That REO Speedwagon song came to my mind last night
as we attended the last Lenten session on Transforming Stewardship at St. Paul’s
Carondelet. It was just one of those things – the lyrics for the most part had
absolutely nothing to do with anything. We were sharing our stories of moving
from the Wilderness into the chaos of Jerusalem. My particular sharing had to
do with the fact that I have felt as though I have been in the chaos of
Jerusalem for some time now.
With the idea of Wilderness, I think of wandering,
searching, contemplation, and just a great unknown. With two grandkids living
with us, two jobs, one senior soon to leave off into his own journey, and far
too many commitments, I don’t have time to wander, search or contemplate
anything. My daily routine is known. I get up, I shout Hurry Up!! numerous times
each morning, jump in the car and race kids to schools, rush off to the job of
the day, do the required things there, rush off to pick up kids at whatever
location they may be at that day, then rush home to fix dinner and whatever
there might be to do there. Then I collapse in bed. I don’t wander from task. I
have no time to search. And whatever contemplation might happen occurs normally
about 3:30 am when I am awakened by those “things left undone”.
Prayer comes in odd times: The New Zealand Compline
at the end of the day as I am ready to pass out, at Trinity Food Ministry when
a patron asks me to pray for or with them; in the car as I am driving down the
streets of St. Louis City; when I am so tired I can barely move.
I “take it on the run, baby.” It’s not the way I
want it but that’s the way I got it.
I used to hope that one of these Lenten times, I
will go into full contemplative mode. But I am not sure that will ever happen. I
understand what Paul meant when he talked about relationships. Relationship with one person is not that much of a detriment to a
contemplative life. I could do both. But to increase that relationship
to include children, grandchildren, a certain self-induced poverty – there are
daily requirements that disallow more than a meager amount of moments to
contemplate anything other than what there is to cook for dinner that evening.
It becomes a full blown struggle to follow what I perceive to be the path that
Jesus walked.
My faith is no less; in fact, it might be stronger.
Some days it is the only thing upon which I can rely. But as for any type of
prayer, contemplation or study?
I take it on the run, baby. Welcome to Jerusalem.
