I'm here... Now what." I felt Mary sit next to me. I felt her hand gently over mine on the edge of the pew. I just sat there, mentally silent. It was a moment of a mother holding my hand because no words are necessary in a moment like that. I felt my heart start to melt a little with that comforting gentleness. I heard her whisper, "G is here." And then I felt the hand change. It was a small child's hand. I knew it was G. The experience of that rosary came back to me. My mind was loud with the racing thoughts and the flood of emotions and memories. I remembered the words "This is your mystery." I was finding my child in the temple.
That Saturday, I had a meeting with a women's group. In a twist of fate, the leaders of the group had decided to start this meeting off with a rosary. And of course, they had chosen the Joyful mysteries. They had brought a cd that had lines of scripture imbedded before each Hail Mary. I've prayed scriptural rosaries before, but this one was a different version. We got to the last mystery and I braced myself for what I knew was going to be an emotional mystery for me. The cd played this Sunday's Gospel reading in chunks before each of the Hail Marys. "They journeyed for a day." I instantly relived that Monday. The panic in the bathroom when I saw blood. The trip to the ER. The moment when the doctor told me we had lost our baby. The fog as he walked out. The phone calls to my parents. The sitting numbly in the car and realizing I didn't have anymore tears to cry at that time. "After three days they found him in the temple, sitting in the midst of the teachers." My mind did the math. For three days I looked for solace in every place, except in the church. After 3 days, I found G in the temple. I was a sobbing mess. I was grateful that I was with that group of women, many of whom had lost children and grandchildren through the years. They cried with me, promised to pray for me and shared their pain and stories of comfort. I don't think that was how the leaders of the group had planned for the meeting to go, but God provides.
This Sunday, I sat in the pew by myself. J was home sick and S was kind enough to offer to take C to mass with him after I got back. I knew the reading was coming, but I felt ready for it. V kicked through the whole Gospel reading and homily. I thought of all my children. I prayed for J's health. But I was also struck by something new in the reading. "And Jesus advanced in wisdom." I often hear homilies reflect on how Christ, at the tender age of twelve, was already aware of His mission. In the last few years, I have had a lot to learn about not just discerning God's call for me, but learning when He wants me to act on that calling. I was called to marriage, but not necessarily when I thought. (S and I postponed out wedding by a little over a year.) Jesus also had to advance in wisdom. In His humanity, he was aware of His divine mission, but still had to learn about timing. God the Father wasn't calling God the Son to begin his public ministry at the age of twelve, even if that is ultimately what He was asking of His Son.
So this is my mystery; God only knows what lessons are in store for me next.
It was an experience I often found myself reflecting on over the next few years. In 2010, S and I lost a baby, G, very early in our pregnancy. We found out we lost G on a Monday. That Thursday night, I had a meeting at the church. Probably by grace, I unintentionally ended up at the church about 30 minutes early. I didn't want to, but I knew I needed to go sit in the chapel with Jesus. I was so raw and I just didn't want to cry anymore and I knew going to the chapel was going to bring tears. But I needed to be with Jesus. I sat in the chapel with my hands on the edge of the pew, gripping and hanging on for dear life. I begrudgingly offered God, "I'm here... Now what." I felt Mary sit next to me. I felt her hand gently over mine on the edge of the pew. I just sat there, mentally silent. It was a moment of a mother holding my hand because no words are necessary in a moment like that. I felt my heart start to melt a little with that comforting gentleness. I heard her whisper, "G is here." And then I felt the hand change. It was a small child's hand. I knew it was G. The experience of that rosary came back to me. My mind was loud with the racing thoughts and the flood of emotions and memories. I remembered the words "This is your mystery." I was finding my child in the temple.
That Saturday, I had a meeting with a women's group. In a twist of fate, the leaders of the group had decided to start this meeting off with a rosary. And of course, they had chosen the Joyful mysteries. They had brought a cd that had lines of scripture imbedded before each Hail Mary. I've prayed scriptural rosaries before, but this one was a different version. We got to the last mystery and I braced myself for what I knew was going to be an emotional mystery for me. The cd played this Sunday's Gospel reading in chunks before each of the Hail Marys. "They journeyed for a day." I instantly relived that Monday. The panic in the bathroom when I saw blood. The trip to the ER. The moment when the doctor told me we had lost our baby. The fog as he walked out. The phone calls to my parents. The sitting numbly in the car and realizing I didn't have anymore tears to cry at that time. "After three days they found him in the temple, sitting in the midst of the teachers." My mind did the math. For three days I looked for solace in every place, except in the church. After 3 days, I found G in the temple. I was a sobbing mess. I was grateful that I was with that group of women, many of whom had lost children and grandchildren through the years. They cried with me, promised to pray for me and shared their pain and stories of comfort. I don't think that was how the leaders of the group had planned for the meeting to go, but God provides.
This Sunday, I sat in the pew by myself. J was home sick and S was kind enough to offer to take C to mass with him after I got back. I knew the reading was coming, but I felt ready for it. V kicked through the whole Gospel reading and homily. I thought of all my children. I prayed for J's health. But I was also struck by something new in the reading. "And Jesus advanced in wisdom." I often hear homilies reflect on how Christ, at the tender age of twelve, was already aware of His mission. In the last few years, I have had a lot to learn about not just discerning God's call for me, but learning when He wants me to act on that calling. I was called to marriage, but not necessarily when I thought. (S and I postponed out wedding by a little over a year.) Jesus also had to advance in wisdom. In His humanity, he was aware of His divine mission, but still had to learn about timing. God the Father wasn't calling God the Son to begin his public ministry at the age of twelve, even if that is ultimately what He was asking of His Son.
So this is my mystery; God only knows what lessons are in store for me next.