Memorial Day is behind us now and the summer has begun: what kind of summer will it be? Here in the Mid-Atlantic, the weather is somewhat dreary and cold, not at all the sort of weather one expects for this time of year. All the hype of the Trump Administration settles down into the familiar din to which they all fall, sooner or later. Leo’s reign has begun, and as he promised from the loggia, he is continuing Francis’ mission and message: those who liked or loved Francis’ mission and message are quietly rejoicing, while those who found them challenging are hoping for the best. It appears that the hope of Catholics throughout the world is for a steady hand from Rome that will provide guidance and stability in a world torn by war and economic aggression.
“Our help is in the Name of the Lord, the maker of heaven and earth.”
I keep recurring to this verse of Holy Scripture because it is an anchor in uncertain times. We don’t know what will happen with the tariffs, and therefore with the economy. We don’t know what will happen in the Middle East. We don’t know what will happen in Ukraine. We do know that the battles in which we have been embroiled, domestically and internationally, will continue; and we do know enough to plan for uncertain times.
Our hope is not in this world, but it is here that we live, here that we make the choices that will determine our earthly and eternal destinies. Were we left to our own devices, that might be cause for alarm. But we have not been left to our own devices. We are currently in Ascensiontide, that period between the Lord’s Ascension and Pentecost, the descent of the Holy Spirit upon the Apostles and the nascent Church. We know what happened then; and we likely have had our own moments, too, in which the Holy Spirit has fallen powerfully upon us — at major life events, at other moments when we least expected it: that’s the way it works. And maybe, like hundreds of millions of Catholics and others throughout the world, you are preparing for Pentecost with your own novena to the Holy Spirit. Or maybe, like hundreds of millions of others, you are preparing in other ways, praying for a fresh outpouring of the Holy Spirit, a strengthening of his gifts, a refreshment or refinement of the virtues and charisms that he imparts: all to the good.
But what do we make of it when we pray and “nothing happens.” Theological answer here: something always happens, whether we feel or perceive anything or not. That’s often not the answer we want, but it is the truth, and we have to build our lives upon the truth.
The problem is that we assume “nothing” has happened if what we wanted to happen, didn’t, or at least in terms that we can readily perceive. The deeper issue is that we are attempting to use God as our personal genie, our wishes being his commands, because God is like a loving parent who loves to spoil children, right? We experienced something of that in our first conversions, when everything seemed easier, fresher, lighter. Thing is, the Red Sea’s wall of water was easy to see, and it was easy to see that we were meant to walk through that particular valley. Now “we walk by faith and not by sight,” and absent the clues that make it easy, we wonder whether God has abandoned us, left us to our own fates, is punishing us in some way for sin unconfessed or unrecognized, and on it goes into an endless regressive analysis that leads us to … nowhere.
“Thy word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path.” We get just enough light for the steps just ahead of us. “We walk by faith and not by sight.” “Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth, as it is in heaven.” And how, precisely, is it done in heaven? Easily, completely, and joyfully.
Well, we know sometimes it is easy for us to do God’s will, and sometimes it is not so easy at all. The One who taught us how to pray The Lord’s Prayer is the Lord who begged at Gethsemane that the cup be taken from him, if it be the Father’s will. And then he continues, “nevertheless…” You know the rest of the verse. The Way of the Cross was not easy: but it was, I suggest, easy for Jesus to see the futility of his request and to yield to the Father’s will. I suggest, further, that it is easy for us, too: we just don’t like to do it, and our distaste for yielding is what makes it hard. Once we’ve set the distaste aside: easy. Much easier, in fact, to persist, when we are all in and allow ourselves no way out.
Did Jesus pray that prayer with resignation, a sort of sadness that he was still on the hook and there was nothing to be done, or might it be that in that “nevertheless” begins the triumph in his yielding his life on the Cross in atonement for sin, continuing in the Resurrection, proceeding on to the Ascension, and reaching its temporal, historical culmination in Pentecost, the outpouring of the Holy Spirit that makes it possible for you and me to become like Him, Jesus, precisely to the extent we desire? He knew at Gethsemane that if he accepted the Father’s will, victory is assured. He wants us to know that this is true for us, too.
The Holy Spirit, “the Lord and Giver of Life” vivifies the Word and makes the sacraments efficacious. He intercedes for us, advocates for us, and guides us, especially when we feel most lost. It is the Holy Spirit who enables us to offer with Jesus our own “nevertheless,” the offering of which is the beginning of our own victories.
One of the great signs of the Holy Spirit’s effective work in us is our growth in patience. “I want it all, and I want it now!” Isn’t that the anthem of our angry, frustrated age? It leads us only to more anger and more frustration - and to greater blindness as to the way the Holy Spirit is working all around us, and working in us, too — precisely to the extent we let him.
“Unless a seed fall to the ground and die, it will not yield fruit.” So the words of Our Lord. It is the Holy Spirit who empowers us to choose to fall to the ground and die, so that much fruit can be born. A seed falling to the ground generally does not make much noise, and living things desire to live. If you’ve ever witnessed an elderly person dying, you know that mixed with the desire to depart is also the desire to live, and the conflict between acceptance of the inevitable and the natural attempt to avoid it generates the energy that makes dying hard. This falling to the ground and dying is our choosing to lower ourselves, to abase ourselves, so that the Lord may raise us up where He wants us to be — which may or may not be where we want to be.
This is why the spiritual masters speak to us of detachment. St. Ignatius of Loyola spoke of it more as a matter of indifference — it doesn’t matter what one’s circumstances are; what matters is that one is loving God in them. And what is the acid test of love: seeking the good of another. As God is the Supreme Good and possesses all good, to seek his good is simply another way of saying that the acid test of love for us is obedience.
So how do you know if you are growing in the life of the Spirit? It’s not a matter of how much doctrine you have mastered, or how much of the Bible you can quote, or how well you can recite from memory the various novenas, prayers, and other devotions the Church recommends to her children for their edification. All of that is important, but secondarily so. What matters is obedience. If you are growing in your desire to obey, and in your ability to obey, then the Holy Spirit is at work in you whether or not you feel a blessed thing. If the things that used to seem so important or desirable no longer do, well, maybe it’s simply a sign that you’re growing up a little bit — we don’t expect a 70 year-old to behave like a 20-year old, after all —but maybe something deeper is at work. The Holy Spirit changes our tastes and desires, slowly but surely. Yes, sometimes the conversions are dramatic and instantaneous; but often enough, those are like stocks with long bases that “suddenly” break out. More often than not, it’s the day-in, day-out humdrum of it all, the willingness to put in the effort without seeing immediate results, or any results, that signal the Spirit’s activity in our lives. The Spirit’s activity is found in each small decision, one after the other, one after much struggle sometimes, to give up self-seeking and to do what is right not just because it is “right,” but because it pleases God. That’s when love is found. The Lover seeks to please the beloved, because the Lover loves the beloved.
Does this mean that God seeks to please us, as His beloved? Well, yes, it does. But here’s the trick: since He is God and we are not, He knows, not we, what will please us most, and when we are ready for it. It falls to us now to return His love with love of our own, and to do His will for no other reason than that He wants us to. Love does not seek explanations: when it receives them, it is glad, but it knows that the explanations are favors and not entitlements. For us, it is enough, and more than enough, to love. To love God as He ought to be loved, we need His own spirit of love. And so He gives it to us, when we ask, and when we dispose ourselves to receive it.