Today, I feel as if I may have met Jesus Christ in the flesh. Sounds a bit strange, but after the encounters I have had this weekend, I am not going to think anything is strange anymore. Nothing about life was ever normal. So I shouldn't be too surprised that nothing is normal now. In fact, odd is so natural for me, that normal would feel wrong.
I've been attending the Catholic Conference here in Dallas. My heart has been bouncing with joy, knowing so many people from so many places now, connecting them with others and then connecting to their friends. Part of me leaps for joy at all the good in my life...and then I look at the collars and I get slammed with a reality: "You will never be a priest." And it wounds me again and again when I have to remember that. But the wound does not cripple anymore, it does not send me down the drain of despair...but it still makes me sad, but only for moments.
A big moment was when I met the Bishop, though I really wasn't introduced formally. Another priest pulled me over and said, "Tell him (THE Bishop) what you told me. I just can't believe she said that, he tells the Bishop, she made my day." ( I look up at both of them and think, I don't have a clue what I said, or how I said it...you are asking me to actually remember something I did? You have got to be kidding! I don't plan anything, I just go with the Spirit...and HE never lets me in on His real plan...)
I don't have a clue what I said, but I remember the Bishop's eyes...and they weren't warm and fuzzy. Great,God...one more person who gets to know me out of context. Why do you do this to me?! And I suppose some clever person will respond, why do you do it to yourself?
Because I want to change the world. I want it to love one another for real, not out of fear of what God might do because we are not loving, but because we finally know in our hearts that loving one another is the right thing to do. And yes, I am a fool for love. And somewhere inside my silly little brain, I know that frivolous moment, something important was happening...getting closer to where I am supposed to be, an obstacle overcome...even if it wasn't the way I wanted it to happened...it was the way He wanted it to happen...and so the humiliation only makes me laugh...and love more.
Saw this priest who speaks on Fox News (I don't watch TV) and he was saying the same thing I've been saying...but because he's a priest, and because he is charismatic...they listen. I don't care how people listen, just as long as they do, so I was delighted that he was saying what I thought needed to be said. I think, if I had TV, I would watch him, even on Fox News. I think he's real. Authentic...
I hope so.
Then, only moments later, I went with a friend to hear a priest speak in Spanish. A priest from Spain. A priest with the grace of ten, no a hundred men. He sat in a chair, because he was too weak to stand. My friend secured us seats on the front row. I was captivated by him. I kept watching his hands, the skin on them seems to be more like clothing than skin. He gestured like a prophet. His eyes held me transfixed...and although I could understand only perhaps half of what he was saying, I felt him. His heart entered my heart...and I wept because he loved God so much. Vicky whispered in my ear something like, "He just said, "We need to stop trying to love God so much, what we really need to do is let Him love us." And then I lost myself completely. How dare he use such words around me? I could not fight him. I knew he was right...and I felt like I was meeting Jesus for the very first time.
I thought about how a deacon said the same words to me last summer and how different they sounded then. And how beautiful they sound now. Maybe how we say things is as important as what we say....
I thought about the night before, with the women I 'watched over' at the Missionaries of Charity house. How they couldn't understand why I wanted to be a nun and how could I possibly give up sex for the rest of my life...and I laughed and said, I am older you know...it's just not that big of a deal anymore...I have something better. And I looked at them, some with several children...and a long hard road ahead...and how can I tell them about God's love? How can I show them God's love? And so, in my foolishness, I read them the 139th psalm. One just kept her head low, some part of her liked it. Another said, maybe my life choice was really a good way to live, that she had an odd love for God, too. I kept wondering if I could help, how can I witness to what I have been given? How can I share in complete humility the gift of grace?
But as I was listening to this amazing priest...whose words were hard for me to follow...I thought about how strongly I had had been trying to give...when it occurred to me that I needed to receive.
Like at Holy Communion. I prefer to not receive in my hand. I don't want to be in control of how it happens. I want to be in a position of humility. That of a little child who needs to be fed. I need to receive, not take...I simply need to be open, like the birds in the next...nephesh...hungry.
It kind of took on a life of its own, this sermon that was more than words. The priest touched me because I could not rely on my usual skills to stay engaged...I had to be receptive in another way. Vulnerable.
So the newness came to a peak when his talk was finished and he was completely surrounded by people. The Spanish population is not as stiff-necked as we white people are sometimes. They are often not afraid to show emotion, or love, to others. I like to love that way, too...but I know it worries some people, they don't get me...that's okay. But these people surrounded him and kissed him. Cameras and phones flashed...the attendants had to move him off the stage because no one would leave him. They put him in a chair in the another room and the people continued to surround him.
My friend also wished for a photo, so we stayed and I took pictures...but as I witnessed the love, I got more curious...and I found myself reaching out to touch him...and he took my hand and pulled me down. His hand was the softest hand I had ever touched, and it truly held me. He pulled me closer and I kissed him on the cheek. Gracias, I said. Even I had surprised myself. This man understood what Jesus meant when he said "Love one another." He looked at me and pointed outward...they are trying to take your picture...and I am thinking what do I care? That's not what this is about. I've just met a really holy man. I can't forget how this feels...I don't need a picture. I close my eyes.
And I wondered, when I got up and started to cry on Vicky's shoulder, is this what it might have been like, to meet Jesus? Is this what they may have felt? I didn't really understand much of what he said, but I am certain everything he said was right...is this what it may have been like for them, way back then? How could I fall for this...holy man? How I longed to speak his language, but how grateful I was for the meeting.
The day was filled with words...but more than words loved my heart.
Love, Cindy
No comments:
Post a Comment