Living in the communion of saints

C said this to me:  Someone once told me that if you seem to be doing something well in life, it means that there are lots of people praying for you...As I grow older, I begin to see more and more the wisdom of this saying.

I couldn't agree more with what he said for I know I have many brothers and sisters blessing me by way of intercessory prayer. The last seven months are proof, for I have, more or less, taken to marriage like a duck to water. Even I am surprised by how easily I have managed to take things in my stride. Not saying that it has all been smooth sailing, or that there haven't been moments of great frustration, deep hurt, and even despair, but all these difficulties seem to have been swept up in the strength of prayer to dissipate momentarily like fine mist in the warm rays of the morning sun.

In these last months, I have been given the wisdom to know what to do: when to hold, when to fold, and when to walk away (thanks, Kenny Rogers). I know the wisdom is not mine but the prompting of the Holy Spirit for the shift from completely clueless to instinctively knowing what to do is indescribable. The knowing is not a dead sure certainty, but instead works through an openness to being led by the Spirit; to be able to go with the flow of the situation, and to respond with flexible and humble sensitivity even when one is feeling quite unforgiving and hard. To be able to speak with gentle diplomacy rather than stubborn pride is remarkable, and I can only thank those who pray for me and desire that both P and I grow in the way of love and understanding in our marriage.

Apart from being a beneficiary of the intercessory prayer of others, it is a healthy spiritual practice to do likewise for those around us. Not only are we reciprocating or paying it forward when we pray for others, a good thing in itself, but we also gain a more grounded perspective and become more outward-looking as people, connecting unselfishly with others. No longer do our own problems consume all our attention. And when we go beyond prayer in helping others, we inevitably help ourselves grow in maturity.

Yesterday P and I attended the 10th anniversary memorial mass of Father Louis Fossion* at Church of the Holy Spirit and I was bowled over by how palpable the love in the room was, the love that the congregation had for this priest. P and I agreed that this man must be a saint for he touched the lives of many and changed the course of history in his own way. Of the eight priests in attendance, more than half became priests due, in no small part, to his influence, his authentic spirituality and lived love for Christ.

At the memorial mass, I realized fully that the communion of saints** is lived not just after we die and attain sainthood (some faster than others), but even as we live and breathe. (Guess it's hard for me to see myself and those around me as saints, most times.) As Father Paul Staes said, we did not come to pray for Father Fossion, but to pray with him. We, and those who are no longer with us, we collectively make up the communion of saints. We are all connected to each other in life and beyond death, and this connection becomes fully activated and alive in prayer. Last night, the communion of saints of both the living and the dead were joined as one, gloriously giving praise to God.

Thus, I not only have the intercessory power of saints official and unofficial to tap on, but the intercessory prayer of my brothers and sisters in Christ as well. They are my communion of saints just as beloved saints like Saint Therese of Lisieux are, and holy men such as Father Fossion who gave his life in service so that many could come to the faith not just in Singapore, but in Mongolia and the Philippines. I can even ask for intercessory assistance from departed loved ones who may still be in purgatory.

As I continue to intercede daily not just for those whom I love, but also those in need of prayer, I would like to thank all who intercede for me for I am grateful that I am doing well in life. Thank you for being my communion of saints.

* To find out more about the amazing and beloved Father Fossion, go to:
http://catholicnews.sg/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=2315:singapores-oldest-priest-dies-at-age-92&catid=98&Itemid=473&lang=en

** The Catechism of the Catholic Church states simply that the communion of saints is the Church. New Advent has this definition to offer : The communion of saints is the spiritual solidarity which binds together the faithful on earth, the souls in purgatory, and the saints in heaven in the organic unity of the same mystical body under Christ its head, and in a constant interchange of supernatural offices. The participants in that solidarity are called saints by reason of their destination and of their partaking of the fruits of the Redemption (1 Corinthians 1:2 — Greek Text). 

Learning to be a serpent-like dove

Yet another birthday has come and gone. This one is different for I celebrated it as a married woman. Initially I did not think anything of it until E highlighted it. It is special for my family has transformed quite significantly. It has grown, just like that. Apart from P, I have two lovely children in their 20s without having gone through pregnancy and childbirth (the best part), and I finally have sisters, together with another brother, who with their spouses and children do add up. I also have a mother-in-law who gives me the sweetest smiles.

While it can get overwhelming at times living in a houseful of people with an über affectionate goldie - as I commented to our Bible-sharing group I went from just having to please my mother to many constituents to serve - I wouldn't change it for the world. God has called me to live out my vocation of marriage and motherhood within this specific milieu and this is where I choose to be.

Reflecting on what has passed in the last year and what will be, the stories of Abraham and his progeny resonate robustly with me. The depth and breadth of faith displayed by Abraham, especially when faced with perceived great personal tragedy of the loss of Isaac at his own hands is inspiring. This can only come from a place of utter humility and obedience based on a level of deep trust.

As Henri Nouwen wrote in a letter to a friend in crisis found in the book Love Henri: You are asked to cling to your Lord no matter what. You are asked to keep praying even when it might seem absurd. You are asked to enter the darkness of not understanding with an ever growing surrender.

Just as I got proficient with my yes in my single life and was seeking a deepening of my relationship with Jesus, He saw fit to put me on a new path where I am a novice again, bumbling around cluelessly. It is not just a singular giant leap of faith I have taken with marriage, but multiple leaps into completely different dimensions with almost every step.

This time, last year, I was journeying towards marriage and looking back, I had many questions, some reservations and even deep fear even though I knew in my gut that P was the right man, and marriage was right for me, for us. Well meaning voices added to my confusion. Then there was the pain of leaving behind my single life which I loved and would miss greatly. I counted the costs, wept over the losses, but like Abraham, left everything behind - the old comfortable way of life to venture into the unknown based on a promise of greater things, a covenant of unimaginable proportions.

With the benefit of hindsight, I can laugh at how I struggled so unnecessarily. And yet, the struggles were vital. Without the struggles, I would not have grown so rigorously. I would not have sought for the healing insights, nor received the transformative wisdom I have since acquired. I would have remained a smaller, weaker person. Less refined and matured, spiritually and emotionally.

Despite seven good months of marriage, I currently feel off my game and more than a little frayed around the edges given my menopausal brain cloud and the physical woes of my fifty something body, but I have no doubt I will find my stride eventually.

Right now, it is time for me to lay low, lay fallow. It's not unlike going back to school to learn many things, chiefly, how I can find my place within my new family, bringing my own distinctive brand of love and care even as I continue to serve the Lord with docility and lightheartedness.

Yesterday's Gospel from Matthew 10:16 is something I will adopt as a theme in the new year: To be cunning as serpents and yet as harmless as doves.

To fulfil my commission well, I not only need to be wise and gentle, but patient and persevering. Where I have failed in the past, I can redeem those mistakes by not repeating them in my new family. I must re-invent myself into a better version of me, a more true version of who I am. The only way I can accomplish the desired integrity and nobility of spirit is if I surrender unquestionably to Jesus.

As I meditated on the sorrowful mystery of carrying the cross yesterday, I was struck by the reflection that stated should I choose to take up my cross, then Jesus and Mary would help me bear it. There is no need to resist so much, to be so beset with worry or fear. Let things unfold as they will, meet each step on the journey with Christ's courage and Mary's grace, even when the hour seems unendingly bleak. All will be well.

I praise God for an amazing year of growing in these last 12 months, and I am grateful His Spirit has been within me all this while, guiding me. I am also thankful for the gift of Mother Mary, who, as the peaceful dove, is the one who will teach me best to be a wife and mother par excellence.

The Lord provides

We were talking about crosses and yokes, and, somehow, the immediate picture conjured up is one of being additionally and heavily burdened, not something one undertakes with enthusiasm. Worse, the cross literally implies crucifixion, death on a cross.

Do I opt for crucifixion if I can avoid it? Not likely. And yet, as the words of the hymn Old Rugged Cross goes, the Cross has a wondrous attraction for me. To add to that, God promises that if we submit to His yoke, we submit to a kind of freedom - to be free of heavy burdens and unbearable yokes. It does not imply that life is without suffering or hardship, but it promises that we need not walk alone, and that Jesus is bigger than our problems, with Him we will always find a way out.

G recently commented that I was travelling much more recently and I laughingly responded that my dry season was over. She replied beautifully that the dry spell was a time of purification, an internalization of God's love, while now is the full expression of God's love, a time for fruition. I couldn't agree more and yet, I have enjoyed my dry season in an altogether different way.

In the intervening years since my Damascus experience, I have felt like the tree in Psalm 1, so rooted in God that I didn't feel the effects of my self-imposed drought. I was putting forth tender, green shoots of faith every day; the branches of my being were dressed in lush foliage, buds of virtue were forming to eventually bloom in profusion. Bumper crops of goodness were enjoyed by self, friends and family alike.

The dry spell was necessary to shape and mature my sensibilities, to bring out the true flavours of the woman I am. I have been tried and tested, and have grown from strength to strength. There is so much joy and satisfaction in the process of self-actualization, and this is one of the greatest benefits of taking up the cross of Christ. Plus, it is only in the desert that one can truly comprehend and appreciate God's providence.

I came to Him weary and heart-sick. When I put myself under His yoke, submitting completely to His will, I was able to receive His divine graces fully. It is the same today, when I am fearful, anxious, when I doubt myself in difficult situations, Jesus is my go-to guy. I lay everything that is out of my control at His feet, and I sit and wait, to figure out what it is I must do.

Sometimes what I am asked to do seems to be a contravention of the covenant established between God and myself. But if I keep saying to the Lord in complete obedience, here I am, just as Abraham did, I will experience extraordinary blessings. My ineffable, almighty and awesome Father always comes through.

Yahweh-yireh, the Lord provides, this is the name given by Abraham to the place on Mount Moriah where he was supposed to sacrifice Isaac, his precious son and greatest hope, as an offering to God, but was instead given a ram with its horns stuck in a thicket to sacrifice just as he was about to sacrifice his son- a reward for his faithfulness.

The Lord always provides, whether we are aware of it; whether we even ask for it. When we walk in His ways, He provides in even greater measure, not just materially, but in myriad, countless ways. It's a question of whether we ourselves can grasp the infinite generosity of the Father's beneficence.

So why wouldn't I want to take up my cross and follow Jesus? Why wouldn't I want an easier yoke or a lighter burden? It always comes down to my own generosity of spirit.

Do I want to give myself totally in service to Him by loving others without reservation or prejudice?

Have I not been shown again and again that I can never outdo Him in generosity, that the more I give, the more I receive?

Is my faith so puny that I refuse to let His power be made perfect in my weakness?

Am I so afraid of failing, of ridicule, that I waste an opportunity to help others experience the joy of being loved unconditionally by the Lord, a joy I myself have known over and over again?

Yahweh-yireh. The Lord provides. I testify to this every day and I have no doubt He will continue to do so in my future. My personal prayer is I keep praising and thanking Him as I hold my cross up with enduring pride. At the same time may I hold lightly in my hands all the gifts He bestows on me, sharing them joyously with others.