Where rest is found

 ‘No one knows the Son except the Father, and no one knows the Father except the Son and those to whom the Son chooses to reveal him. Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.’ (Matthew 11:27-28)

Try as I might, I found little comfort kneeling in the pew as I prayed or even as the presider lifted the host, then the chalice, consecrating the bread and wine for the Eucharist.

Opening my hands to receive, I felt nothing to ease the ache in my heart for one whose mysterious sorrow I did not understand and could not assuage.

‘Have you no answer for me?’ I whispered as I returned to the pew and sat, before opening the hymnal to sing, which most often is my comfort.

Tracing the previous day, I saw my self-centered ways for what they are, a lifetime of relative selfishness, failing to notice and read the need of a soul I see too seldom but dearly treasure.

‘In curvatus est’ came to mind, remembered from decades old theology lectures. We are curved in ourselves. Yes, of course, describes my life perfectly, always concerned with my thoughts, my plans, my comforts, what I think I need to live and fulfill the life I have been given.

Little wonder I often feel alone. Even here, sitting in prayer, I hunger for rest and healing for myself, trying to see myself and the soul for whom I ache in the bosom of Jesus, both of us physically ‘in him,’ enveloped even as he is enveloped in the presence of the Father.

The image does not hold for long, nor can I hold it despite my best efforts. Not today. It is just another failed attempt to live with myself and my inability to bring comfort to anyone else.

But it awakens an awareness of love’s desire, and love’s desire is always to love, to find some way to give its heart to the heart of another for their healing, their fulfillment, their joy.

In this awareness, I know the heart of Jesus, who aches to illumine my heart with the knowledge of God imparted not as ideas, facts or insight, but as the experience of an impassable love at the core of my being.

The absorbing experience of love’s blessed ache unveils the heart of God within me. And I know what I must do to enter the rest Jesus gives and offer it to another.

His rest is known in the mystery of loving and being loved, not in passivity but as we participate in the living stream of giving and receiving whatever beauty of heart he awakens in us.

So, I take what he has given and offer such gifts of grace as are mine to share. Will it change anything? Will it salve the wounds I would heal? I do not know. All I know is that, in doing so, I am leaving it in Love’s own hands.

And that is enough.

David L. Miller