The "God Is In Control Church"

I used to live in a strange town called Waldorf.  The first time I ever went to Waldorf was to eat lunch with new colleagues from the parish where I was about to start working.  Carol directed me to the restaurant by telling me to drive south into Waldorf, then turn left on “Mattawoman-Beantown Road."  Cheryl mentioned a helpful landmark:  “You’ll see a giant paint can on the left side of the road right before your left turn.  The giant paint can is how we mark things in Waldorf – everything is either before or after the paint can.”

I found the whole thing very strange.  Waldorf was always like that for me, though I did become quite accustomed to saying “Mattawoman-Beantown” and giving directions by orienting everything around a very large paint can that was perched on top of a strip mall. 

After slugging through seven or eight years of purgatorial Waldorfian living, my sister-in-law’s Swiss boyfriend informed me that Waldorf means “wooded village” in German.  It sounded so lovely!  If only!

But I shouldn’t complain.  Waldorf had its charms.  And one of them was a little non-denominational church situated on Waldorf’s main thoroughfare, nestled into one of Waldorf’s most nondescript strip malls.  It was called the “God Is In Control Church.”

Now that is a great name for a church.  Sure, we Catholics have very fine church names:  Holy Infant, Our Lady Help of Christians, Prince of Peace, The Basilica of the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception.  Wonderful saints, devotions and mysteries.  But I think Waldorf may have one-upped us this time.  Every time I drove past that little storefront church, I felt great about life.  I might have been living in a strange town, surrounded by suburbia, yearning for a wooded village.  But God was in control.  God was in control.  And that was enough.

Yes, the members of that little church had done something right.  Just by choosing a name and hanging up a sign, they were evangelizing me.  The “God Is In Control Church” made me happy.  It made me feel safe.  It made me want to nod my head and shout “Amen!” 

Plus, it was almost as much fun to say as “Mattawoman-Beantown.” 

I can't believe I found a picture of the actual paint can in Waldorf, MD!  You can click on the image to go to a website where you will see pictures of many, many giant paint cans found throughout the U.S.  Who knew?  P.S.  My husband enjoyed Waldorf very much.

The Death of Our Loved Ones Makes Our Deaths Easier

When I was in 6th grade, on a beautiful day in September, my best friend’s mother died of cancer.  It was September 8, the feast day of the Birth of Mary.  My friend’s mother was a faithful Catholic, and her name was Mary.  I wanted to believe there was some connection.  I wanted to believe that death had meaning and purpose.  I wanted to believe that God had not abandoned this family.

This was my first real experience with death.  Watching my friend process and accept her mother’s death was an education.  I saw the pain in her family, but there was an undercurrent of hope that made it all just bearable.  Perhaps some measure of her mother’s own faith remained in the hearts of each member of the family, and they wisely clung to it.

Hope in God does not stop death – it did not stop the death of Jesus – but it provides a fuller perspective on living and dying.  It is the horizon that prevents us from becoming totally disoriented in an uncertain world.  It is the invitation to believe that the end of a temporal life is but the beginning of an eternal one.

When my grandmother died some years later, I clung to that same Christian hope.  I imagined her reuniting with all of her friends and family members who had passed on before her.  And I imagined our own reunion in the future.  I realized then that when my time came, my own death would be easier because I knew someone was waiting for me on the other side – a family member, someone close to me.  I realized that even in death our loved ones serve us.  Their death makes our own death easier.  They have gone before us to share in the triumph of Christ and the power of his resurrection.  With Christ, they say to us, “I go to prepare a place for you…so that where I am, there you may be also” (Jn. 14:3).

In the parish of my youth, tucked away in a side office, there was a cross on the wall.  On the cross was a placid but triumphant Christ the King.  Arms outstretched on what an old prayer called his “instrument of torture,” his face, his raiment, his body seemed to say, “Take that, death!  Look at me!  I am healthy and robust!  On this cross, I wear a crown!  For everlasting!”  It was an image of Christian hope, that orienting horizon.  

The pain of death is part of life, and we share it with those we love.  But our hope is in what comes next, in what we will share with them when our own time comes.  Our hope is in the triumph of Christ, the God who raised him from the dead, and the place he has prepared for all of us to be together. 

If it were not so, Jesus said, I would have told you (Jn. 14:2).  

The Barrenness of Busyness and the Fruitlessness of Worry

If I asked a room full of contemporary Americans what plagues them most, I imagine many would identify busyness and worry as major culprits.  Demanding schedules and the stress of daily life are common contemporary burdens.  At some point, we all fall victim to their debilitating effects.

Socrates wrote:  “Beware the barrenness of a busy life.”  Another wise man – Jesus – taught:  “Can any of you by worrying add a single moment to your life?” (Mt. 6:27)

Of course, sometimes it is good to be busy.  We may be helping others, or working to make a living, or busily but happily fulfilling family responsibilities.  But being busy becomes a barren enterprise when our schedules are so full that we lose ourselves, we forget about God, and we miss the whole point of life.  We are totally disoriented but too busy to realize it!  When this happens, our lives become barren because we are running in circles but getting nowhere.  We are checking things off long lists, but deep inside ourselves, we are accomplishing nothing.

Like busyness, worry can have a valid role in our lives.  Sometimes worrying motivates us to care for others or accomplish something.  But worrying becomes fruitless when it paralyzes us, when it becomes all-consuming and prevents us from living, loving and growing.  When this happens, we begin to sink deeper and deeper into fears and “what-ifs.”  We move farther and farther away from the simplicity of the love commands, the comfort of trusting God, and the serenity of the peaceful life we all long for.

It is hard – perhaps impossible – to simply tell ourselves to stop worrying and then do it.  It is almost as hard to just stop being busy.  But if we feel that worry and busyness are getting the upper hand in our lives, perhaps it is time to have a conversation with God.  It is time to ask him:  “Am I too busy?  Is my family too busy?  What are we missing?  How is my worry affecting others?  How is it preventing me from being the person you want me to be?  How are my busyness and worry preventing me from loving you and others?” 

If we take these questions to prayer with open minds and hearts, we may be surprised by how God asks us to change our lives and by the peace he wishes to give us.  We may find ourselves reassessing our priorities and trusting God with our futures a bit more than we have in the past.  We may remember that prayer, in and of itself, is a simple antidote to a hectic, anxious life.

Busyness leads to barrenness, and worry to waste.  Instead, Jesus is always urging us to a fruitful life.  Let’s talk to him about it. 

Post Script:  As is usually the case, I’ve written this more as a reminder to myself than to you!  I always enjoy hearing from you – your own wisdom and experience are a source of learning and growth for me.  You can always leave me a comment on my blog page (click the title of this post and it will take you directly there -- scroll down and you will see a place to "comment") or on facebook.  Or you may reply directly to this email if you prefer that your comment be read only by me and not be published online.

Vincent van Gogh, Wheatfield under Thunderclouds

“Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? 26 Look at the birds of the air; they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? 27 And can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your span of life? 28 And why do you worry about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they neither toil nor spin, 29 yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not clothed like one of these. 30 But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you—you of little faith? 31 Therefore do not worry, saying, ‘What will we eat?’ or ‘What will we drink?’ or ‘What will we wear?’ 32 For it is the Gentiles who strive for all these things; and indeed your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things. 33 But strive first for the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.  34 So do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring worries of its own. Today’s trouble is enough for today” (Mt. 6:25-34).

The Rest of My Life, The Best of My Life

I recently took my daughter to a music lesson with her new saxophone teacher.  We went downstairs into his music studio, and I sat down at a table to work while they continued on into the next room for the lesson.  I fully intended to be productive for the next half hour. 

It wasn’t so much the sound of horns and laughter coming from the next room that distracted me (I’m used to that!).  It was the collection of newspaper clippings, inspirational messages, jokes and pictures of Snoopy that hung all around on the walls of the studio.  Everywhere I looked, something interesting caught my eye.  After I had read and enjoyed some of them, I got out my work and tried to focus.  But one more message was propped up on the table, printed on a block of wood.  It said:  I’m going to make THE REST of my life THE BEST of my life.

Now some of you older folks will laugh at me or protest, but let me say it – I will soon be entering (if I haven’t already!) the second half of my life.  And I don’t care if you’re pushing 40, 70 or 95 – at some point in your life, a little voice in your head begins to whisper the words:  My best years are behind me. 

I don’t think there’s anything wrong with looking at the past with joy and nostalgia.  There’s nothing wrong with recognizing the beauty of youth or yearning a bit for the days when we had more energy and a higher metabolism.  But no matter how wistful we may be for the good things of the past, the future will always lay ahead of us as gift.  The future is unknown, and with this comes great possibility – the possibility that the best may actually be yet to come. 

But the best years won’t come by chance.  As we get older, it is easy to just settle in and “be ourselves” and “do what we always do.”  It is easy to maintain the status quo.  But the life we really want to lead before our God and before each other requires so much more than that.

Our future lies ahead as a merging of God’s grace and our own free will, a melding of God’s plans and our own, a partnership between human and divine that can lead to amazing things.  Maybe God wants us to accomplish something great.  Maybe he wants us to give some profound service.  Or maybe he just wants us to be totally devoted to someone who needs us. 

You know the bumper sticker:  God isn’t finished with me yet.  Well, he isn’t.  And that’s kind of exciting.  The future lies ahead as gift.  I’m going to make the rest of my life the best of my life.

The First Follower

Today I watched a TED talk entitled “How to Start a Movement.”  It was thought-provoking and funny.  The speaker’s main point was that it takes guts to be a leader, but it might take even more guts to be the leader’s first follower.  Movements, he said, are started when some brave person decides to follow a “lone nut.”  The first follower is the one who makes a solitary evaluation and takes a massive personal risk.  But this follower is the one that makes it safer and easier for another person to follow, and then another and another.  The first follower is the hinge of the movement.

The video shown by the speaker to illustrate this point is hilarious and has nothing to do with “the Christian movement.”  And I certainly wouldn’t refer to Jesus Christ as a “lone nut” (though he’s been called worse).  But I was struck by the importance of the “first follower.”  It made me think of you.

We might identify Jesus’ “first follower” as Mary or one of the disciples.  But somewhere and at some time, you will need to be this “first follower.”  Whether in your home, or in a friendship, or in your workplace or in some other public arena, you will be the one who stands by Christ when he looks like a “lone nut.”  You will be the one who has to go over and look nutty with him!  You will make an evaluation and take a risk.  You might look like a fool.  But you will be the hinge that starts a movement. 

"Have the courage to follow and show others how to follow."