This past weekend, I helped lead a retreat celebrating the 40th anniversary of the daily devotional Living Faith at the Marianist Retreat and Conference Center just outside St. Louis. I know that many of you are familiar with Living Faith and its impact. I am grateful for my long affiliation with Living Faith, having been a contributor for about 37 of those 40 years! I estimate I’ve written about 600 reflections over the years, and I can still remember the excitement of that day back in 1987 when my first reflection was accepted.
Speaking of remembering…I thought I would share with you a small part of one of my retreat presentations – about the importance and spiritual benefit of prayerfully remembering our lives of faith and the goodness of God over the course of our lives:
When we remember, we begin the process of gathering up the fragments of our lives (we re-member them) so we can tell our stories, along the way revealing patterns that we perhaps didn’t realize existed and leading us forward to the next stage of our lives. Sometimes we don’t know what we know about ourselves (we don’t remember what we don’t remember) until we begin to write them out or tell them to another person. This is so often what I do when I write Living Faith devotions.
This morning, I want to ask you to reflect on your lives of faith. To begin to re-member your lives of work and service to your families, to your Church and to the world. For you have all lived those lives and are still living them right now in various ways. I don’t know how you have all lived your lives but I can make some guesses. You have raised families and volunteered at your parishes and in your communities. Maybe you taught or cared for others in the field of medicine. Maybe you were a first responder or you worked at or ran a business. Whatever you did, however you spent your days, the lives you have been called to were not solitary lives but communal and engaged ones. You have preached the Gospel with your words and with your actions, amidst the noise of a busy world and in the silence of your own prayer. You have anchored yourselves in prayer and sacrament and church.
You have experienced the joy of the Gospel and, I hazard to guess, you have experienced moments of desolation and confusion about your faith and your calling. Perhaps you sensed a long time ago that you were called to a life that was grounded in prayer and devotion. Or perhaps you are just discovering (or rediscovering) that right now. But you also came to know that prayer and devotion wasn’t all to which you were called. You discovered the joy (and sometimes the pain) of pulling yourself away from quiet times of prayer and heading out into the world, of moving from contemplation to action…of being aware of God not just at mass or in your favorite prayer spot but also in your places of work and ministry. You are people of living faith. You are people of community and leaders in mission to bring Christ to the world.
We are not called to just sit in our lives of faith but, instead, we must have the courage to stand and walk in it. We are not called to be solo Christians, singular people of faith concerned only with keeping to silence and hours of prayer. We are called to be more than enlightened individuals. We are created to be light in our communities, to be in service to one another. We are called to be in communion with God, but we are also called to be in communion with others. This is what makes us church.
God calls us, instead, to lives of action and interaction, to lives that allow others to see an inmost calm at work in us and wonder where they might find such peace for themselves.
One of my all-time favorite movies is Field of Dreams. We all know the most famous line from that film, right? Right at the beginning, Ray is walking through the corn and he hears a voice say: “If you build it, he will come.” (see the clip by going to my blog)
One of my favorite pieces of dialogue comes right after that first scene, when Ray goes inside to have dinner with his wife, Annie, and his daughter, Karin. His wife asks him what the voice said and he replies:
If you build it, he will come.
She replies: If you build what, who will come?
He says: He didn’t say.
And she says, “I hate it when that happens.”
I have come to see this as a model of prayer. We put ourselves somewhere where we can be quiet enough to listen. Like that cornfield that Ray created as a place of encounter with Shoeless Joe Jackson, a bunch of long-dead ballplayers and, eventually, his own father. In the beginning, he is digging around in the dirt and he stops and listens because he THINKS he heard something.
What if God is asking us to build something? What if God is asking for your help to rebuild his Church? How do we answer the question: If we build what, who will come? What is God asking us to build? In our lives of prayer, just like in the movie, sometimes this voice is not very clear or overly instructive. But this, in fact, is the work of our lives, and we don’t do it alone. We get to do it together. This is what it means to be Church. This is what we live for. This is what God is building in us.
God is building the perfect us in us, the perfect church in us, if we will only let him.
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