Heaven – Daily Graces

Sometimes, the Holy Spirit speaks in sweet whispers, sometimes through the words or actions of other people. Sometimes, in the stillness of a sunset or in the beauty of a soaring falcon.

Or, in work. Sometimes, for me at least, the Holy Spirit speaks to me in extra work. Today, I am frantically writing my Gospel reflections that are due to the Diocesan blog. The blog asks that the writers submit their reflections 3-4 months in advance so that they can be translated into Spanish as well. This is great!

However, it’s less great when I am rushing, don’t pay attention to the calendar on the USCCB website which I use to find out what Gospels I’m reflecting on. Sometimes, when I’m switching from the calendar view to the day view, the calendar bounces back to my current month, rather than staying ahead. And sometimes, like today, I completely disregard the gigantic letters telling me that this calendar is for August instead of January.

So, now I have a lovely reflection for August 21, 2023. Yes, that date has passed. Thankfully, God’s words are eternal so rather than wait 3 years for the cycle of readings to come back around, I’ll just share it here.

I know that this is a moment of humbleness and appreciation for the inspiration the Holy Spirit gives me for these reflections. And while I’m not complaining, maybe He could clue me into the plan before I get a full blown reflection written and nearly submitted. Maybe, but let’s be honest, clearly His ways are not my ways. And also clearly, His ways will always be the best ways.

“Teacher, what good must I do to gain eternal life?” Wouldn’t it be so nice there was some kind of checklist we could utilize to get into heaven? That’s essentially what this young man is asking for. What can I do in exchange for heaven? As if heaven was a car (or in his case, I guess camel?) to be purchased in exchange for a specific amount of money.

Jesus, in His pastoral way of teaching, engages in conversation with this young man. He offers a broad answer to the man’s specific question. When the man insists further, wanting to know the bottom line so he can check that box and move on with certainty, Jesus lays it all on the line for him.

Heaven isn’t a prize to be won or an achievement to be earned. Heaven, salvation, is a free gift of God’s love and goodness. Heaven is something we receive.

Think about a football player who wants to make a winning touchdown catch. If he’s holding a water bottle, extra cleats, a sweat band, and a marker for autographs while waving to the crowd, he’s never going to catch anything. He has to have his hands completely empty, and his whole mind and body are focused on that single catch.

Eternity with God isn’t something we can earn. We will never be good enough, deserving enough, or great enough. This sounds disheartening, but I find St. Térèse of Lisieux’s elevator metaphor to be so perfect for when the reality of our unworthiness is on display. Térèse said,

“I, too, would like to find an elevator to lift me up to Jesus, for I am too little to climb the rough stairway of perfection….The elevator which must raise me to the heavens is Your arms, O Jesus! For that I do not need to grow; on the contrary, I must necessarily remain small, become smaller. O my God, You have surpassed what I expected, and I want to sing Your mercies.’”

Jesus’ greatest desire is for all of us to be in Heaven with the Father. We come to heaven, not by our own merits, but by His. We have to receive them with open hands, unencumbered by pride, selfishness, vainglory, or greed for the prizes of this world. When we lift those empty hands, as Térèse says, we will be raised up in the arms of Jesus Himself, to go to the Father who loves us dearly.

This video will be live September 1, 2023

Mother’s Day was just a few days ago, as I’m sure you all well know. It’s hard to miss the flowers, cards, and gigantic balloons (at least they were at our grocery store, the kids loved them!). At our Mass on Sunday, and many churches regardless of denomination, there was a special blessing for mothers and we were given a rose.

I happened to be the one holding Eliza, now almost 16 months old and full of her own spunk and will, so naturally I brought her to the front with me for the blessing and flower. During the course of the blessing, she caught notice of the yellow rose and lunged. What followed was a rather comical tug-o-war between she and I over that rose. At first she managed to simply bruise a few petals, but that’s when her desire to fully experience that rose kicked in. I nearly dropped her while trying not to smack the woman next to me with that tempting rose. Despite my best efforts, she managed to get a hand on it and began squeezing the bloom within an inch of its life. I did salvage some of it, now rather lopsided and looking less than full.

We still brought the damaged rose home, along with a few extras the girls received after Mass concluded. It is in our bouquet on the dining table. As I pass it, I meditate on how it is actually the bruised rose that offers the fullest representation of what motherhood is.

On Mother’s Day, motherhood is held up as the crown of roses it is. Mothers, those with us and those who await us, are celebrated, cherished and loved. And this is both wonderful and important. But Monday always comes. And Tuesday, and Wednesday, and every day after that. GK Chesterton so wisely said, “A crown of roses is also a crown of thorns.”

There are moments of motherhood that are bursting with roses, and those when you are acutely aware of the thorns. And this is true for all vocations.

It makes me wonder whether or not roses had thorns in the Garden of Eden. When everything was in perfect balance, would roses have needed thorns? Before the Fall of Adam and Eve, they lived in perfect harmony with creation and with God. Now, as products of that fall from grace, sweetness is mingled with sour, joy often contains a tinge of sorrow, a rose has a thorn. It goes both ways though, for even in sadness we find hope.

We look to the Cross for our prime example of this. When Jesus died, we don’t call it “Sad Friday”, but “Good Friday”. Here is the most awful, horrific thing that could happen to a human being. Yet we call it “good,” because through this terrible sorrow, the whole course of human history was redirected heavenward.

I hope that the vocation you follow is one blessed with abundant roses, even knowing that mixed in there will be thorns. May the beauty of the rose inspire you to look for the beauty and goodness in your life, even in the midst of the thorns.