Turning Back

+ Enlarge

Dear God,

Please forgive me for acting like a selfish, spoiled child this past weekend. You’ve been giving me wonderful opportunities to see your glory, but I’ve refused to lift my eyes from the muck of the petty annoyances of my everyday life.

First was paying bills, a monthly chore that inevitably brings complaints because of the cost of everything from groceries to gas. I should give you thanks that the warmer weather has brought down my energy bills, and also that I have employment that provides an income that allows me to pay my expenses every month, but instead I whine that I have to balance my checkbook.

Then I had to self-isolate for three days because I’d been exposed to Covid. I caught up on my sleep and was able to get through a couple of books on my “To Read” pile, but rather than enjoy the ease I groaned at the things stacking up at work.

Friday I spent most of the morning in the emergency room with a family member on a matter unrelated to the coronavirus, but even though the problem was efficiently dealt with without lasting effects I still resented having my peace of mind disturbed.

Saturday passed without a ripple, but on Sunday I was careless enough to lock myself out of my car just before Mass started. The original estimate for the tow truck arrival was an hour, but we hadn’t even gotten through the first reading when I got the call that the guy was 10 minutes out. He not only got the car door open without difficulty, he also made me feel like a person who’d made a mistake, not an idiot whose stupidity had caused him to be dragged out on a rainy Sunday morning.

Speaking of the rain, I should have trusted you to hold off until after the outdoor prayer, but instead I was impatient for the Mass to be dismissed so we could get to the event before the skies opened up. No rain came, but nevertheless I left shortly after the prayer started because I’d been foolish enough to leave my jacket at home, and I got too cold to stand there and pray.

I feel like the guests invited to the wedding feast in the parable in Matthew 22. They’re the ones who ignored the invitation, or went away, or mistreated the messengers who brought the invitation. This parable was the basis of last week’s reflections in the “The Little White Book,” and I’m thinking I should probably pay attention to the fact that the king’s response is, “those who were invited were not worthy to come,” so he tells his servants to go out into the streets and “invite to the feast whomever you find.”

By virtue of my Christian baptism, I have an engraved invitation to God’s banquet. Looking at my recent behavior, though, I see that I’ve set my feet in the opposite direction to the banquet hall.

That realization came after I got home Sunday and began contemplating the Gospel reading, which tells of Peter and a couple of the other apostles going fishing a few nights after the Resurrection. The significance of the risen Christ having appeared to them doesn’t seem to have made an impression. Instead of being transformed by their interaction with the Lord, Peter and six others spend the night on a boat. At dawn, Jesus appears to them once more, and  Peter jumps into the water to go and meet him. This is the same Peter who denied Christ three times just before the crucifixion, but rather than fearing Jesus’ reaction for that betrayal, Peter runs to him like the Prodigal Son to his father.

I, too, should jump into the murk separating me from Christ and splash through it to him, confident that when I arrive he will welcome me, feed me, and urge me once more to follow him.

Marie Mischel is editor of the Intermountain Catholic. Reach her at marie@icatholic.org.