Reflections on the year past

 AMDG

I, a traveler at rest (with COVID), to you, my brothers and sisters throughout the lands, greetings and wishes of good health to you all.

At weekday mass not too long ago we heard from 2 Corinthians 4, a remarkably consoling and poetic passage. It is also the passage with which I began this blog, and hearing it reminded me that a year ago I was already preparing my blog. As I sit on my porch now, enjoying a refreshingly mild morning with laptop on lap, I remember sitting in the same place last year and typing my vocation story to send to the Jesuit vocations director. When I finished the story, I began the blog.

I spent time reflecting on the last year. It’s been a poundcake year, and this post will just share a few big ideas. One thing I realized recently is that I’m doing it. I’ve gotten involved in ministries I wanted to be in, I’m learning things I wanted to learn, I’m deeply involved in the sacramental life of my church, etc. It’s not perfect. It’s messy. And I’m a mess. But it’s real. I see that part of this is my dogged pursuit of my own goals, and part of it is God providing what I have asked for or needed.

The best thing that I’ve found that there is “to do” to advance reconciliation in the church is to come out, and I’ve been doing that. I have come out as trans to perhaps 10 established friends and coworkers, as well as to many others, and I am trying to get better at being fully honest and forthcoming with my story when it’s relevant. Out of all of these conversations, two have been particularly awkward, but they have all given me and the other person that opportunity to share more deeply with each other. I have received such edification from the personal support of my friends, family, and others I have shared with. And I know that I am a better companion when my love is not impeded by secrets. Looking into the future, I am already aware of the next group of friends to approach. It’s getting easier.

A theme that has come up over the months is companionship. Like a ghost, it haunts both my desires and my personal charism. For example, when you meditate on the narrative of the Transfiguration, what stands out to you? God’s glory? The splendor of Truth? For me it was: the disciples’ pure desire to accompany their Jesus. Jesus’s longing for intimate companionship, to be known, as he brought disciples with him up the mountain. God the Father/Mother’s choice to console the Son not with raw divinity, not with a dove or column of fire, but by sending Moses and Elijah, two men who had shared the road. And Jesus’s gratitude; awe-struck gratitude for the solidarity of Moses and Elijah, and the tender gratitude that leads to a hug when the disciples offer words of support on the way down. I can’t say enough about it, but I can start by saying I’m grateful. Grateful for all the deep conversations I’ve had with old friends and new. Grateful to walk with others in some of their challenges. But I’m also wanting. Like a Francis looking for his Clare or an Ignatius looking for his Francis Xavier, I sense there is something in this world that falls short of what I have with God but which satisfies more than my current situation. I taste it among the Jesuits. I held it for a moment in a fleeting friendship. And I am looking for it, praying for it, and trusting God to bring about something good.

My final reflection is on hope. I recently went on a silent retreat and was confronted unexpectedly with my lack of hope. I have real hope for the church. I have real hope in the “long arc of the moral universe.” But for myself, I have had a sort of dry mana hope; I have believed that God is present, that God is in control, and that God is working good things, but I was lacking trust in God’s tender care and belief that God’s plans would bear fruit I could taste. Life is hard. It is a mixture of beautiful and broken things. We all know that and deal with it. After being gravely disappointed in God’s response to my faith last year, I kept up my faith but my personal hope was all but obliterated. I showed up to my silent retreat a year later without an agenda but looking for closure and joy. Among other wonderful gifts I received during the retreat, my spiritual director discovered this lurking wound. And he told me to have hope. Hope that something good is coming soon. This was a difficult command. My nature is to always set low expectations to ward off disappointment. Having experienced disappointment, I lower my expectations. And yet I believe that we are not a Passion people but an Easter people. Not a people of the desert but a people of the Promised Land! For myself, on my retreat, I looked within and found 5 grains of hope. I imagined them that way, like golden grains of rice in my cupped hands. I offered it up, and God has already begun to multiply. It’s a slow thing. A humble thing. And it’s all mixed up with my fears and attachments. Yet if hope is what God asks, hope is what I will offer.

So I go into the next year, already so different from that last, with hope.

The peace of the risen Lord go before you! Pray for me to be steadfast in hope.

Your Other Brother

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