Our Circumstances in His Story

I write this on the Feast of St. Joseph, during the first week of our American coronavirus quarantine. A week ago yesterday the World Health Organization labeled COVID-19 a pandemic, ushering in a temporary (how long remains to be seen) halt to our normal routine and pace of activity. Unfortunately, we are already getting a glimpse of the devastating impact that such necessary measures will have on our economy and certain people’s financial and physical livelihood. Our prayers rise to heaven for the sick, dying, and dead, as well as all of those faced with economic loss and destitution. 

As we recognize these challenges and tragedies, many of us Americans are faced with a different reality. We are not missing paychecks (yet), we have plenty of provisions to keep us from starving (perhaps we are guilty of taking more than we reasonably need), and we and our loved ones are currently safe and healthy. Yet we find ourselves disturbed, frustrated, anxious or afraid. Some of us perhaps have legitimate reasons for anxiety and fear. Others of us may be struggling with more superficial disappointments, and we are failing to practice gratitude and be faithful stewards of the circumstances that we have been dealt and the time in which we have been providentially placed to live.

Some perhaps face the cancellation of events or travel that were long in the making; and being forced to relinquish those fondly anticipated plans has brought bitter disappointment. Others perhaps sorely miss human contact and the sustaining rhythm of social activities. Still others have become despondent at the disruption of daily and weekly public worship services. Certainly, all Catholics I know who are currently unable to receive the Eucharist feel great sorrow. Others just have a great deal of trouble sitting still and enjoying slowness and solitude. We could discuss the significance of these disappointments, argue over which ranks greatest in terms of loss, justify our feelings, or express frustration about how well or efficiently things are being handled. But ultimately, in terms of our spiritual response to a widespread crisis like this, we all have the same opportunity. 

In his morning reflection on today’s gospel reading, Bishop Robert Barron said this about St. Joseph’s response to his life-long interaction with crisis after crisis: 

“The little we know about Joseph is that he experienced heartbreak, fear unto death, and a parent’s deepest anxiety. But each time, he read what happened to him as a Theo-drama, not an ego-drama. This shift in attitude is what made Joseph the patron of the universal Church.”

As I sat with the gospel and Barron’s words this morning, I reflected on my own typical response to crisis or the disappointment of my plans. Am I living a Theo-drama or an ego-drama? My own personal crisis in the midst of our current social upheaval amounts to nothing more than the disappointment of my plans. But as I continue to reflect, I realize that this reality is only a slight amplification of my daily struggle to let go of what I want and resign myself fully to God’s providence. I keep wanting to write the story my way, in each daily detail. When God reveals a different narrative, I often don’t want to accept it. In my head I have written it all out, and the disappointment floods in when God says—either with a whisper to my heart or the booming voice of circumstance—that’s not the story. 

There’s a wonderful and deeply challenging little book that many of you have probably read and is worthy of continual re-reads: Abandonment to Divine Providence by Fr. Jean-Pierre de Caussade. The message is so simple—the circumstances of our life are God’s will; we need only to abandon our own will to His in that moment, realizing that where we find ourselves by divine providence is where we are meant to live, fully loving God and others. 

We have all heard many people remark recently that it’s no mistake we are living through these challenging times during Lent. Living abandoned to God’s will, according to His plan and His story means that we recognize the daily providence in our circumstances at all times. Our current opportunity is always our opportunity—saying “yes” to God’s story in our circumstances. The lie from the enemy is that circumstances that we don’t want are interrupting our story and disrupting our happiness. God’s truth is that our joy and peace is never disrupted when we willingly live in the only story there is—His.

Copyright 2020 Jessica Ptomey

Eternal Reality

This week I was able to sit at the feet of Jesus, in His presence in the Eucharist. Our parish just started offering Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament for 12 hours every Tuesday, and I jumped on it. I stepped out after dinner dishes and got back in time to help with brushing teeth and bedtime; it was perfect. I had been wanting to establish the habit of regular Adoration for a while—not just experience it here and there at special events or retreats. I had sensed God drawing me into His presence in the Sacrament; and when I knelt facing the Eucharist in the quiet chapel I knew why. 

He knew that I regularly need my vision to eternal reality restored. He knows that I get repeatedly sucked into the world’s version of what is “real.” It can so quickly consume, take over, and distract my heart from living for heaven; and when that happens, I—we all—lose our peace.

In our journey through this life there are endless sources constantly pulling us out of the eternal reality. Numerous siren calls lure us off our heavenly course with compelling whispers: “Maintain your pride, flatter your vanity, shower yourself with comforts.” Slowly we drift from the safe currents of Eternal Truth, sailing for a time among falsely calm waters of what the world assures us is most real. We are suddenly alarmed when we find our ships dashed against perilous rocks. We have lost our anchor in true reality; we’ve become untethered from the eternal.

In the silent power of His presence, I was immersed in the eternal reality. It was as if I had stepped through a veil into another world. I could still see the physical world around me; I knew well what waited for me outside those church doors. But the presence of God and the promise of what will never change—a hope for here and a home being prepared for me—was overwhelmingly present and real to me. I was able to see truly the lies that I let in; I was able to right my course, because I was making myself available to God and cooperating with His grace. When we run to Him, He draws us into His harbor, which always restores our eyes of faith to a supernatural view. 

But that ethereal view isn’t visible from every stance. In fact, when we step out into the world away from His presence, there are many vantage points that angle out the eternal perspective. We can’t commune with eternal souls through glowing screens; we are unable to minister to Christ himself when we turn away from the faces that bear His image, faces of poverty and pain that make us uncomfortable. The endless compulsion to acquire more leaves us with less and less assurance of spiritual wealth. The over-extended and margin-less lives we live leave no room for contemplating eternal realities. 

Yet…when we find ourselves at such hopeless vantage points, we may always accept God’s gracious invitation of re-entry into true reality. He is there for us when we choose to step into those moments of grace and locations of His presence. Whether an hour in silent Adoration, a Sabbath Sunday’s inactivity and rest, or the quiet of early (or late) moments in the personal prayer of our “interior castles,” the Father is waiting to change our hearts, right our course, and renew our view of what is eternally real for our human souls. 

We go back into our physical reality with fresh life and clear vision. We live our vocations and look on the people in our lives with eyes of faith: “He who began a good work in you will be faithful to complete it…” (Philippians 1:6). 

I came home from Adoration with the image of that heavenly glow radiating from around the Eucharist; and as I tucked little people into beds, I was aware of that veil of re-entry and the grace extended to see with heavenward vision. 

Copyright 2020 Jessica Ptomey

Christ Has Come to Be with You

Wonderful things often happen when few know they are taking place at that moment. That night in the Bethlehem stable was certainly the greatest of these. Quietly, in the solitary presence of Mary and Joseph, our savior came into our world.

Inns at max capacity and homes full of people slept on obliviously. Kings and rulers in palaces were none the wiser. Only a select few were given the gift of knowing the good news soon after. Humble, ordinary shepherds on a hill heard the angelic announcement that the Shepherd of Souls, from the line of the shepherd-king David, was born. Three kings followed a star that would lead them to the One who sits on the eternal throne.

But at first it was just the Holy Family. Christ’s birth came silently and privately. The great joy of the coming of the Promised One was realized first by this chosen couple. It was intimate and personal, the opposite of the birth of any earthly king. 

I had been meditating through Advent this year, and now through this joyous Christmas week, on how the coming of Christ in our hearts, daily, is meant to be the same quiet, intimate, personal experience. He comes to us in our humility. It is not a fanfare on display to the world around us; it is the precious, private stillness of His presence in the mangers of our souls. 

What is of course miraculous is that this is accomplished simultaneously in every heart. His coming to each of us is so personal; it is always our own quiet moment, like a mother’s singular embrace of her baby right after birth. The crowds don’t know what happens here; no loud announcements have yet been made. He just comes to us individually, lighting our darkness, filling us with joy. And then, it is our lives that become the proclamation. We become the angels on the hills; we become the star that shines the way. But it is humble beginnings; it is an intimate initial encounter.

During this Christmas week, seek the quiet, humble stable. Look for His birth in your hearts with new eyes and new appreciation for the intimate and personal way that your savior comes to you. It’s a manger of hay; it’s a cross of wood; it’s through simple bread and wine. It’s in the broken human heart. He comes and transforms us, and once transformed we transmit His glory and radiance to the world around us. 

This truly is the wonder of Christmas: Emmanuel, “God has come to be with us.” He has come individually, personally, to each of us. Embrace the quiet coming of your king. Delight in it. He has come to be with you. 

Copyright 2019 Jessica Ptomey