"PATIENCE, hard thing! the hard thing but to pray,
But bid for, Patience is! Patience who asks
Wants war, wants wounds; weary his times, his tasks;
To do without, take tosses, and obey.
Rare patience roots in these, and, these away,
Nowhere. Natural heart’s ivy, Patience masks
Our ruins of wrecked past purpose. There she basks
Purple eyes and seas of liquid leaves all day.
We hear our hearts grate on themselves: it kills
To bruise them dearer. Yet the rebellious wills
Of us we do bid God bend to him even so.
And where is he who more and more distils
Delicious kindness?—He is patient. Patience fills
His crisp combs, and that comes those ways we know."
--Gerard Manley Hopkins
On a walk with my father last fortnight, I confessed the need to reexamine my life in light of a recent shift in my economic stability.
"I think," I said, "that I need at least today and tomorrow to brainstorm, but I feel guilty for taking those two days."
He paused and replied, "I think you should take two months."
The world is currently in crisis, and I fear being weighed, measured, and found "nonessential." A very small percentage of this desire is virtuous and natural: it is indeed an "all-hands-on-deck" situation for humanity, and not to assist within the scope of my powers would be tantamount to desertion of fellow troops in battle. However, the majority of this desire is nothing more than that old bugbear, pride. It is a demand that I not only be useful/heroic/unique/indispensable but seen as such by others. I gather signs that read "productive member of society" about me as a shield against anyone looking too closely at my other vices. If I "have my pride," who would bother? Except, of course, God.
I was discussing this impulse with a friend, who said something very insightful to me: "Perhaps, pausing can be a prayer." Indeed.
I was discussing this impulse with a friend, who said something very insightful to me: "Perhaps, pausing can be a prayer." Indeed.
With your kind indulgence, dear reader, I would like to reflect on "pausing as prayer" in light of today, Holy Saturday.
The first Holy Saturday was a theological contrast. First, on earth, it was a day of mourning and rest. The disciples were resting for the Sabbath while mourning The Lord's death. Also, our Lord's body was resting in the tomb. An early anonymous homily for this day begins: "What is happening? Today there is a great silence over the earth, a great silence, and stillness, a great silence because the King sleeps."
Beyond the bounds of the cosmos, however, it was quite busy. The "Harrowing of Hell" (more accurate to call it the "Harrowing of Hades" (Note 1)) was occuring. Christ's spirit, having descent to the state (realm?...again, see Note 1) of the dead was redeeming the just. The battle to kill death forever, seemingly lost on earth, was being won in the afterlife. In short, it was nothing like the quiet on earth.
I believe that the periods of quiet, of rest, (and yes, of mourning) in our life are a bit like Holy Saturday. Not much appears to be going on corporeally, but God can accomplish a whole host of things in us spiritually during these times. When we take time to pause, to reflect, and to mourn, God plants seeds in us that will sprout when they are needed (Note 2).
Of course, I am certainly not making the argument that as one of young and healthy disposition, I should not be helping with the immediate crisis how I can. (In other words, I am not making the argument for an eight hour Netflix binge as a spiritual practice). What I am saying is that, having suddenly found a vast swath of my life is seemingly superfluous to the current state of the world, it is right and good that I should not know where to go next. It is okay to seem, for the time being, nonessential (Note 3).
I believe that the periods of quiet, of rest, (and yes, of mourning) in our life are a bit like Holy Saturday. Not much appears to be going on corporeally, but God can accomplish a whole host of things in us spiritually during these times. When we take time to pause, to reflect, and to mourn, God plants seeds in us that will sprout when they are needed (Note 2).
Of course, I am certainly not making the argument that as one of young and healthy disposition, I should not be helping with the immediate crisis how I can. (In other words, I am not making the argument for an eight hour Netflix binge as a spiritual practice). What I am saying is that, having suddenly found a vast swath of my life is seemingly superfluous to the current state of the world, it is right and good that I should not know where to go next. It is okay to seem, for the time being, nonessential (Note 3).
So I will pause. I will pray. I will have my Holy Saturday.
I will strive to listen to that Small Whispering sound in the heart:
Do what you can. As for the rest, wait and see.
Do you hear, in the quiet, My work within you?
Do you hear, in the quiet, My work within you?
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| Image Credit |
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Note 1: The so-called "Harrowing of Hell" does not mean that the just who died before Christ's sacrifice were damned. This is a theological subject touching on controversial heterodox concepts, and I am not qualified to expound upon it. For the purposes of this reflection, I read this and this beforehand.
Note 2: I got this metaphor from the hymn Holy Darkness by Dan Schuette, (which is in turn inspired by St. John of the Cross and his "Dark Night of the Soul," another complex theological topic beyond the scope of my qualifications at this time.)
Note 3: Of course, if you are reading this as a working parent trying to homeschool your child OR if you are a healthcare worker or some other essential worker, this period is hardly a time of pause for you. It must be annoying we artists are behmoning our extra time. However, I hope this article drops some useful gems for the next period of pause in your life, whenever that may be. And thank you for your service.
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