Interior Catholic

  • Luke 18:31–34

    And taking the twelve, [Jesus] said to them, “Behold, we are going up to Jerusalem, and everything that is written of the Son of man by the prophets will be accomplished. For he will be delivered to the Gentiles, and will be mocked and shamefully treated and spit upon; they will scourge him and kill him, and on the third day he will rise.” But they understood none of these things; this saying was hid from them, and they did not grasp what was said.

    Time and time again, Jesus’s disciples just don’t get it. “I will die,” Jesus says, “but will return on the third day.” And the disciples look at one another, scratching their heads, and say, “huh?”

    It’s not like Jesus is talking in riddles. Sometimes he did, but sometimes he told them exactly what was going to happen. “I’m going to die.” Gasp! Shock!
    “Not you,” Peter said. “I will protect you with my life.” Jesus may be human, but he can’t possibly die. He’s the Son of God, so he’s above such moral deeds, right?

    Here’s the foundation for the disciples’ confusion: what we think, and what God thinks, doesn’t often line up. Even though Jesus plainly states “I’m coming back,” it doesn’t coincide with their preconceived notions of what death means. (Not that I can blame them.) Despite listening to Jesus’s sermons over three years, the disciples are still clueless human beings.

    And that’s a beautiful thing. Because I—who don’t have the benefit of literally walking beside him—have that tendency, too. In the moment, a situation or a teaching doesn’t make sense. It’s like I’m constantly a child who needs direction, but don’t understand my parents’ teachings. So I do my own thing, which ultimately doesn’t work. And that just like the disciples, who later scatter in mass confusion when Jesus dies.

    But hope is not lost for these clueless disciples. It gets better: Eventually, they get it.

    Then the other disciple, who reached the tomb first, also went in, and he saw and believed; for as yet they did not know the scripture, that he must rise from the dead. —John 20:8–9

    This is their “ah ha!” moment. Jesus was dead, but Peter and John went to the tomb and saw… nothing. You can almost see the slow, steady grind of mental gears as they piece it together. It had been three days. The tomb was empty. Maybe… he came back?

    Retrospect is a wonderful thing.

    Consider the book of Isaiah. There are a lot of weird, confusing prophecies in there, some of which we understand now only after they’ve occurred: The pregnant virgin. The sacrificial Lamb. It’s so obvious now, but this had to be a whole lot of nonsense before Jesus came on the scene. And there’s even more in that book that’s still incomprehensible. The end times, visions of fiery judgement and a new Earth. We can speculate, but as far as I know, there hasn’t been any fiery judgement. Yet.

    In the meantime, there’s a lot here, now, that we just don’t get. It doesn’t have to be as complicated as the end of the world. Like, why do we continue to make the same mistakes? Or waste time in the wrong job/relationship/situation? In those moments, we don’t see them as wrong. We think that job is the ideal, or that relationship will last forever. But once we get out of a situation, we’re not trapped by our own biased point of view. Perhaps we see it more like God does, from an omniscient perspective. Just like the disciples discovering the empty tomb, we understand what we’re seeing and wonder how in the world we missed it before.

    That’s part of the learning process, and that’s God. A lot of Jesus’s preaching simply didn’t make sense, because He didn’t allow the disciples to understand it yet. If we’re born with the instinctive ability to never make a mistake, then we never learn. We’d never understand the wonder of “getting it,” or thank God for getting us out of an awkward or difficult situation. If the disciples immediately understood that Jesus was to return, there would be nothing amazing about His coming back. The learning process includes that time of hopeless, mass confusion. Because when it passes… the tomb is empty. Sometimes, we need to feel a little lost to appreciate what we’re being taught—and what we’ve been saved from.

  • Gift of Music

    While in college, I briefly considered a music major. I spent most of my free time in the music building, between various ensembles and lessons, so most people thought I was already was. I’d even spoken to the department head about it, a woman I was close to, anyway, for being the band director. But the idea was fleeting. I’m not an educator or a pro-level performer, and any other musical career was a foreign concept. I ultimately stuck with my writing major, a useful skill regardless of my future career.

    Unfortunately, that means I fell away from music after graduation. My parents sold the piano from lack of use; my flute was stashed in a closet somewhere. Sometimes I’d dust it off for special church services, but I never did anything close to actual practice. When faced with a keyboard, I barely remembered how to read bass clef. It depressed me (12 years of lessons!), but with my non-musical path, it didn’t seem all that important.

    Music was outside the realm of “real life,” something to enjoy in the background while I drove or blasted while cleaning the apartment. I didn’t think myself good enough for performance—where would I play, anyway?—until a friend recruited me for her community orchestra. Despite my hesitations, I attended rehearsal. There, something clicked. As I drove home afterward, I remembered. Cruising down Route 3, which had uncommonly light traffic, I rolled down the window and cranked the classical station. In that moment, I understood that music was an essential part of my being. I had found myself again.

    I was always annoyingly talented at music. I was the kid who didn’t practice and got first chair in band. I received a music scholarship without even knowing I was eligible. Music was fun, and while it didn’t end up being my career, it was more than just a hobby. Its absence made me incomplete, and its renewed presence sparked my love for life again.

    We’re often asked how we can use our spiritual gifts for God. I would reluctantly volunteer my writing or Internet skills, but my heart wasn’t in it. I doubted that my special calling was to update a group’s Facebook page. But when my local parish hosted a ministry fair, I gravitated toward the music table. There were plenty of behind-the-scenes ministries I would be good at, because those were the ones I’d volunteer for in the past. But this made sense.

    That is a spiritual gift.

    In my old church, I’d play a solo offertory hymn and call it a day. Here, I was to be part of Mass itself. My first musical church experience was for a prayer service. It was a low-key way to gauge my ability, one that left the music director asking when I’d play again. I’m still that annoyingly talented kid. It isn’t enough to play in community groups or to arrange music with no musical training, as much as I enjoy them. Now, I’m finally giving back to God. It’s like blasting music on the drive home from rehearsal, but better.

    I once considered myself “not very good” because I didn’t get that music degree. Now, I consider myself an “amateur professional.” Music brings definition to life, and someone of my talent helps that definition. Not just for myself, though that’s important for honing the gift. But also for others, in the ways I bring music to the Church and to the community. Music provides meaning. I’m not pro-level, but I’m still a musician.

And they said to him, “Inquire of God, we pray thee, that we may know whether the journey on which we are setting out will succeed.”

And the priest said to them, “Go in peace. The journey on which you go is under the eye of the LORD.”

—Judges 18:5–6

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