By Gemma Casanova
No doubt we are all quite familiar—comfortable, even—with the annual tradition of making and breaking resolutions. Because they are only resolutions and not vows, the guilt we feel in dismissing them is slight, manifesting itself in a kind of uneasy, personal disappointment rather than a really stricken conscience.
We console ourselves with the thought that we at least keep up with what is required of us by the church, and those once strong hopes we had to read more, learn more, and practise optional devotions and sacrifices are discreetly put aside because, while commendable, they are not obligatory. We are already so weary. Placing ourselves at the foot of the Cross for a while and consoling Christ, asking him to take that same weariness and all the burdens that come with it… it just seems too exhausting now.
As we slowly drown ourselves in the impermanent affairs of our lives, we forget that the initial enthusiasm in making these resolutions stemmed from the far deeper desire not simply to gain a little discipline and feel better about our slovenly selves, but to become truly great. God calls us all to sainthood, and the remorse we feel at not carrying out our good intentions comes from the humbling knowledge that we are not fully embracing that call, and therefore are not yet saints. This should never lead us to spiritual complacency or discouragement, however. God has made it quite clear that we can attain all the graces necessary for salvation, and how do we begin and persevere with such a task? By asking.
So, if we are to make any firm resolutions this new year, let us begin with one. To pray. As Catholics, prayer must be our way of life. By continually offering God our thoughts, words and deeds, peace, anxieties, joys and sorrows, we really will “pray without ceasing” as the apostle rightly urges us to do. “It was by prayer that the saints reached Heaven: and by prayer we too shall reach it,” says the Curé of Ars. May we begin our day’s labour with the morning offering, a silent petition to St Joseph, a sign of the Cross, the thought of God’s presence in our hearts. May we let our rosaries hang often from our fingers, offering up a Hail Mary before sending an email or meeting friends, boldly saying grace in public and acknowledging the churches we pass on the train.
May we head each page of our notebooks with the names of the Holy Family as we designate specific reminders for every day, so that 12 and six naturally become the Angelus, three the Passion; the blue sky proclaims Mary’s queenship and the white clouds her purity; all of God’s beautiful creation is an invitation to converse with and about him. If we can attach ourselves to a screen for a listless hour, can we not think of the Sacred Heart for a dedicated minute? If we can waste any time at all, can we not alternatively spend it in mental prayer?
It is not necessary for us to first hide ourselves within the walls of a monastery or convent in order to make time for seeking God. Life is a grand conversation with him already, and every step an opportunity for gratitude and petition. We should say with St Peter Julian Eymard, “I must not leave him alone; he loves me too much!” Friends become acquainted by giving one another the gift of time, and we expect to know God without giving him ours? The Blessed Sacrament waits expectantly in our silent churches; amidst the anxiety of grey cities, between the bustling cafes and rattling tram lines and crowds of restless souls, He calls out our names individually, adjuring us to be more than what we are, to reach perseveringly for the crown he offers us. And where shall we begin, if not by stopping to answer him?
May the holy names of Jesus, Mary and Joseph be forever praised and glorified.