Offering Our Day to God: What Does That Mean?

O Heart of Jesus, we offer You all our thoughts, words, and actions, our joys, sorrows, and sufferings of this day. We offer You everything.

What is it that we do (or at least desire to do, however forgetful we may be afterward) when we "offer" our day to God? "Offering" involves a fundamental recognition; it entails the affirmation of the reality of things according to that inner secret that constitutes their being and goodness: the fact that they belong-to-Another.

And so we cannot possess things by dominating them and reducing them to our own measure. Our life becomes "offering" when we use and possess and love things in a way that takes them completely seriously, because things are a hymn of rejoicing to the One who makes them be, and the only way to truly love them is to join in that hymn.

The ecstasy of the beauty of things is their giving-back-of-themselves to the One who sustains them and calls them to their own fruition. We offer our day when we join in with the "giving" of things, when we allow their song of rejoicing to enter into our awareness, when our engagement of reality becomes a prayer, a "blessing of the Lord" that gives voice to the hymn of creation: Bless the Lord, all you works of the Lord. Praise and exalt Him above all forever!

How does this "offering" extend to love for another person? The greatest gift, the greatest beauty in all of creation is the other person. There is much to be said about this. For now, I can only reflect that in loving other persons I am loving others who, like me, are called to the joys of eternal life. This is where the true identity of every person is found. Every person is created in the image of God and called to share in the likeness of God and the life of God. This unique, sacred, personal vocation to belong to God is at the heart of who each person really is.

When I engage in a relationship with another person, I "offer" that relationship through the recognition that this someone is not primarily a source of satisfaction or utility for me, but someone who has a destiny, who is "for Another." To love a person as offering is to love them for who they truly are, that is, to love them for the sake of that Other and their relationship with that Other. It is to love their destiny.

I'm Muddling Along. Isn't That Good Enough?

A sick "selfie"! Do I look attracted to Infinity? Well, the palm tree looks nice...

I've spent the past half hour mentally zoning out in front of the screen. I'm not going to complain about being sick. Sunday was a good day. Now I'm mostly back in bed. But there will be other good days.

They're all good days. Some of them are just difficult.

I must bear the difficulties, "carry the cross," and offer it up. Right?

But the problem is, I don't want to bear difficulties. I can't stand it! I'm not good at "offering up" stuff. I'd rather grumble and feel sorry for myself, darn it!

But there are Eileen and the kids, these people who are inescapably "in my face" every day. We've got to have some order, and some effort to get along, so I raise myself up with all my energy and I manage to muddle along.

That doesn't seem like a very Christian attitude, but I'm a bad Christian; really, I do the whole thing badly. I'm not good at trusting, or praying, or loving my neighbor, or taking care of the poor. I'm selfish, lazy, and foolish. I'm the Rich Man (or, at least, I would like to be the Rich Man, feasting splendidly... but in any case I do have the riches of the First World, a table with plenty of scraps falling carelessly all over the place).

I do see Lazarus at the door. Perhaps I'm not so bad. I'm sorry for Lazarus, and I don't want to ignore him. I'll gather some of my scraps and give them to charity. Lazarus is hungry. I'm glad we have "people-who-deal-with-that-sort-of-thing." Trained people. Professionals. Other people.

Of course, the real problem for me is not that I don't want Lazarus to have a nice, happy, well-fed life. The problem is that Lazarus is a weirdo. Lazarus has all these problems, he's difficult, and so darn demanding. Lazarus is "another person," and I'm too tired to be bothered with him!

Feed him. Give him a full plate. In fact he can have the whole dinner. Just keep him outside. Or, forget it, he can have the house. I'll go outside!

What I don't want is for Lazarus and I to get involved in each other's lives. I don't want to love Lazarus, because that would mean recognizing his deeper hunger. It's a hunger that I don't understand, and don't know how to fill. Let him go to a psychologist or a priest or "somebody else." His hunger is too much like my own hunger, and I don't want to feel my own hunger!

What has always struck me most in the parable of "Lazarus and the Rich Man" is the fact that, when the Rich Man is in torment, he asks Abraham to "send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue" (Luke 16:24). He says, "send Lazarus...."

So he knew Lazarus by name. How did he know him? Who was Lazarus? His friend? His brother? His son? Or perhaps just someone from the neighborhood. Still, he knew him by name. He recognized his face.

It is terrible to let a stranger starve at our gate. But the people starving at our gates are people we know by name. Lazarus is our friends, our brothers and sisters, our parents, our children, our spouse.

Our Lazarus lives in the house. Is he starved for our love?

I know what this means for me. It means that "muddling along" is not good enough. We are all too hungry. I must face my hunger and live it and cry out from it and beg to be fed. Then, I will have something to offer.

Nothing is Wasted

When I am suffering some kind of small and ridiculous problem, what can I do? I can offer it to God, and offer myself to God.

What matters is that, here and now, it is "I" who am afflicted; the circumstances of this situation are calling on me to make a sacrifice, to recognize the mystery of my own life and to say, "Lord, this belongs to you, this moment belongs to you, 'I' belong to you."

The world is a communion of sacrifice. How little we understand of what God can build out of the circumstances we consider worthless. Love does not have to feel sweet. Anyone who has changed a poopy diaper knows that. The power of sacrifice is beyond our measure. Offer everything. When I offer, there is--however faintly it may seem--the recognition that "I," my circumstances, the whole world, belongs to Someone Else, to Christ--the Christ who suffered and triumphed and inaugurated the New Creation. It is His. I am His. Nothing is wasted, thrown away, lost, stupid, meaningless.

Real life is the affirmation of this through sacrifice, through letting go of my idea, through the constant abandonment of my limited perspective, my measure, my attachment to my own expectations, including especially my expectations about myself. I am frustrated with myself. Offer the frustration. Do not cease to love, to aspire, to cherish ideals, to struggle, to do good, but remember that it all belongs to Him and that He shapes everything according to a plan that He knows is right for me.

February 3, 2011

Putting Up With Another "Dull Day"?

Have you ever tried to "offer up" a dull day?

Sometimes the challenge is just the fact that today is pretty much the same as yesterday...and that nothing happened yesterday! Should you just be resigned to put up with it?

"Dear Lord, I offer you my stiff upper lip...."

Hmmm. I think that we are invited to go further than that in making an "offering" of this day. God is here. Of course, we're not going to feel amazed about Him all the time. Especially since He so often conceals Himself in the ordinary, the small, the humble things, the stuff that happens over and over again.

Let's "offer" this day, and so open ourselves up to the slow and gentle work that He is doing with time, and things, and even our sense of frustration. He wants to give us true and lasting joy.

If we loosen the lips, they may find their way to a smile.