Voyage of the Dawn Treader, CS Lewis
When Lucy was lost in the abyss on the Dawn Treader, I wonder if she knew she was finding something she had misplaced. Her hope. She knew it was His voice - why? Because she recognized Him by His secret clue. In the same she seemed to sense, smell, feel Narnia by a taste in the air or a sound of a certain bell. His magic, which leaves traces.
Good Friday is about something new. Change. The end of the Jesus' mortal life era. Of healings that couldn't be explained. Of a man who was mystery and majesty, but still... a man. A teacher, a rabbi, a master, with a growing kingdom as if the invisible realm he mentioned in passing was slowing becoming a reality. The apostles had seen Him do a lot of things in the face of chaos. They knew that surprises were God's forte. New, at the end of everything they'd ever known.
Today at work we were talking about tattoos and I know that if I ever got a tattoo, I would spend half of my life loving it and the other half resigned to hate it. Change is permanent. Even if things go back to the way they were - there will always be that moment, when they weren't. Somedays, you won't like it. Everyday, you have to live with it. Maybe that's what "growing up" is all about. Embracing that the only thing constant is change and even when major movements occur, you know the change was so subtle that sometimes... there was nothing you could have done to stop it, anyway.
So change, is a lot like grace. Invisible, inch by inch, unstoppable.
Like an earthquake and the tectonics are just the way it is and the way it's going to be.
Like an avalanche and the snow clouds were unavoidable, uncontainable. Unpersuadable.
The Triduum requires vulnerability. Vulnerability, in this day and age of professionalism, perfectionism, controllism to the point of self-abuse, is the ultimate courage. Do you let yourself cry at mass? Do you let your guard down? Is it always about perfect poise because that seems "reverent"? You aren't there to learn with your head. You're there to worship with everything you've got. That means away with the stoicism and come here with the heart.
I work with teenagers. They change every 10 minutes. Literally, they look and become a different person on 3 and 6 month intervals sometimes. They're easily overwhelmed so they have "Jesus phases." Emotions they link with God touching their life. A high that fades. A group of friends that loses its novelty, their popularity with them. But I know He's in their life in a way that is more powerful than a tornado, the finger of God, throwing their heart into a tumult.
We have a gentler God than that. He's a God of slow boiling water, four seasons, seventy year lives and the French language. He's a God of perfect detail coming together. We can't orchestrate anything the way He does. When we call the Paschal Mystery, God's plan to save us, we have to remember that every detail was planned down to the antenna on the caterpillar in an Asian city on the day Jesus was crucified. This is His world. All we have to do is be okay with being a chaotic mess. Why?
Because we're His chaotic mess.
And His love is constant in every phase, from age to age. When I sit down at the hairdresser I hardly care what she does. Why? Because I know it grows back, will fade, will eventually... look the same as it always does. Nature will always have its way until God the unmovable makes it move.
Be brave enough to stand on that rock outside the cave, the waves crashing around you as you slip into the dark, icy water with your Guide not knowing where you're going, not knowing what will reach for you. Nature can try to pull you under. Change can try to catch your feet.
Let it be.
Take my life, take all that I am
With all that I am
I will love you
Take my heart, take all that I have
Jesus, how I adore you
Only with your eyes closed and heart open, hands raised and arms flung wide, can you see. Can you feel your blood spinning, out of control, out of love.
Of all that things that love is the opposite of... control, is one of them.
Surrender. Come to the end of yourself, the end of your limits, the frayed edge of your rope. Fall forward... into more.
What are you so afraid you will lose? Don't you know it is already lost?