At 9:55 a.m. on a Sunday morning, we wrestled one unwilling girl and two boys along for the ride up the mauve-carpeted aisle to the empty front pew beside the music area. Christian put a protesting Julianna at the end by the teen ensemble, where she could have maximum exposure to the music. The community hummed around us as the kids unpacked the church books. Alex shoved The Clown of God into my hand, and even though I hate that book, even though we really don’t read to the kids anymore at church, I obliged, since there were still five minutes before Mass started.
When the guitar began—a very distinct strum pattern—my ears perked up. I knew it, but I couldn’t place it until the teens began singing: Open the eyes of my heart, Lord…
I closed the book, but the music peeled off into silence; they were only checking sound. It was Communion before the song resurfaced, and the arrangement of the pew had shifted; after wrestling Julianna up to Communion, she sat at my end of the row. I closed my eyes and tried to internalize the prayer.
Open the eyes of my heart, Lord, open the eyes of my heart. I want to see you. I want to see you.
It took all of three seconds to realize that this is a very dangerous prayer. Dangerous, because to be open to God is to see things that force us to rethink our most cherished convictions. Any philosophy, any belief, any certainty—however pure and noble and holy—can become an idol, fixed in stone and incapable of responding to a reality that is in constant motion. That doesn’t mean it’s wrong, it just means that it’s become self-serving instead of God-centered. The hallmark of spiritual growth is uncertainty, a painful awareness of how much we don’t know, and a longing, a questing, to understand more, to embrace the unknowing.
I’m going through one of those soul-stretching times right now, largely off the radar of this blog, because the subjects are too personal. Insights into the nature of oneself never come singly; they always pile one atop the next until I’m sure the tower must come tumbling down into a pile of rubble, burying me in the collapse.
Of course, it never does. I’m always grateful for soul-stretching…after it’s done. In the middle of it, not so much. It’s more like a scrabble for traction at the edge of a cliff. But, like seeking a fourth pregnancy, even though large parts of my mind cried out, “Enough!”, being open to God is a conscious choice to look big picture, to focus long-term instead of allowing myself to be overwhelmed by the difficulty of the present.
It would be easier to build my beliefs and philosophies around me. But I know that doing so will only trap me inside, until I discover, too late, that God is all around, and I’m on the wrong side of the wall to meet Him. And so I won’t close the door on further stretching. I’ll keep praying that dangerous prayer. I’ll keep questioning, and seeking, and living with uncertainty, in the hopes that as I stumble along, a power greater than me will keep me from hurtling into the abyss to either side.
Kathleen M. Basi 
not related to the main gist of your posting… but why wrestle Julianna to Communion? You were in the front row so why not let her just stay in her seat. back in the dark ages (when I was a kid) that’s what we did.
Often we don’t, but she spends the whole Mass completely tuned out, staring at books, and we’ve always set a goal of having the kids learn that participation is key as they grow; otherwise, we’re contributing to the generation of people who sit zoned out at Mass instead of putting their hearts into it. Nicholas, at 2, is already standing/kneeling and watching the priest, and (going back to that post about the rules applying to kids w/special needs too) we feel like it’s time to get Julianna a little more involved–the Communion procession, where she gets to have a blessing, at least, is a way to make her see that she has a role and an importance here, too.
“being open to God is a conscious choice to look big picture, to focus long-term instead of allowing myself to be overwhelmed by the difficulty of the present.”
Yes. As we are acclimating a new baby to the family, I am acutely aware of this. Introducing a new family member can be so challenging. The days can seem to drag on, yet they fly by. And in deciding whether to go through it all again, it’s clear that thinking long-term is the way to try and see things through God’s eyes, but our human nature does its best to cloud our vision and keep us focused on the current troubles and challenges.
Coming to grips in my life with the many things I do not know was painful. That is where I had to embrace faith and fight for what i was certain of but could not see. Somethings are based solely on faith. When we ask God to open our eyes, we are in for a blessing.
It IS a dangerous prayer, as is “Break my heart, Lord, for what breaks Yours.” May God bless you in this season of growing. (Growing in the Lord very often feels like having the flu, eh? Or worse.)
I read your #4 post. Congratulations! I’m praying for a #4, myself!
Here from Seedlings in Stone.
I LOVE this post! You’ve summed up the deepening intimacy of my life:
“It would be easier to build my beliefs and philosophies around me. But I know that doing so will only trap me inside, until I discover, too late, that God is all around, and I’m on the wrong side of the wall to meet Him. And so I won’t close the door on further stretching. I’ll keep praying that dangerous prayer. I’ll keep questioning, and seeking, and living with uncertainty, in the hopes that as I stumble along, a power greater than me will keep me from hurtling into the abyss to either side.”
Sometimes the intensity terrifies me, but the sense of joy and grace amidst it ALL is worth it. Like Amy Grant, some day I want people to say “she had her Father’s eyes.”
P.S. I so understand your desire for Julianna… and I wish people no matter how well intentioned, would just pray for parents as they ‘struggle’ with their children in the pews. We got to Church one Sunday, to be greeted with a lecture from the gentleman who sits behind us. He saw our expectations of our daughter (ones she easily met when she wasn’t intent on defiance, BTW) as unreasonable. I spent that whole Mass second guessing myself and feeling very alone… and the Divine Miss O was a perfect angel.
I can totally understand that, Ramona. I have to remind myself that people’s intentions are pure, and wonder how often my own actions, performed with the best of intentions, upset others, too.
“to be open to God is to see things that force us to rethink our most cherished convictions. Any philosophy, any belief, any certainty—however pure and noble and holy—can become an idol, fixed in stone and incapable of responding to a reality that is in constant motion. ” This is a good subject for examination of conscience. A priest I made a retreat with once told me I needed to focus on Jesus more – make Him the center of everything. Being human, though, it’s really easy to fall off the rails.