Thoughts and Prayers...and One Leap of Faith

My little prayer corner - a statue of Our Lady of Guadalupe from a priest friend; a gifted crucifix that was in my office during many years of youth ministry, and an image of St. Mary Magdalene from Jessie Wagnon, who I am pleased to call a friend.

I left a job I love.

I booked a last minute international plane ticket to take care of my parents.

I said goodbye to friends.

I travelled for over 24 hours and rode 3 more hours to my parents' empty house.

I bounced between two different hospitals to speak with doctors in a language I didn't always understand.

I was starting to settle in as "daughter."

And then, because of visa requirements, I had to come back to the US.

I landed at SFO tired but relieved to be back on American soil because at least if something happened here, I could navigate it in a language I know.

I turned on my phone and the first thing I saw was that two kids had died as a result of gun violence while at school waiting for Mass to begin. I took a deep sigh and shook my head in sorrow, "Welcome back to America."

I thought about it as I disembarked. I thought about it as I went through customs. I thought about it as I grabbed an overpriced sandwich and waited at my gate.

I thought about it as a dragged my bags up three flights of stairs to my apartment.

And here I am a couple of weeks later, still thinking about it because the violence didn't stop on August 27th. I don't have any answers. I don't have a five point plan to ensure that kids aren't in danger because they go to school, and I don't know how to protect high profile figures from being targeted at their rallies.

I've been described as a delicate person, and I can barely keep myself afloat some days, but I can say with confidence that what Mother Teresa said is still true: "If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other." I am disturbed not only by the violence we've witnessed in the US and around the world but also by the way we have allowed the polarization that comes after it. I'm disturbed by the way we ask first "who was the shooter and what were his/her motivation, political viewpoints, and assocations?" While I agree with the need for justice, I do not agree that we should blame first and mourn second. That method doesn't speak of reason; it speaks of selfishness.

Really, I don't know all of the answers, but I do know that for me, thoughts and prayers may be a little more necessary than we realize, especially for those of us who have nothing else to offer. In the past month as I've sat by hospital beds, I've felt more inadequate and powerless than ever. I don't know the best courses of treatment for my parents who I love. I don't know the mechanics of a catheter or how to use a PEG tube. I only know how to pray, and it turned out that for me, in that moment, that was enough. But for the caregivers who changed my mother's dressings over a severe bedsore and the doctors who guided the medical needs of my dad, a little more than prayers were necessary and appropriate to their abilities.

It all reminded me of the place I go to most often when I find myself in distress: the Passion of Christ. In my prayer, I sat at the tomb of Jesus where Mary Magdalene had nothing to do but weep in the dark, having been left by the apostles. (John 20) I have had moments where I've been angry at Peter and John for leaving Mary, a single woman, at the tomb by herself. Who knew what dangers would have awaited her? But I've been wondering if maybe they went somewhere to pray; maybe they went to tell the others what had happened. I'm not entirely sure, but I also have an admiration for Mary Magdalene for staying at the tomb, havnig an intimate moment with the Lord, and receiving instruction from Him on what she should do. (“Stop holding on to me, for I have not yet ascended to the Father. But go to my brothers and tell them, ‘I am going to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.’") The point is no longer that she was left alone but that she waited, listened first for what to do...and then she did it.

And perhaps this is where the answer lies for all of us: Listen, contemplate, and then act. It doesn't have to happen in one instance, but it happens by taking one step:

St. Mother Teresa took one step off the train to tend to the poorest of the poor in Calcutta.

St. Maximilian Kolbe took one step out of line to lay down his life for a Jewish man destined to starve to death in Auschwitz.

St. Therese of Lisieux took one step into the convent and became one of the greatest missionaries of all time, humbly proclaiming the little way.

St. Jose Sanchez del Rio's journey towards martyrdom began with one bloodied step as he bravely proclaimed, "Viva Cristo Rey!"

These are just a few small examples of what can happen with prayer and the first step. And of course, it will look different for all of us. In the (paraphrased) words of St. Carlo Acutis, God doesn't make copies; he makes originals. And I am certain that the Almighty Creator of all mourns the death of any of his original creations whether we count them among our friends or not. But he doesn't stop there. There is more to come; there is Resurrection, and after that there, is Pentecost.

It's a lesson that I'm still learning, very imperfectly if I must say so. It's thoughts. It's prayers. It's one step forward. And sometimes it's not my own thoughts or prayers that are the most helpful. It's not always my own effort driving me forward, but I am grateful and dependent on the thoughts and prayers of others because without them, I'd remain at the tomb. And that's not where I am meant to be. Instead, I will receive whatever the Spirit desires to grant me, whether it's a thought, a prayer, or one small leap of faith.