They say

We all know that there are things that come between us and God.

Whether it’s an addiction. Or a toxic relationship. Or our politics.

Something as retro as one of the seven deadlies. Or something subtle as our own anger or negativity.

When something comes between us and God. The hardest part isn’t always dealing with whatever has come between us and God.

Sometimes the hardest part is dealing with other people. And their perception of us.

That is, whatever we were doing that got us off track? People get used to us being someone who does that. So much so, that’s how they define us. To them, that’s who we are.

“You thought he wasn’t going to do that? Oh, that’s just him.”

“She always says stuff like that. That’s why I quit following her.”

Which can be a huge problem when we finally decide to deal with whatever has come between us and God.

You would think that people would welcome the change. After all, when something comes between us and God, you and I aren’t the only ones that get hit by the fallout from that. It impacts everyone around us. At a minimum.

Given that, you’d think that their response would be something like, “that’s great, how can I help?” Or at least, “it’s about time.”

Instead, we get pushback. It’s almost like people are saying to us, “That’s your box. Don’t you dare try to crawl out of it. That’s who you are.”

Which is why today’s first reading (about the conversion of St. Paul) is so important.

Because this is exactly what happens to St. Paul.

God tells Ananias to go to Saul (Paul’s name before his conversion) and heal him. Ananias is a believer. He’s a good guy. But he still pushes back,

“Lord, I have heard from many sources about this man, what evil things he has done…”

And God’s response? God doesn’t waste time with what “they say.”

Because that’s what Ananias is throwing at God. A fancy version of “they say.”

There are a lot of reasons why God doesn’t waste time with what “they say.” First, God is, well, God. God already knows all of it. None of the evil things that have been told to Ananias thirdhand are news to God.

But more importantly, that’s not how God sees Saul. God doesn’t see Saul as the subject of rumors. As someone rightly on the receiving end of tales that grow worse with the telling.

As God tells Ananias, “this man is a chosen instrument of mine.”

Translation, God doesn’t just put up with Saul. God chooses Saul. Because God sees who he really is.

God sees the Paul that He made him to be. Because God has a plan for his life.

And all of that, because Saul took his first stumbling step towards God. His first step away from everything that he had put between himself and God. His first step towards Home.

It’s not unusual. This is just who God is. And how overjoyed God is, when we take our first stumbling step towards Him.

When God sees us taking that first stumbling step towards Him, towards becoming who He made us to be, God rejoices. And claims us as His own.

God turns to the angels and says, “See that? You know who that is? This woman is a chosen instrument of mine. This man is a chosen instrument of mine.”

It happens every time. When we take our first step away from everything that we’ve put between ourselves and God.

It happens every time. When we take our first step towards Home.

Because God doesn’t waste time with what “they say.”

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NPC’s

In the first century, Roman jailers were tortured and put to death if their prisoners escaped.

That’s the backstory to the jailer’s reaction to the earthquake at the jail in today’s first reading.

The foundations of the jail shake, the doors fly open, the chains are pulled loose.

The jailer sees this, assumes that his prisoners (Paul and Silas) have escaped, and prepares to kill himself. Because he knows what they do to jailers.

In that moment of despair, Paul calls out to the jailer, “Do no harm to yourself, we are all here.”

When they could have escaped, Paul and Silas didn’t. Why?

Because Paul and Silas know what they do to jailers.

It would have been so easy for them to run away after the earthquake. Paul and Silas had every reason to do it.

Their friends would have been so happy for them to be free. No one would have given the jailer a second thought.

But Paul and Silas? They knew what running away would mean for the jailer.

So, they stayed. And made sure that the jailer didn’t take his own life.

Why? What makes the jailer so special? All we know about him is his job. In the narrative, he’s part of the scenery, a nameless background character. In gaming terms, he’s an NPC (non-player character).

But that’s not how God sees things. In God’s eyes, there are no nameless background characters.

Paul and Silas are instruments of God’s grace, to be sure. But if we’re only looking at Paul and Silas, then we’ve missed the point of the earthquake at the jail and everything that followed.  

Everything that happened wasn’t done for show, so that people would be impressed with Paul and Silas.

As St. John Chrysostom tells us, it was all done for the jailer – “not for show but for salvation.”

It was all done so that someone who was part of the scenery, a nameless background character to everyone else, might know how much he mattered to God. That to God, “he was worthy of salvation.”

That is how God looks at each one of us.

Because in God’s eyes, there are no NPC’s.

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Too far gone

“Lord, I have heard from many sources about this man, what evil things he has done to your holy ones in Jerusalem. And here he has authority from the chief priests to imprison all who call upon your name.” That’s today’s first reading.

Ananias is talking about Saul. It’s all true. And it gets worse.

“Now Saul was consenting to his execution.” Translation, the Sanhedrin ordered Stephen (one of the seven original deacons) to be stoned to death.

Saul didn’t just agree with it. He made it possible. Saul was imprisoning Christians – so they could be killed.

We all know what happens next. Saul’s blinding encounter with Jesus on the road to Damascus. The one that leads to his conversion, to him becoming Paul.

To him becoming Paul the missionary, the church planter, the martyr, the author of half of the books in the New Testament.

If you’ve ever wondered why the Church rejoices in the deathbed conversions of absolutely horrible people?

If you’ve ever wondered why, in Catholic teaching and tradition, no one is beyond redemption?

This is where it comes from.

So when someone tells me that they’ve been away from God for too long. Or they’ve done too much. Or they’re too far gone. And they give me their reasons, whatever they think is too much for God to forgive.

I like to ask, “Have you killed anyone for being a Christian?”

No one has ever said “yes.” But even if they did, it wouldn’t matter.

Because – as Paul’s life shows us – even that isn’t too much for God’s mercy and forgiveness.

So, if murder won’t do the job, why would doubt or atheism or apathy or addiction or your sin be too much for God?

The simple truth? There is no such thing as too far gone.

Nothing you do can put you beyond the mercy and forgiveness of God.

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How things ought to be

“Is it a sin to…?”

That’s how he started. That’s how he always starts. And he always asks about the same thing. Every time.

So, I pointed out the obvious, “You always ask about that.”

I could tell from his expression that what I said hit a lot harder than I meant for it to, “I know. Does that mean that I’m stuck? That it’s never going to get better?”

I answered, “No. It means that you’re down to the real problem. And it means that you're in good company.”

We talked about St. Paul, about his real problem. The one he tried to pray away. The one that wouldn’t go away. Paul called it his “thorn in the flesh.”

I told him that I’ve been wrestling with my real problem for years. That my confessor gets to hear the same **** thing from me. Every time.

When it doesn’t go away – and eventually, there will be something that doesn’t go away.

When it doesn’t go away – you and I have two choices.

We can let it consume us – either by letting it become our focus (or by ignoring it until it becomes to great to ignore) so that it can pull us away from God.

Or we can follow St. Paul’s example. Using the insight that God gave him into his (and our) human nature,

God said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness.” I will rather boast most gladly of my weakness, in order that the power of Christ may dwell in me. – 2 Corinthians 12:9).

That is, get over ourselves and our ideas about how things ought to be. So that we can use what would pull us away from God to call us back to God.

The thing to know is that getting to that place – where we can use what would pull us away from God to call us back to God – is a process.

One that cannot be done without God’s grace. One that’s often the work of years.

Which means there will be a lot of false starts – especially when we try to do it on our own (don’t ask me why I know this).

A lot of time where it feels like nothing is happening. And the need for a lot of do overs. Which can be frustrating if we’re not careful.

Which is why what St. Francis de Sales (today’s saint and someone who wrestled with his real problem for years) tells us about how to do it is absolutely critical,

“Do not lose courage in considering your own imperfections, but instantly set about remedying them—every day begin the task anew. Have patience with all things, but chiefly have patience with yourself.”

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The best revenge

When someone you were counting on bails on you, right when you need them the most?

You will never make that mistake again with them. And you will pay them back for it. With interest.

At least that’s my gut response. Because that’s unforgiveable. And unforgettable.

As it turns out, my gut response is about half right.

In today’s first reading, Paul is dealing with the same thing – “At my first defense no one appeared on my behalf, but everyone deserted me.”

Paul is on trial. And everyone who could have helped him out by testifying? None of them show up.

He ends up spending months in jail that he didn’t have to. All because they couldn’t be bothered. Paul’s got every right to be mad.

So how does Paul pay them back? As Paul puts it – “May it not be held against them! But the Lord stood by me and gave me strength.”

That is Paul’s power move. Not just the wisdom of relying on God (instead of unreliable human beings). But in forgiving them.

Truly forgiving them. Not even leaving them to God’s vengeance. But asking God to not hold what they did against them.

How can he do that? Is he that much of a doormat? Not at all.

What Paul does makes perfect sense. If you understand what forgiveness is and what it isn’t.

Forgiveness isn’t about the people who hurt you.

Forgiveness is about not letting the people who hurt you keep hurting you. Which is what happens if you hold on to them and what they did.

Forgiveness is a power move. It says you’re not going to limp through life, nursing a wound, because of what they did to you.

Forgiveness says it didn’t work. They didn’t do any lasting damage, they’re just not good enough.

Forgiveness says that the people who tried to hurt you failed.

But also notice what Paul doesn’t do. Paul doesn’t set himself up to be hurt again.

The people who abandoned him? They’ve told him who they are by what they did (BTW, when someone tells you who they are, believe them). That is why Paul doesn’t invite them back.

Second chances and redemption arcs? Let God handle that. And God will (think of Paul himself on the road to Damascus).

For you and me? The best revenge is forgiveness.

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Long-term projects

(for all of us who are works in progress)

Sudden conversion.

One moment, you’re going along, doing whatever you’re doing. Following a road paved with your own priorities. The next?

Like Saul (soon to be Paul) on the road to Damascus, in scarcely a heartbeat, you’re doing a 180 and following Jesus. 100%. Nothing held back.

I have no idea what that’s like.

For me, the process of growing in the Christian life, of becoming more like Jesus, has been slow. And that’s being charitable. It’s been a long, laborious process.

More like building a levee from scratch. One shovelful of dirt at a time.

At the rate I’m going, in another 50 years I’ll be a passable human being.

Which is why I’m such a fan of Peter. The Prince of the Apostles. And the King of Ponderously Slow Progress in Holiness.

In today’s Gospel, the gap between Peter and Jesus hits Peter. Hard. And Peter blurts out, “Depart from me Lord, for I am a sinful man.”

The only thing better than Peter’s unbridled honesty? Jesus’ response.

Here’s the Second Person of the Trinity. God incarnate, who knows exactly how slow and uneven Peter’s progress in holiness has been, and will be. He’s God. He knows this stuff.

Knowing all of that, Jesus doesn’t depart from Peter. In fact, Jesus draws even closer to Peter. Knowing that with Peter, this will be the work of years, the work of inches.

In the words of Pope Gregory the Great (a pope who understood what he shared with the first pope all too well), “it is impossible to eradicate everything at once from our obstinate minds, he who endeavors to reach the highest place rises by steps not by leaps.”

Jesus knows that He has a lot of work to do with Peter.

Jesus knows that it’s going to take time. He knows that it won’t all happen at once. And He knows that this is nothing less than what it will take for Peter to be exactly who God made him to be.

Jesus is more than ready to take the time.

The same way that Jesus is more than ready to take the time with you. With me.

With everyone who has the humility to say “yes” to the King of Long-Term Projects.

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What matters to God?

“And there was none so perfect as Peter.”

It’s a verse that appears nowhere in the Bible. If you read all the stuff about Peter in the Gospels, you know why.

Peter is the king of overpromising and underperforming.

Of blurting out whatever, whenever. Of missing the painfully obvious. Of not knowing when to quit. Or when to start. Someone who can go from fighting to the death to running away in 3.9 seconds.

And Peter exactly who Jesus picks to build the Church on in today’s Gospel.

Not because Jesus is an idiot. But because Jesus knows Peter. Jesus knows everything that Peter will get wrong. Including Peter’s denial of Jesus in the small hours of the morning on Good Friday.

And Jesus still picks him? Yes. Because Jesus knows Peter. Better than Peter knows Peter.

Jesus knows the heart of Peter. Jesus knows that, in spite of Peter’s worst impulses, Peter will keep stumbling towards Him. Peter will lose count of how many times he has fallen.

But Jesus knows how many times Peter will get back up. Jesus knows that Peter will keep trying.

In choosing Peter, Jesus shows us what matters most.

It’s the same way for you and me. Because God knows us. Better than we know us.

What matters most to God? Isn’t knowing what to do and what to say.

What matters most to God? Isn’t perfect performance.

What matters most to God? Is your heart. And the count.

God doesn’t care how many times you fall. What matters to God is how many times you get back up.

Which is why God will always help you, every time you even try get back up.

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Christians in name only

In today’s Gospel, Jesus warns about opposition. About the pushback that always comes whenever we try to live our Faith.

Some people love the pushback that comes with division. They’re addicted to casting themselves as heroic figures taking a stand against…something.

So they use their beliefs as wedge issues to create it.

Weaponizing their faith to separate people (even fellow believers) into supporters and opponents. Us versus them.

Purity testing so they can brand people as “Christians in name only.”

That’s not what Jesus is talking about. How do I know this? Two big reasons.

First, purity testing is idiotic. Because, as St. Paul tells us, “All have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God.” None of us can pass the test.

We don’t like admitting it, but none of us deserve any of the graces that God so extravagantly pours out on us. None of us are good enough, on our own (hint – what was Good Friday about?).

God’s extravagance flows out of God’s love for us. Not out of any merit we might think we have.

The most common response to this by fans of purity testing? The silly (and unbiblical) practice of comparing sins.

Claiming that someone else’s sins are worthy of damnation. While smugly lying to ourselves about how what we’re doing is no big deal. Probably not even really a sin.

C.S. Lewis rebuts this nonsense brilliantly in the Screwtape Letters.

“It does not matter how small the sins are provided that their cumulative effect is the edge the man away from the Light…Indeed the safest road to Hell is the gradual one – the gentle slope, soft underfoot, without sudden turnings, without milestones, without signposts.”

The other big reason? Today’s Gospel is part of a larger teaching. The same one where Jesus commands those of us who would follow Him to “Love one another, as I have loved you.”

Sort of the opposite of weaponized faith and wedge issues.

Because “Love one another, as I have loved you” is missing something. Something that we all too readily read into it – Exceptions. Qualifiers. Disclaimers.

The way we live our lives? It’s like we think it says, “Love one another, as I have loved you, except for ___.” And then we fill in the blank with whoever we’re playing us versus them games with.

Why? In a word, pride. The oldest and dreariest sin.

The one that always ends up with us worshipping ourselves.

Whenever we start smuggling in exceptions. So we can feel better about ourselves, by pretending we’re better than someone else. We’ve fallen victim to pride.

And if we keep going down that road?

We’ll soon find that we are the Christians in name only.

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Lashing out

“It feels so good.”

I didn’t expect that answer. But I should have.

Let me back up. I got a call a few weeks back about an older relative of mine.

She’s in an assisted living facility. The staff were complaining that she was being an absolute jerk to them. Using every interaction, every part of her day as an excuse to be as mean and vicious as she could be.

Even to staffers that she said she liked.

The reason they were calling? They had had enough. To the point that some staffers were now refusing to work with her. So I talked with her.

Listening to her side of things, it soon became clear that the problem wasn’t really the problem.

That the food really wasn’t bad. They hadn’t messed up her medications. The staff wasn’t incompetent. The real problem?

She was grieving a loss – her independence. She was frustrated by her inability to do things for herself. She was scared about the transition she was in.

She had let her anxiety run wild. Until it boiled over into anger.

Without any prompting from me, she admitted that she felt bad that she had lashed out at people.

So I asked the obvious question. Why did she do it? If it made her feel bad afterwards.

Her answer – “It feels so good” – surprised me. But it shouldn’t have.

There’s something in us that enjoys lashing out in anger. At least in the moment.

The rush of it. The release of pent up tensions and anxieties.

What makes it even better? When we can drop it on someone who “deserves” it. Ideally, a consequence-free target. One who can’t hit back. Or cause us any problems.

In case you ever wondered what’s behind so much of the (semi-) anonymous bile online.

After all, lashing out in anger is a lot quicker, a lot easier, and a lot more viscerally satisfying than actually dealing with the causes of our tension and anxiety.

It’s also revealing. It says something about us.

If we’ve got that kind of tension and anxiety. The kind that can build up into an eruption of anger. It’s a sign that whatever we’re trusting in, whatever we’re relying on?

It’s not God.

Because if we’re really relying on God, we won’t have that kind of tension and anxiety.

Not because the things in life that cause that kind of tension, that kind of anxiety aren’t going to happen to us. Christianity isn’t a magical escape from the bad things of life.

Rather, we don’t have that kind of tension and anxiety because we’re not relying on something that, in our hearts, we know will at some point fail us. Like us.

Instead, you’re relying on Someone who will never leave you or forsake you. Someone who will see you through the very worst that life can throw at you. Someone who will never fail you. Someone you can rely on without reservation.

The God who loves you. Who has loved you since before you were born. Who always will love you.

This is what today’s first reading is all about.

The grace that only comes through reliance on God?

In St. Paul’s words, it’s the only way out of being “foolish, disobedient, deluded, slaves to various desires and pleasures, living in malice and envy, hateful to ourselves and hating one another.”

The grace that only comes through reliance on God?

It’s the only way that we can rise to our calling in Christ “to slander no one, to be peaceable, considerate, exercising all graciousness toward everyone.”

The grace that only comes through reliance on God?

It’s the only way that you can be who God made you to be.

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Got to go

Temperate. Dignified.

Self-controlled. Sound in faith, love, and endurance.

Someone like that? That’s someone you can look up to. Someone who will always be there for you. Someone you can lean on when times are tough.

The kind of person you want in your life.

The kind of person you want to be.

The kind of person St. Paul says you and I are called to be. In today’s first reading.

How do you and I do that?

How do we make sure that this is how we carry ourselves? That this is what comes out of us?

By taking care first about what we put into ourselves.

Because the only thing that can ever come out of us is what’s already in there.

Think about it. You can’t pour water out of an empty bucket. Or a bucket that’s full of dirt.

You want to pour water out of a bucket?

Then you need to first make sure that it’s full. Of water.

You and I work the same way.

There’s a world that’s crying out for temperance. For dignity. For self-control. For sound faith, love, and endurance.

You and I are the ones to bring it. But we can’t bring it if we don’t have it.

Today, make time with me to take stock. Let’s look at everything that we’re putting into ourselves. Our media diet. Our social media diet. Our movies and shows and books.

With the cold eye of judgment, let’s look at each thing we’re exposing ourselves to. Each thing we’re making time for. Even the stuff that’s “just for fun.”

Ask – and be honest with yourself – is it leading me towards temperance? Towards dignity? Towards self-control? Towards sound faith, love, and endurance?

Because if it’s not, then it’s beneath your dignity in the eyes of the God.

It’s beneath your worth as His beloved daughter, His beloved son.

And it’s got to go.

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Obvious

Sometimes things are hard to figure out.

Maybe there are mixed signals. Maybe so many different people and things are moving at the same moment, that it’s hard to tell what really happened.

That you and I are Christians? That shouldn’t be one of them.

It should be obvious. Real obvious.

As St. Paul puts it in today’s first reading, “you were once darkness, but now you are light in the Lord. Live as children of light.”

For a lot of people, that line – “live as children of light” – comes with a lot of baggage.

Baggage like acting like you’re better than everyone else. Having to be the smartest person in the room. Looking down on other people. Never doing anything wrong.

Or at trying to convince other people – and yourself – that how it is.

Maybe that’s how they were brought up. Maybe that was used to manipulate them. However it got inflicted on them, it’s not good. It’s not from God. It’s actually toxic.

And it has absolutely nothing to do with what it means to “live as children of light.”

The real meaning? To actually “live as children of light?”

It’s much simpler. Much healthier. And it’s grounded in the unconditional love that God has for each one of us.

St. Paul gives us the recipe. “Be kind one to another, tenderhearted, full of compassion – forgiving one another, even as God for Christ’s sake has forgiven you.”

Which means? Forgive like God does. Just like God forgives you and me, whether we deserve it or not.

The only way to do that? Spend the time with God to be filled with God’s compassion.

So full, that you’ve got all the compassion you need. Plus some extra, for everyone else.

So full, that there’s no room in you for anything else.

That’s what it means to “live as children of light.”

That’s what it takes to make it obvious.

Because if it isn’t obvious. Then it’s probably not from God.

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Foolishness

A moth got in the house last night.

He circled and circled around a light in the kitchen. The way moths do.

Moths are drawn to light, that’s how they navigate at night.

I told the moth this, while I was waiting for him to stop circling the light. It didn’t seem to make any difference.

When he final stopped for a moment, I caught him in a cup. Turned off the light in the kitchen. And let him go outside.

What I said and what I did made no sense to the moth.

Getting trapped inside the dark cup, with no light to navigate by? I don’t know if moths have emotions. If they do, then what I did was probably terrifying. Even though it was all for his benefit.

As human beings, the gap between you and me and a moth is so great that what we say and what we do makes little or no sense to them at all.

And the gap between the Creator and His creation – including us – is even greater. So it really shouldn’t surprise us that we don’t fully understand the way that God does things.

This is the “foolishness of God,” the dynamic that Paul is referring to in today’s first reading.

Given the gap between us and God, it’s no surprise that God doesn’t always do things the way we think that they ought to be done. That some of what God does seems foolish, or even malicious, to us.

But in reality, what we’re dealing with, what God is leading us through? It has a lot more in common with the cup that the moth was trapped in for a moment, on his way out the door to freedom.

It can be confusing to us – without the usual lights and landmarks that we navigate by. It might even be terrifying to us – trapped in something that we can’t see any way out of.

But God always makes a way. Even if we can’t see a way.

No matter what we’re facing. We don’t have to understand it all to get through it.

All we have to do is trust in the One who does. The One who will always see us through.

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Math

Math doesn’t come easy for me.

It takes some work. Before it soaks in. Before it makes sense.

So when something gets described in terms of math (“it all adds up to…” “…not a good rate of return…”), even if it’s just a metaphor. Even though I know that I’m not actually going to do any calculations, there’s still something in me that goes “ugh.”

Today’s first reading opens with, “Whoever sows sparingly will also reap sparingly,
and whoever sows bountifully will also reap bountifully.”

It’s God’s take on multiplication. The multiplication of God’s love, the multiplication of God’s grace, that is.

God’s generosity is endless.

If that’s true – and it is – then why is St. Paul telling us that if we give sparingly, we will receive sparingly?

Because how we give comes from our hands. And what’s in our hands comes from our hearts.

If our hands are full, but we’re holding onto what’s in our hands, holding onto things for dear life? It’s because our hearts are empty.

Because we’re filling the wrong thing. We’re busy trying to fill our hands. Instead of filling our hearts, with the only One who can fill them.

If our hearts are full, with the only One who can fill them? Then we’ll have something to give. Then we won’t be desperately clinging to what’s in our hands, to things.

Then we’ll be able to give bountifully. And here’s the odd thing about God’s idea of multiplication – when we do, God will give even more bountifully.

God’s multiplication isn’t intuitive. At least for me. It’s going to take some work. Before it soaks in. Before it makes sense.

But I don’t think that has as much to do with my unthinking reaction to anything math-ish, as it does with something St. Augustine said.

“God is always trying to give good things to us. But our hands are too full to receive them.”

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Everyday blessings

God calls each one of us.

Not just in the sense that God has a purpose for your life. God is also calling to each one of us.

Every day, God has messages for you and me. The thing is, God gives the message to us, but a lot of the time the message isn’t for us.

It’s for someone else. It’s their message. And we’re the ones who are supposed to give it to them.

What am I talking about?

Ever get that impulse to say something nice to someone? Maybe a compliment. Or just a kind word.

Ever wonder where that comes from? That’s what I’m talking about, the everyday messages that God gives you and me.

The thing is, you and I are so worried about what someone else might think. How they might react. That when God gives us that spark to say something. We don’t have half the courage of St. Paul in today’s first reading. To just say what God has given us to say, and not worry about how other people will react.

So we choke it back. We say it in our head. And the blessing is never given.

And you’re thinking, that’s just a bunch of kindergarten, play-nice-with-each-other stuff. The kind of nonsense that you’re far too mature for. The kind of stuff that really doesn’t matter anyway.

Where I used to work some years ago, I would pass an older gentleman, Wendell, in the hallway a couple of times a day. We worked in different units, so that was about our only interaction.

When I passed him in the hall, I’d always say something like “it’s good to see you, Wendell.” Sometimes he’d say “Hi.” Usually he just smiled. He was a quiet man.

Years later at his funeral, I introduced myself to his widow. Before I could say “I’m so sorry,” she cut me off. She knew who I was. Wendell had told her all about me.

She told me that I was one of the few people there who ever smiled at him, or even talked to him. I could believe it - it wasn’t a happy place to be back then. And then she told me something that still gets to me.

After they moved him to a different office on another part of the floor, he would go out of his way to keep walking that old route. So he could still hear someone say “it’s good to see you, Wendell.”

The word that God gives you? It may not seem like much to you. But to someone else, it could mean all the world.

My challenge to you today? When God puts it in your heart to say something nice to someone. To give a compliment. Or just a kind word. Say it.

Because if you knew how starved so many of us are for a little touch of God’s grace, a little touch of God’s love, you’d know that it’s not just a kind word.

It’s an everyday blessing. One that only you can give.

Don’t keep it to yourself.

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Focus

Last winter, a friend from work kept telling me (and the rest of the planet) about this pothole on his daily drive.

Every few days, he’d complain to anyone who would listen about the pothole. About what a hazard it was, the damage it could do. And every few days, the pothole seemed to get a little bigger. At least the way he told it.

Until, by the end of the winter, it was starting to sound like something out the opening sequence of an Indiana Jones movie.

Which surprised me. Because I drive the same route. The biggest pothole I saw last winter? It was the size of a pancake. And about as deep.

In the big picture of a daily drive, it was something you could easily avoid. But no big deal if you didn’t.

But for him, with his eyes fixed on the problem, it was close to becoming a gaping chasm with no visible bottom.

This is exactly what St. Paul is talking about in today’s first reading. About focusing on our problems. About the danger of making them bigger than they really are. If that’s all we’re looking at.

When we do that, it’s no wonder that they become overwhelming. If our problems are all that we’re seeing.

The solution? It’s not ignoring our problems. Or pretending they’re not problems. That never works.

The solutions is to see them as what they really are. A small part of the big picture, the big picture of God’s plan for our lives.

To recognize that they are problems, and to deal with them. But to not make them any bigger than they actually are.

We do that by focusing not on our problems, but by focusing on God. And the big picture of God’s plan for our lives.

This is why St. Paul is absolutely right to say “I consider that the sufferings of this present time are as nothing compared with the glory to be revealed for us.”

Don’t let your problems be bigger than they are.

Focus on the big picture. Focus on God.

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Past tense

Someone asks you to pray for them. You say yes.

Maybe they tell you some details about their request. Maybe they tell you the whole story. Maybe they don’t tell you much of anything.

Now what? How do you pray for them?

Today’s first reading has the answer. Just like Jesus gives us the model for praying for ourselves, St. Paul gives us the model for praying for others.

Here’s how I like to pray Colossians 1:10-12:

God, fill [name] with the knowledge of Your will through all spiritual wisdom and understanding
to walk in a manner worthy of You,
so as to be fully pleasing, in every good work bearing fruit
and growing in the knowledge of You,
strengthened with every power, in accord with Your glorious might,
for all endurance and patience,
with joy giving thanks to You, who has made [him/her] fit to share
in the inheritance of the holy ones in light.

It’s a powerful prayer, to lift someone up, to strengthen them, to entrust them to God’s grace.

The best part? The last part. Giving thanks to God. In the past tense.

St. Paul points us to this truth – when we really entrust someone to God, we can give thanks for the resolution. Right now.

We can trust that God has already provided for their needs. Because He has.

We may not see it just yet with our human eyes. But St. Paul is calling us to see things with our eyes of faith. When we do, thanking God in the past tense makes perfect sense.

Because God has already taken care of things.

If you want peace in your heart, pray from this truth.

The truth that we can let go of things, because God has already taken care of them.

Thank God in the past tense. Even if you don’t see it just yet.

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