In challenging times one can always find a hidden invitation from God to reassess, reprioritize and refocus on things that truly matter. Now that our ordinary daily routine has ground to a halt, we have time for sober reflection and insight into the unfortunate situation in which we find ourselves. What can we learn?
Holy Scripture offers more than a few examples of insight born from adversity; not just personal struggles, but total community upheaval. During the sixth century B.C., the Babylonian Empire invaded Jerusalem and exiled its residents – God’s chosen people – not only from their homes but from their country. Life as they knew it was immediately and radically changed. This was not just a matter of relocating to their new ruler’s city of Babylon; their entire system of worship was uprooted. They believed the Temple of Jerusalem was the only place on earth where one could offer true worship to God. The Temple was His footstool and meeting place; the Holy of Holies dwelt within. The forced exile of the People of God, combined with the complete destruction of the Temple, must have felt like a divine revocation of the Promised Land. For the next 70 years they lived as outcasts longing for their homeland. Psalm 137:1 recalls their pain: “by the rivers of Babylon we sat and wept when we remembered Zion.” It was a devastating experience, which at the time seemed to extinguish the holy flame that was to become a light to the nations (Is. 49:6).
The people of Israel would eventually realize that their struggle had the unexpected, but divinely intended, effect of making the light of their faith shine brighter. Amid their suffering, Israel’s prophets began to develop important themes born from their experience; such as not to rely on princes and rulers, or even their own status as a nation. They were to rely only on the intimate and providential hand of God: “For I, the Lord your God, hold your right hand; it is I who say to you, ‘Fear not, I am the one who helps you’” (Is. 41:13).
As for their separation from the Temple, those individuals who lacked true devotion could no longer hide behind a mere pretense of ritual sacrifice and prayer. Only those who allowed themselves to be purified by suffering were able to find spiritual consolation, eschew despair, and hope for the restoration of the Temple to serve God in freedom and purity. They also had to grapple with the sobering prophetic message that the exile was the action of God’s sanctifying hand. In short, they needed it. God intended it for the good of His people and, through their faithful witness, for the good of all the nations.
Admittedly, our situation is far less dramatic and severe than the Babylonian Exile. Nevertheless, our pain and uncertainty is real. Some are experiencing the loss of loved ones. Many are facing illness. All are experiencing disruption to their daily lives, anxiety and fear about their health and economic future. Access to the sacraments has been severely limited. Our pain teaches the same lesson: adversity can purify faith and strengthen our reliance on God’s providence.
Like the Judahites before the exile, familiarity and routine in times of prosperity have a way of distancing us from consideration of our ultimate destiny. Daily life and cradling societal structures provide us with an immediate sense of security – but not without a cost. The eternal horizon can recede from view. Shortsightedness causes larger considerations to withdraw. God becomes an occasional academic question, while reflection upon one’s purpose and life’s true meaning retreats from the mind. Then, when our fragile temporal securities are shaken, the full weight of the present hardship can leave us hopeless and in fear. Even the most conscientious believer is not immune. Without the farsighted vision afforded by a strong faith, the Christian once given sight is in danger of becoming blind again.
The practice of one’s faith extends beyond an hour on Sunday or the occasional moment of existential anxiety. Authentic religious faith is lived.
Let this not be our fate. Our faith must rise to the occasion and enable our vision to see past the current moment. We must keep the eternal horizon in view by continually recalling that “here we have no lasting city, but we seek the one that is to come” (Heb. 13:14). With our bearings set to true North, we can reassess and reprioritize our lives. Questions of purpose and meaning come into focus. The practice of one’s faith extends beyond an hour on Sunday or the occasional moment of existential anxiety. Authentic religious faith is lived. Faith rightly becomes the compass that guides us not only on our larger path, but even in the daily course of our life. This is the trusting faith that Christ asks of us:
Can any of you by worrying add a single moment to your life-span? Why are you anxious about clothes? Learn from the way the wildflowers grow. They do not work or spin. But I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was clothed like one of them. If God so clothes the grass of the field, which grows today and is thrown into the oven tomorrow, will he not much more provide for you, O you of little faith?
So do not worry and say, ‘What are we to eat?’ or ‘What are we to drink?’ or ‘What are we to wear?’ All these things the pagans seek. Your heavenly Father knows that you need them all. But seek first the kingdom [of God] and his righteousness, and all these things will be given you besides. (Mt 6:27-33)
Living this way, the believer with heightened vision becomes sensitive not only to God's greater plan but also to the immediate working of His providential hand in the smallest details of our personal life. Each is important. Inextricably bound by the threads of time, as the mustard seed becomes a tree, one gives rise to the other. The small acts of providence give rise to His greater plan. Like the Holy Virgin at the Annunciation, we would see and surrender to the movements of grace stirring before our very eyes that ultimately give birth to the extraordinary work of God in our life and in the world. This is the first and greatest lesson that we can learn at this moment.
Monsignor Patrick J. Winslow is vicar general and chancellor of the Diocese of Charlotte.