The other day, I had some time in between dropping off a kid and picking up a used refrigerator. I bought some lunch and ate it, and I still had time. So, with great reluctance, I slogged into the chapel.
I appreciate chapel time, but I don’t enjoy it. It doesn’t feel spiritually magnificent when I’m actually there, but I believe it keeps me going through the rest of the week.
It’s a discipline, not a delight, and I’m okay with that. But it’s pretty rare that I go unless I “have” to – unless it’s my assigned hour.
I did go, and I made a prayer that may be familiar to you. Something like: “Hello. I know you know what’s going on. I don’t know what to do. I’m sure you do. So, I’m asking. Please do something, I don’t know what. To refresh your memory: Here is the thing, which SUCKS. Here you go. I am helpless. Amen.”
The specifics don’t matter. It’s a prayer that so many of us can and should pray as often as we need to.
Technically, it’s called “offering it up,” and it’s what Catholics do when. . .well, when anything. When they’re suffering, when they’re in pain, when they’re stuck. We should also offer things up when we’re rejoicing, or when we’re grateful.
We’re supposed to invite God into our lives at every moment we realise we’re alive, starting with the moment we wake up. It doesn’t have to be a fancy, memorised prayer.
Sometimes I will be outside and see something nice, like a graceful tree or an especially good cloud, and I will just mentally raise my glass to God. Cheers! Nice one! Just acknowledging I’m not alone; I’m with him. He’s with me.
Or, of course, we offer up the opposite of “cheers.” I went to the chapel with a heavy load that I indisputably did not want, did not need, did not know what to do with.
He promised he would help us carry our burdens. So I went in to hand this one over to him, because I could not carry it, but I knew he could.
I went in, kneeled down, bowed my head, said my piece, and then looked up.
Guess what? He was helpless, too.
Maybe you’ve seen a crucifix. That’s kind of a central feature: The hands don’t work. They are stuck. They are nailed into place. He is helpless.
A fine how-do-you-do, isn’t it? I, a professional Catholic, will be the first to admit to you that this is a system I do not understand. One minute we’re calling him “Wonderful! Counseller! Almighty king!” and then next minute he’s being manhandled just like the rest of us.
We, at least, have these tough moments that come and go, but suffering isn’t the only thing we’re known for. He, on the other hand, is most recognisable when he’s dead.
Lots of people don’t know the Eucharist is Jesus; lots of people wouldn’t be able to tell the babe in Bethlehem from any other baby. But we all know who it is when he’s stuck on a cross. That’s our God! The one with the hands that can’t move. That’s who we go to for help. A fine how-do-you-do.
I went in there to tell him I was helpless, thinking he would help. Instead, he just kind of looked at me and said, “I know.”
And that was it. I won’t lie; I was disappointed. I thought maybe I would get a little consolation, if not answers, but apparently not this time. It’s okay. Maybe next time. We’re playing the long game here; I get that. Discipline, not delight.
I slogged back into my car, set my GPS to find the address I was headed to, and went about my business.
Five minutes later, I realised I was singing. I was grinning at the clouds and enjoying the presence of an especially graceful tree that I drove by.
I was helpless; He was helpless. Helpless together. That’s what kind of help I got. It was, for some reason, a delight.
What kind of system this is, I do not know. It’s not the way I would have set things up! If I were going to save the world, I wouldn’t do it by letting them chase me up on top of a hill and pinning me down like a bug for everyone to gawk at.
I told this to the Lord: I didn’t understand what good it is to be helpless. What kind of model of love is that? Just being helpless together, seriously? That is not how I would have done it!
He kind of looked at me and said, “Oh, I know.”
I don’t make the rules, but as a professional Catholic, I can tell you what I know.
You show up when it’s your assigned hour, and then also sometimes you show up because you don’t know where else to go.
I went there, looking for help, and there he was, helpless. He was helpless because he had to be, and also because he wanted to be. It was his duty, and it was his delight. And he was glad of my company.
For all of five minutes, we were helpless together. It was more than enough.
