Too much stuff!

One of the paradoxes of the Information Age is the sheer volume of information we are expected to internalize and deal with. Being ethical, decent people, perhaps we run around with a load of guilt because we simply can’t find the time to care about all the things we’re supposed to care about.

Everywhere there’s a newspaper article, a TV spot, a radio segment, a flyer in the mail, a handbill at the supermarket, a knock at the door, a pre-recorded phone call, a letter sent home from school – all of them urging our undivided attention. Each one asks for money, prayers, or a letter to our congressman.

Phew! If you’re like me, you want to go live in the desert and send out appeals asking for undivided attention, prayers and a generous contribution in the postage-paid return envelope provided.

Here’s a sampling of the important things brought to my attention in recent days, stirring in me a sense that I ought to be doing something, or at least unsettled me in one way or another:

Altar girls, neo-paganism among feminists, abortion, denial of care to deformed infants, Satanism and promiscuous lyrics in rock music, welfare reform in Indiana, alcoholism and drug abuse among young people, Crack, the homeless, strident liberalism in the Church, strident conservatism in the Church, problems of the aged, rural poverty, unemployment, the lonely, the Third Secret of Fatima, intellectual arrogance, anti-intellectualism, world peace.

One that drives me crazy is John Huston saying “Give to prevent blindness.”

Believe me, folks, I don’t make light of any of these things. But you and I both know that this is just the tip of the iceberg. You could knock out a list longer than mine.

Among all the things that competed for my attention, here’s what I did something about:

- I made out a check to my parish church.
- I took my daughter to and picked her up from baton practice.
- Saturday I met with my Cursillo group and went to the Full Gospel Businessmen’s dinner meeting; Sunday I went to Mass; and Tuesday I prayed with my prayer group.
- I had a conversation with my wife, an argument with my wife and a de-argumentizing conversation with my wife.
- I hugged my kids.
- I hollered at my kids.
- I mowed the grass.
- I started reading a new book.
- I came to work every day at the best job in the world. (This is my job, you see).
- I prayed for a friend who wasn’t feeling so hot.

All of this is to say that these may not be the right things to do, but somehow they’re going to have to be for now.

God made us fearfully and wonderfully. He knows we can’t take on all of this stuff. That’s why, I suppose, we understand that we are but parts of His Mystical Body – each of us with a role to play, a job to do. We have to depend on Him to lead us into areas that we can do something about. He will teach us. He will guide us.

Perhaps by the very awareness we have of global concerns, we are given a better understanding of the awesomeness of God. I, however, am not awesome. I can’t do something about everything.

written by Thomas A. Russell
first published in the Lafayette Sunday Visitor in July of 1986

Close moments

People who are involved with Cursillo speak of “close moments,” but you don’t have to be in Cursillo to have had a similar experience. Surely you have had one, for example.

Close moments refer to those times when an individual feels particularly close to Jesus Christ, those times shot through, as it were, with the awareness of God.

These moments can come at any time and can last but an instant or go on for a long time. Nothing I know of in my Christian experience compares with a close moment with Jesus.

It’s helpful to reflect on these times in our experience. They bolster our confidence in times of pain. They are a practical assist to a faith sometimes gone dry. They remind us that God is with us even when it doesn’t seem like it.

I have learned that there is nothing I can do to cause such an experience. Jesus is the Master of the encounter. Indeed, a person doesn’t necessarily have to be a believer. Paul, on the road to Damascus, certainly was no believer. Stories of conversion experiences abound, wherein a hardened sinner turns around owing to a close moment with God.

If Jesus Christ chooses to reveal himself to someone, there doesn’t seem to be much the individual can do about it.

As I grew up, I believed close moments (although I didn’t call them that) were reserved for saintly mystics.

I love the story of St. Francis of Assisi experiencing ecstasy. He cried out, “Enough, Lord, enough!” Apparently that close moment went on and on.

There’s the story of St. Catherine of Sienna being held in such rapture that her sisters believed she was dead. Her confessor had to come and call her back to the real world, so to speak. She cried, the story goes, because she became separated from her union with Christ. Another long one.

I’ve come to find out that Jesus does reveal himself to lowly and unworthy and ordinary persons like me – just plain folks who don’t have a mystical bone in their body.

Let me share with you a couple of close moments.

My son, John, is five. When he was three, my wife, Elizabeth, reported to me what John had told her one morning. She had written it in his baby book.

John said, “He made my sore better! He came into my room last night. He walked in and said, ‘I didn’t know you had a Mickey Mouse bed.’ And He made my sore come out! Jesus did! He called me my name! He called me John!”

Doubtless it was a close moment for John. But I cannot recall that little story without remembering the close moment I had with Jesus the first time I heard it.

Another time, I was returning from Holy Communion. I wasn’t feeling particularly joyful. In fact, I wasn’t feeling much at all. To be sure, I wasn’t running my mouth as I am wont to do. On this occasion, Jesus got a word in edgewise.

I was making my way between chairs toward my seat and everyone began to sing, “Yahweh, I know you are near.” It is not within my power to express to you the experience of what happened in that moment. It was as if my whole being was transformed, from that to this, from the old Tom to the new Tom. I could not stay the same.

Who can say? He touched me. Tears came into my eyes. The experience was physical, mental and spiritual – all encompassing. It was mighty and powerful, yet incredibly gentle and sweet. It was awesome yet peaceful, joyful and life-giving.

I shall always be grateful for the gift of that moment – an instant, really, of eternity.

written by Thomas A. Russell
first published in the Lafayette Sunday Visitor on June 15th, 1986