Herencia

“A deep sleep fell upon Abram, and a great, dark dread descended upon him” (Genesis 15:12).

On this cloudy Sunday morning, as I look at the colorless sky, I feel for Abram. I feel for this wanderer who wonders about his future. He believes, but he worries. He trusts, but he fears. He dreams, but he dreads.

Are you with me? Are we not with Abram? Even when we converse in the presence of God, we have uncertainty. We have confusion. We have doubt. We have anxiety. We are uncertain we can make a sacrifice of ourselves, in faith. We have confusion about who we are and what we are supposed to do. We have doubt because we see the world going wrong and continuing to go the wrong way. And we have anxiety because we are casting everything we cherish into the abyss (of God), and we don’t know what will become of it all.

Yes, today I feel for Abram. See him fighting the birds of prey that are trying to take away his sacrificial offerings. See him slumber under disturbing dreams, while God sends mysterious signs of light and smoke and dissolves the veil between dreams and reality. And in the midst of this obscurity, a raising of the stakes. There comes a promise and a covenant: Abram will receive everything. He who has left everything and is letting go of his claim to anything nevertheless will find and enter into everything. This is good news, right? Isn’t it good to be chosen and beloved? Yes, but still … today, the implications of God’s wondrous love feel difficult and hard. I believe … help my unbelief! 

Let us never forget the marvelous signs God has showed us to help us on our way. There have been so many! But let us also not underestimate the heaviness, at times, of faith. Look no further than the disciples Peter, James, and John, thunderstruck when they got a glimpse of God’s glory on the mountain alone with Jesus. A preview of the resurrection and the new creation—and they were terrified. Everything, everything was there, right in front of them. They did not know what to say or do. (At least Peter tried; James and John seem to have been dumbstruck.) Then, a cloud envelops them, and they’re really goners, as God speaks words of love for Jesus the beloved, the chosen, for them to hear.

Then, the moment passes. Now what? How do you carry on, after the transfiguration, after God is made manifest?

Time after time in my life, I come back to this question. I ponder the question on my knees. Living into and after the transfiguration is not easy. Everything is yours, and nothing is yours. Still you can’t hear what God is saying; still you don’t know what to say. Still the poor, the mourners, the hungry-thirsty-and-homeless, the meek, and the persecuted are waiting for your love. Are you ready? Are you ready to throw it all away, for God’s sake?

As I sit pleasantly but quietly, uncomprehending most of what the friars are saying at mealtime, this is literal for me. As the poor sit and stretch out their hands on the crowded, dangerous avenues and streets, this is literal for me. As I lift up my eyes to the mountains, this is literal for me. Abram, Peter, James, and John are here, and they are my companions. 

Here, at the convent; here, in the mountains; here, in the streets, God’s luminous mysteries envelop me. God opens my eyes, my ears, and my lips. I want them to open more; still they feel so closed. God loves me and sends me people to love. I want to give and receive more love; still I feel and give so little. God helps me to say Yes, and I say Yes. Still I want to say Yes more, because I know other words get in the way. God, give me all of this, again and again.