April 12th, 2020
We are commemorating Easter today and, while no year looks exactly like the one before, this one is certainly unique: we are in the midst of a global pandemic and of course, we are collectively freaking out. The last time, I wore my “Sunday’s best” (which still wasn’t as good as those of my fellow churchgoers) to resurrection mass and then me and my boyfriend had a delicious bunny-latte with pastel macaroons. However, something made last Easter truly special: I felt like I was finally understanding, fully and empathetically, the scope of what Jesus did for us.
Last year's Easter bunny latte. One of those simple, yet precious, pleasures taken away by COVID-19.
This year, I tried to prepare my heart throughout Lent in order to feel the same or even more. After all, a year older should mean a year wiser, right? I did many things, such as watching the Dynamic Catholic videos (which I love profoundly, by the way); I read a devotional that was given out at my church the last time I visited, the Sunday after Ash Wednesday (one of those things you never think you will be doing for the last time); I watched masses online; and listened to Hillsong United. Yet none of these tactics made me feel quite like last year. Call it coronavirus anxiety or call it life, I was indeed a bit older, perhaps a bit wiser, but surely way less sensitive. And that troubled me.
It would be insincere from me to say it hasn’t been this way for a while. It feels like my heart is asleep. No matter how often I read either the Bible or my devotional, I still feel disconnected from God and from Virgin Mary. I keep trying to fulfill my duties, but this world’s distractions are too many – and sometimes too dazzling – to be ignored.
Gone are the days when, after crying myself to sleep, I felt relief. Or the sleepless nights that finally gave way to doors opening in my favor, signaling the dreams that were about to come true. All of them after prayers, not only mine, but from the people I love. How am I missing that sense of belonging.
As it frequently happens, I find myself thinking about the reason behind this coldness. Unmistakably, the moments I have felt closer to Them have been the turning points, the trying times… those when a miracle is needed so badly that your faith just leaps in what feels like an otherworldly connection that only those involved can understand. It has been in the times of grief, of gut-wrenching pain, when only believing in life after death helps you survive.
The day of my First Communion, one of the happiest days of my life because of that beautiful and heavenly connection I so yearn for.
So, what does this mean? That I will only feel Their presence after tragedies? When I am suffering, or most in need? That this relationship is based on self-interest? I don’t want it to be that way. I don’t want to be going through the dark to feel the light on my face and I don’t want to walk through the good times with paranoia about the next fall.
Does this mean that the (or maybe just mine) relationship with God is very similar to filial and to romantic ones? You go through moments of endless joy, you get angry at each other, you make each other cry… you share the magnificent sights this world has to offer, thankful for having one another. You get mad, you question each other’s decisions, you ask for help, you get disappointed. And when the relationship has matured enough, you just walk easily into that great comfort where wild emotions just can’t shake the foundations that you’ve built.
It could be the reasons mentioned above, or simply that this world keeps getting loud and sometimes I can’t hear God clearly. But I know He hears me and by that belief I walk. I aspire to live a good and meaningful life, aware that I will often continue to fall. When I can’t bring myself to forgive me, He has already forgotten about whatever it was I did. I guess what I want to say is just that my life is His, no matter if sometimes I can’t hear what He is trying to say. That I feel lucky for the blessings He has allowed in my life (in which Virgin Mary has interceded). And that I still wonder what to do with all this privilege, one that isn’t defined by money, but by love. I can’t believe I am showered with so much love. And I hope that our bond, no matter if it goes through sadness, disappointment or great comfort, never fails.
Comments