Daily Excerpt: A Believer-in-Waiting's First Encounters with God (Mahliou) - The Letter
Excerpt from A Believer-in-Waiting's First Encounters with God --
The Letter
I once wrote a rather nasty note to an interim priest. He
said something negative about our previous parish priest during Mass, in the
presence of that priest, something that was not true and clearly hurt our
former priest’s feelings. It was an attempt by the interim priest to make a
joke, but it fell flat. The inappropriateness of it stirred feelings of
indignation within me. (There we go with judgment! Who am I to judge? Yet I
did!)
I decided to write an irate letter, something that is
generally out of character for me when it comes to priests. I highly value all
the priests in my life and am grateful for them and to them, and I certainly do
not expect them to be perfect. In this case, though, I was certain that I had
the high road, and I explained all my concerns to the interim priest in four
written pages!
As I folded the letter to mail it, I felt a twinge out of
nowhere, a strong feeling that what I was doing was wrong. However, being in a
happily judgmental mood, I started to seal the envelope. The twinge came again.
Okay, I considered, so maybe this twinge means that God does not want me to
send this letter. I thought it over, figured I knew better than God, and, still
in my great judgmental mode, rewrote the letter, removing all the vitriol and
about half the contents. I then sealed the envelope and busied myself with
something else.
As I busied myself, that twinge came yet again. Stronger
this time. Oh, for heaven’s sake, I thought, I better rewrite the thing again.
So, I threw away the envelope with the original letter and revised what I had
written. When I was done, the letter was only one page and, I thought, pretty
kindly and succinctly worded. The revised note went into an envelope, which I
sealed, stamped, and put into my purse for mailing during my lunch hour the
next day.
When I reached my office the next morning, I was surprised
to find Jean waiting for me. She was supposed to be at a conference.
“I am leaving right now,” she said, “but I am supposed to
tell you something. I have no idea what I am talking about. So, I am just going
to say it straight out, and perhaps you can figure out what is meant. You
should not mail the letter you have written because the person to whom you have
written it is too weak.”
Jean has had this sort of thing happen to her more than
once, but, as usual, she had no more insight than she had already given me.
When I told her that the only letter I had written was to our interim priest,
she was surprised but nonetheless certain that I was not supposed to mail it. I
promised to consider her words, and she left.
I took out the letter, read it again, and decided that,
just in case, I should rewrite it one more time. I cut it down to one very
gentle paragraph and put it in a new envelope. (I am an obstinate one; no
wonder God had to conk me on the head to get me to convert and even now
occasionally has to get a little rough with me.)
At that moment, the phone rang. It was the interim priest.
He asked me to go to the Holy Thursday Chrism Mass, where the bishop blesses
the oils for use at Easter and distributes them to representatives from each
parish in the diocese. He wanted me to join the two other parish
representatives and pick up the Oil of Catechumens (used in baptism, blessing
of altars, and consecration of churches), Holy Chrism (used in confirmation,
baptism, and consecration), and Oil of the Sick (used in unction, i.e.
annointing the ill) for our parish. He would not be there.
“Why not?” Being curious, I let the question escape
unchecked.
He was evasive. “I have to go to San Francisco.”
“Well, can’t you go on a different day?”
“No, I have to go that day.”
“Why?” As I said, I can be pushy and curious.
“I have a doctor’s appointment.”
“Is something wrong?” I was not about to let him evade my
questions, and I was definitely getting a sense of something being indeed
seriously wrong.
“Well, I may need some surgery, or at least, an opinion on
whether to medicate or to operate.” I know he did not really want to give me
this information, but he did not know how to evade my instinct, honed from
raising many children, for pinpointing problems and my well developed tenacity
in worming information out of the recalcitrant.
“What kind of surgery? What’s wrong, Father?” Something
told me that he needed to tell someone what was happening.
I believe I was right because he yielded and told me that
he was battling cancer.
“Father, you should share this with the parish,” I said.
When he said it was personal and therefore private, I countered, “People love
you. They are going to want to support you, to help you, to pray for you. You
need to let them do that.”
I tore up the letter as we spoke. At our next Mass, he
shared the fact that he would, indeed, be having surgery. The parishioners
rallied around him.
So, God got my attention, and I finally listened to what
God wanted. The bottom line, though, beyond the lesson to “judge not,” is that when
God says “no,” God means no. God’s will always wins, at least in my life, and
that is as it should be.
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