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We can easily name a dozen different devices, tools, or appliances that are electronic. Whether directly wired to a circuit, or using batteries for power, everything fully electronic, especially “artificial intelligence,” depends upon electricity to function. A cell phone quits working when the battery runs down. We cannot boot up a desktop computer if it is not plugged in.
We are not like electronic devices, even though our brains and all our nerves utilize tiny electrical circuits which are necessary for life. We are living beings, who, while dependent upon air, water and food as sources of energy, are also autonomous, even to the extent of choosing how and whether we will respond to whatever our bodies, minds, and spirits indicate as required for us to live. Such is the extent of our freedom that we can decide what we will or will not do with our lives and how we will manage all that is available to us.
All things electrical are for us to use, not to direct or own us. However, just as our freedom is limited by such things as our physical strength, the extent of our knowledge, and the degree to which we give and receive love, all the electronic equipment we use is each bound by its very specific operating parameters. We can choose which tool, appliance, or device to use, but we cannot make a cell phone wash our clothes, or an iPad cook dinner. We, however, can adapt to circumstances that are not what we would want for ourselves or others, sometimes in conditions that cause suffering, yet rather than diminishing our lives, can even be causes for growth.
“We are wonderfully made” (Ps 139:14), which we can appreciate when we reflect on those aspects of our lives that are truly transcendent, yet so ordinary, that we often do not realize the magnificence of our spirituality. We are so much more than all the material entities we can use or adapt to our purposes, and even the learning and life experiences that contribute to our present status. The spiritual is so completely integrated into our physical and emotional operations that we can miss it entirely. When we do pause and look within ourselves, we can see, sometimes with clarity, at other times only barely, who God has “wonderfully made.” In God’s eyes, we are not a gathering of integrated circuits put together for some use, but beings who can respond to God’s creative love by loving one another.
Acknowledgment of who we are as beloved of God can be electrifying.
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“Gracefully done” can be applied to something as ordinary as one of us carrying a full platter of food to a table and gently setting it down just as it was prepared in the kitchen. We also might think of someone who, without visibly becoming upset, manages to separate two angry children and bring them to a peaceful resolution. Just as we do not have to be full of grace to act gracefully, we do not have to wait until we have every detail perfectly planned before hosting a small group for a meal in a graceful manner.
Whether anyone has ever called us graceful, or has praised us for doing something gracefully, we can reflect on our attitudes and beliefs and see where and how at least some of what we do and say, and how we pray, is graceful. Grace is always a gift, and in that, love is always the motive power. So, when we perform a kindness to anyone, it is graceful conduct. We might know some people who are notably graceful in the way they walk or move, and who are unaware that they appear as such to others. Similarly, even when it is habitual behavior, we act gracefully whenever we act from an attitude of care or a desire to be helpful.
It is possible to act gracefully in an external manner with primarily the intention of winning approval, but even such actions might still serve as a gift from the perspective of others. Our own reflections about gracefulness are best focused on the selfless choices we ordinarily make, sometimes conscious of our motive, often from good habits formed in the past.
We are at our most graceful when we pray, although it is probably not immediately observable by others, and not in our awareness when we are praying. When we come to engaging with God in prayer, we come as we are, which might or might not be gracefully, at least as we begin. But it is God we are addressing, and if it is truly prayer, it is God to whom we are also listening. The very act of faith itself is a loving gift of grace from God, and our participation in that gift brings forth gracefulness in us. It is like the action of a surfer who paddles to get up on a wave, but once on it or even in it, is carried gracefully along. The ride, or the prayer, lasts only for a time, but we are changed for the better by each such experience.
We cannot help but become more graceful as we pray, and the same God with whom we converse is also present and active within us in every thought, word, and deed that expresses our care for all God’s creation, especially people. All can be gracefully done.
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How can there be hope for someone who is without hope? Or, for people who are considered “hopeless” by others because of their inability to adapt and change, how could they have hope? But the gift of hope passes beyond logic of the mind and engages the logic of the heart. Hope experienced is of a different quality than hope described, thought about, or considered a thing. Hope is a quality of our spirituality. Hope, which can arise in any set of circumstances, is beyond the reach of no one.
The gift of hope has its foundation in the person of Jesus, who is himself hope even for those who think of themselves or consider others as being hopeless. The love of Jesus can and does touch people so that we are led to transcend our sense of hopelessness. This love moves us to make positive changes in our self-understanding. In a similar manner, our love for one another also does this, for it has much more power for good than criticism or even advice.
Whether we act consciously in the name of Jesus, or whether we act according to a movement in our hearts, we can elicit hope in someone who has been without hope. Believing in others, showing that we are convinced of their worth can alter their sense of hopelessness. Those who recognize that they are not “hopeless” in our eyes can begin to believe in their own goodness and in their own life-purposes.
We cannot deliver boxes of hope to others, but when we express care for them, we set conditions that stimulate hope. There is no power on earth quite like that of sincere regard for another person. Hopelessness is not a commitment, but a description for a temporary condition or attitude. When we demonstrate by what we say or do that we value “hopeless” persons, we may be the occasion for a surprising movement of hope in their hearts.
As a graceful consequence of eliciting hope in others, hope grows in our own hearts. Like teachers who learn a subject when trying to convey it others, whenever we encourage someone else, our own awareness of God’s loving presence in and with us increases our sense of hopefulness. Finally, hope arises from personal contact much more than from material things or physical circumstances.
Our words and deeds, coming from the heart, can provide hope for anyone and everyone.
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Our first notions of communities might be of those that are religious, such as Jesuits and Franciscans, and Carmelite and Dominican Sisters, but there are many other kinds of communities, some of them well organized with names and specific purposes for their members and others that arise spontaneously when people gather with common interests, as well as people who form bonds when they are brought together by unforeseen circumstances. These are only some of the various forms of communities to which most of us belong, probably being members of several at the same time. For many of us our families have been or are our primary communities, although we might not have thought of them as such.
If we spend a little time identifying various communities to which we belong, we might come to appreciate their value in our lives and find cause for gratitude. We know that no one can really live alone, but when we reflect on at least some of the groups of which we are members or in which we are participants, we will receive insight as to who we are as social beings. We do not receive love as mere individuals, nor can we give love to ourselves. Only through interacting with others, especially with some interests in common, do we have experiences of being appreciated for who we are and of providing the occasion for others to appreciate who they are.
Recalling interactions with people in the community that we identify as primary, we can easily see how love is not an idea, but is an ongoing experience of giving and receiving, usually without thinking about it. And yet, for all the practical aspects of participating in this community, the most significant outcomes for us are not physical, as real and as significant as they are, but the sense of worth and value that naturally accompany the gift of being loved and of loving. We might be more comfortable talking about caring for one another rather than using the word “love,” but however we describe the benefits of our community, the most important are the interior aspects of our interactions.
Besides all the different kinds of communities to which we belong, whether intentional or as side-effects of whatever we do that involves other people, there is one that might not come immediately to mind: that of all the good people who are with God, and whose sole occupation is not playing a harp while sitting on a cloud, but loving God and all those whom God creates in his image and likeness. Some of them are Saints and Holy people we have learned about, especially Mary, the mother of Jesus. Others may well be family members, spouses, dear friends, colleagues, and many people whose lives have touched ours in positive ways.
The “Communion of Saints” is a real community of people worth our consideration not just as a doctrine, but as a gathering of lovers loving us as part of loving God.
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We probably think of a prize as an award for winning a contest, or as a much-desired item we might obtain at an online auction. We do not normally think of people as prizes, certainly not ourselves. However, we might refer to a “prized friendship,” where we mean valued, but not owned. With this nuanced understanding, we can accept that we are prized by God. We are not trophies, but we are sought after as being extremely valuable. So much is this true, that God sent a search party of one to bring us to the home for which we are created.
We are not destined for gathering dust on a shelf or sitting in a drawer, but we are desired as responsive companions to God, who gives us entire freedom to accept or to ignore our prized status. We know from experience that we cannot force anyone to love us, and no one can make us love in return. We have also likely cared for others who did not respond but we continued to think and act lovingly in a way that seemed good to us. This is how God prizes us, and this might also be for us an intuitive insight about the love we had received from God directly or from observing how some people have acted toward us.
From the perspective of God having become one of us in Jesus Christ, each of us might legitimately be called a prize, not in the sense of a possession, but as those for whom Jesus did everything possible to win us over from all the ways we can fail to fulfill our created purpose of loving. “You are mine” (Isaiah 43:1) is a legitimate way for God to describe an all-out love for us that yet does not force us to accept our prized standing.
The most fruitful way to deal with the concepts of being prized or to consider that God might see us a prize worth seeking, is for us to sit quietly with such ideas, noting whatever comes to mind that makes sense to both our minds and our hearts. This is an ideal way to discover meanings on our own, based on the sound belief that God deals directly with each of us, and will inspire in us thoughts that settle gently within, rather than those that cause disturbance.
We would not withhold a prize from a child who had earned one. Neither would we consciously deny God, who is love, the prize of ourselves. All that is asked of us is to “love God and one another.” (Mt. 26:36-40)
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Most of us like to be in control, at least regarding whatever pertains directly to ourselves. We may have personal experience of being frustrated when we do not. However, we are not so desirous of being in charge that we would be willing to be seated in the cockpit of an airliner and start directing it to our destination. We recognize that we are not equipped for, nor even interested in, being in control of everything in the world about us. We are not always equipped with sufficient knowledge and expertise even for handling some personal matters, as when we become ill in a way that is unfamiliar to us.
When we are unable to manage things on our own, we rightly turn to others for help, relying on their abilities to control some of the things that we cannot. We may also turn to God, with a belief that at last, there is in God someone who is entirely and absolutely in control. However, we also believe that God creates us with freedom to choose and thereby turns over at least some manner of control to us. With God, then, the central issue is not control, but love.
When we entrust ourselves to God, and to others as well, we move out of the realm of control into the spiritual expanse of care, concern, positive regard, and all other aspects of love of which God makes us capable. When we seek help, we rely on God and others to act on our behalf, trusting that they have regard for our wellbeing. Even those who are paid for their services place at least some value on our welfare when they do something good for us, for ultimately, they have freedom to decide how they will respond to any request we make. God, who knows us better than we know ourselves, loves us entirely just as we are at each moment, though we might not recognize or appreciate how our needs are being met through this all-encompassing love.
We could think that trusting God is “giving up control,” but from the perspective of love, we give up nothing that we had, and we gain what we need. However, just as we have difficulty in distinguishing between wants and needs, so we might not always be pleased with God’s answers, especially at first. Upon reflection, we have never found that God erred in our regard. Even a clear “no” from God, which might have stung at first, turned into a peaceful recognition that we are where we belong. Peace ensues, even sometimes amid pain and suffering.
Far better for us to seek love rather than control.