Thickets

Thickets are the middle stage of nature’s marvelous development of a forest. From a clear and open space, seeds of grasses, weeds and wildflowers take root and create a meadow that soon fosters shrubs and small trees. Eventually, through a process of change that means the dying of some to make room for new growth, a forest is born. Miriam Webster defines thicket as “a dense growth of shrubbery or small trees” and “something resembling a thicket in density or impenetrability.” Sometimes, the heavy overgrowth of daily life can close us in, encroach on our spirit. Along that path there have been thickets, veils, barriers of all kinds. We see thickets with our eyes. But we feel the shrouded thickness of unseen veils with our hearts. Relationships can sometimes challenge us with an invisible thicket that blocks a clear path if we let it. I wrote the poem, “Thickets” when I was much younger and didn’t have the benefit of countless spiritual retreats and parish Bible studies.

Have no anxiety about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which passes all understanding, will keep your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.  (Philippians 4:6-7, NRSVCE)

I’ve come from the carefree meadow of my youth and am winding my way through life’s thickets which led me to the words of Isaiah –

Thou dost keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on thee, because he trusts in thee.  (Isaiah 26:3, NRSVCE)

The tangled journey is all part of a grand design, and with God, nothing is impenetrable or impossible when He resides in the “thick of it” – not even the unseen veils covering wounded people. In the loving care of our Creator, we can walk through anything. I choose to walk through the thickets with Him by my side.

…And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age. (Matthew 28:20, NRSVCE)

 

Thickets

(Thoughts on Renoir’s “On the Terrace”)

There is a curtain green-thick and tangled
that hides us from the blue of other sides.
.
There is a veil –fine, frail, colorless –
that keeps me from her pale-white touch.
.
I clasp a brown-warm basket and cast my gaze
into the empty space,
while she, unseeing
looks away to weary reds and yellows.
.
The green-thick and tangled curtain
that hides us from the blue of other sides
is easier to pass through
than the veil between us.

Except for the Lord.

Copyright 2022 by Paula Veloso Babadi

A Committed Heart

Kimberly Novak reflects on the commitment of Jesus made perfect without sin.

A committed heart finds a way, whereas an un-committed heart makes excuses.  This month we celebrate the Precious Blood of Jesus, an unblemished promise poured out to forgive sins. My relationship with God tells me that this is a commitment unlike anyone could ever imagine or pledge.  A gift that is guaranteed to those who commit their heart to God through the treasured love of Jesus.

As we arise each day, God sends blessings and graces through thoughts, circumstances, and longings, often leading to a choice or commitment.   It is easy to begin daily with the mindset to accomplish great things. Undoubtedly, this is short-lived when the day’s events cut down a motivated heart.

In my mind, a hopeful heart is a committed heart.  One that looks at the bright side of every circumstance, no matter what.  I like to consider that was the mindset of my Lord as He made the ultimate sacrifice. Jesus, perfect without sin, made a sacrificial commitment, all for the Glory of God. 

Committing involves dedicating or obligating yourself to something or someone.  It is a promise made to yourself, another, or our Heavenly Father. Recently, I’ve found myself in a group fitness challenge. I committed to 13 other individuals to do my best and accomplish the exercise goal each day.  This encouragement is often successful, as the benefit outweighs letting someone down.

There are many instances in life where we can apply this type of motivation, from diet, exercise, job focus, family, and our time spent with God. These examples are necessary for maintaining a positive balance in our lives.  Also, all of which require a committed heart. Jesus’ commitment to us was a great love, given freely and without hesitation.  How then might we strive to commit ourselves to the things God is calling us toward in this life?

We must consider commitment in the following ways.  Firstly, where does daily duty lie, and is God a part of that? The point is moot without God as the central purpose of what we allow ourselves to do daily.  When our responsibilities become overwhelming, following this rule of finding God in them will help simplify and remove an obligation not meant for us.

Secondly, where does daily un-commitment showup, and how can God help control those excuses? There are countless circumstances when it becomes easy to slack off, skip a day, or make a promise to do something later.  When it is hard to follow through, perhaps, reflecting on what excuses might look like to God will prove helpful.  

Soon, thoughts and reasons transform into nurturing a committed heart through consistent prayer and an ongoing relationship with God. Through the Holy Spirit, beauty takes hold as God reveals where to focus responsibility. Before we know it, decisions are in partnership with God, commitments are God-Centered, and every day is lived all in God’s Glory.  How wonderful that must look to our God in heaven!

Even Scraps, Received in Faith, Bring Healing

The woman was a Greek, a Syrophoenician by birth, and she begged him to drive the demon out of her daughter. He said to her, “Let the children be fed first. For it is not right to take the food of the children and throw it to the dogs.” She replied and said to him, “Lord, even the dogs under the table eat the children’s scraps.” Then he said to her, “For saying this, you may go. The demon has gone out of your daughter.” When the woman went home, she found the child lying in bed and the demon gone. ~ Mark 7:26-30

 

 

How many demons do we need Jesus to drive out? Do you struggle with insecurity, anxiety, uncertainty, maybe addiction, a difficult relationship, or financial crisis? How remarkable that even the smallest grace from Jesus, the scraps, has the power to transform our life.  Imagine the possible freedom awaiting us if we embraced even a tiny bit of the blessings Jesus has to offer us.  The gifts available from heaven are abundant, meaning we do not need to settle for the crumbs, yet if that were all we allowed ourselves to dine upon we’d still be filled.

Our lives would not be perfect or free from those things that worry, concern, or pain us, but there would be a sense of inner peace and hope that can only come from heaven.  The woman came to Jesus prepared to be persistent, humble, and assured.  Persistent in her begging; humble enough to address Him as Lord and take whatever scraps He offered; and surely she believed what He said was done because she left for home at His command. When was the last time I approached Jesus in that way—begging for some assistance, humbled by His majesty and glory, and yet completely sure that I would, in some way, receive a blessing? Confident in Jesus’ answer to my prayer, regardless of what I sought, accepting the scraps falling from the heavenly banquet?

So, what holds us back from being fed by Jesus? Feeling, perhaps, unworthy of even the crumbs from His table? How can the Syrophoenician woman’s example encourage us to approach Jesus for assistance in whatever demons we are trying to eradicate from our lives?

Jesus, I believe that you have so much more to offer me than I am ever able to accept. Lord, I thank you for calling me to your banquet, and whether I put myself at the table for the feast or at your feet for the crumbs, help me to be always assured I will never be without your blessing and grace.

Lessons from the Ditch

I’m glad I was paying attention years ago when our beloved pastor at the time gave his homily on the Good Samaritan – today’s Gospel reading. You’ve all heard the account of Jesus explaining what it means to be a good neighbor (Luke 10:25-37). On that Sunday, Father Thanh proposed an entirely new perspective: we are the man in the ditch, and God is our merciful Samaritan.

 

Do not let the flood sweep over me, or the deep swallow me up, or the Pit close its mouth over me. Answer me, O Lord, for your steadfast love is good; according to your abundant mercy, turn to me. Psalm 69:15-16

 

The psalmist knew many perils lurk to rob us of possessions, joy, comfort and conscious living. He also knew God’s love and mercy are boundless. But we easily forget as we let our worries and anxieties bury us in our own ditches.  I got caught up in thieves’ traps many times in my life, and this special sermon woke me up.

From a young age I was taught to follow the directive to be a good neighbor, be kind, lend a helping hand. And it’s an important lesson. But as an adult in my golden years, the equally great lesson – trust in the love and mercy of my ultimate Good Samaritan became clear. He hears my deepest cries even when I cannot speak and reaches into the pit to lift me up when I cannot even move.

Father Thanh from all those years ago at St. Joseph’s parish in Mandarin, Florida, is now Bishop Thanh Thai Nguyen, Auxiliary Bishop of the Diocese of Orange in California. He is a true shepherd in the footsteps of our Lord as his reach across the years pulled me back to the notes I took during his deeply insightful sermon. As Catholic writers let’s always be ready to capture movements of the Holy Spirit – even during sermons. My poem is the fruit of his words and a receptive heart.

The Good Samaritan

by Paula Veloso Babadi

Waylaid by circumstance,

cast down

to eat dust

on deserted roads,

stripped and stricken

but not annihilated,

others pass by

until your holy hand

and gentle heart

bear me to refuge.

Mercy none else dealt.

Blessed by your benevolence,

healed at your bidding,

I dared not hope –

yet I am whole again.

forever I will seek

to be the Good Samaritan

and

the stranger saved by he

 

Copyright 2022 by Paula Veloso Babadi

Considering a Come and See Discipleship

“What are you looking for?” Jesus asked, followed by an invitation to “come and see” in response to the disciples’ question as to where he is staying on the road to Emmaus. Jesus knew of course what they were seeking, it is what we all seek—peace, hope, salvation. In this encounter, Jesus calls them, and indeed us as well, to accept his invitation to find those things, and so much more. The invitation to see where he was staying calls to mind a moment later in John’s Gospel, where Jesus teaches in length the blessing of abiding with Him, how we can bear much fruit in our faith, receive what we ask in prayer, and most importantly, know the Father.

Jesus’ invitation begins first with an opportunity for the person to contemplate what they are looking for. Do you know what it is you seek in this world? Are you open to truly being a disciple of Jesus Christ? To leave behind all of your expectations, to trust the goodness of Jesus’ invitation, and to follow where God’s will for you leads?

Without waiting for the early disciples to respond, knowing their hearts and that the Kingdom of Heaven holds everything they seek, he likewise invites us to come and see. Some of Jesus’ disciples came and stayed with him because they had heard Jesus preach. They were moved by the promise, hope, mercy, and life he offered. Others, like Peter, came to see after his brother, Andrew, heard Jesus and extended an invitation for him to see for himself. It was Andrew’s evangelization that brought Peter to seek the Lord. Andrew’s love for Peter moved him to share what he had found. How blessed to have someone care enough to step out in faith, no matter how uncomfortable the situation may be, and share the life found only in Jesus!

Although we come to discover Jesus in a variety of ways, many experience similar encounters on our own road to discipleship. Myriad paths, but only one true destination. When we follow Jesus’ example and invite others to come and see, when we, like Andrew, tell our loved ones about finding the Messiah, we become part of the hope of discipleship present in John’s Gospel.

Jesus’ invitation was no different to the disciples than it is to us today. He still seeks to have us come and see. There will be obstacles, much like those the disciples themselves faced. Commitments to work and family, feeling too busy with pressing tasks to come and see. Jesus did not make arguments, trying to force what he knew was best for them. Instead, he merely extends his invitation again for them to come and see.

Those who believe inspire others to believe. Later in John’s Gospel, we are introduced to the Samaritan woman Jesus meet at the well. Her encounter with Christ spurs a conversion so dramatic that she cannot keep it to herself. Transformed by His love, mercy, and hope of a life where so no longer has to thirst for redemption, she leaves her past behind and becomes the most unlikely evangelist.

Moved by Jesus’ invitation to come and see, she goes immediately out to share the Good News, causing a ripple effect of discipleship. The lives of the people she encounters and invites are never the same once they too accept the invitation to follow and abide in the truth and love offered by Jesus. One of the most powerful lines in John’s Gospel comes from John 4:41-42, at the conclusion of the recounting of the Woman at the Well. “Many more believed because of His word; and they were saying to the woman, ‘It is no longer because of what you said that we believe, for we have heard for ourselves and know that this One truly is the Savior of the world.’”

Truth be told, this is the legacy I, too, desire to leave.

 

Copyright 2022 Allison Gingras

Confessions of a Journal Writer

Journal writing entered my life when I received a pastel tie-dye-covered diary for my ninth birthday. The diary came with two dainty little keys, which I guarded with my life, though a sharp pair of shears could have gained anyone entry. That summer, I discovered my aptitude and affection for reflective writing. My first musings revolved around friendships, the unfair punishment imposed by my parents (however, to be fair, each was totally deserved), and I even took a whirl at penning poetry.

I still journal over 40 years later, albeit there is much less personal angst and much more spiritual contemplation. The joy of pen to paper, sorting through the full range of human emotion, connecting random thoughts, and wrestling with questions of theology—continue to bring great satisfaction and moments of remarkable clarity. While some people think out loud, I have learned that I think with a pen. My ideas come to a fuller understanding and bloom to maturity as I scrawl them out.

Muddled ideologies and bumpy spiritual awakenings are smoothed out as they are scratched out in red, purple, or green bold point across the smooth glistening writing surface. As my thoughts come fast and furious, my pen frantically toils to keep up, and there is no longer a need for a key to keep prying eyes from discovering my deepest thoughts. For it would require an expert in hieroglyphics as the words fly across the page, seemingly taking on a language of their own—my grandmother would call what remains chicken scratch.

Yet, I know I can return to these glorious pages and recall every word, every emotion. I decided long ago that the words I can no longer decipher or remember are simply not important or meant for anyone other than me. It is akin to those fleeting thoughts which float in and out of our consciousness, dismissed as inconsequential. The messages God wishes me to relay, I can attest, He repeats and reiterates through various situations and from myriad voices. In the end, I’m confident that what I publish for others to read not only comes from Him but always glorifies Him.

As time progresses, the purpose of my journals has evolved, less of capturing the memories of childhood and more of retaining the highlights of my journey of faith reversion. How the Catholic faith can be lived fully in everyday, ordinary moments of life, which I shared through my non-fiction writing. Between the pages of my collection of journals, one finds contemplation on the Scripture, catechesis on the tenets of the faith, mixed with my own struggle to believe, not lose faith, and cast-off doubts.

Spurred on to share because I’ve recognized, after years of conversations with others, that I am not the only person walking in the same wobbly steps, stumbling on these same rocks.

The journey is humbling, overwhelming, exciting at times, and heartbreaking at others. Yet, I know this is my call: to scribe the spiritual, spending endless hours in prayer, reading the scriptures, and participating in the sacraments. All to stay as close to Him as I can, and I’ll joyfully persist because it is on these pages I feel the closest to my God.

Copyright 2022 Allison Gingras

 

Loneliness and Thanksgiving: Thoughts from a Catholic man

God is the answer, because without Him there is no hope

By Larry Peterson

Loneliness and the feeling of being unwanted is the most terrible poverty. (St. Teresa of Calcutta)

This will be the third Thanksgiving since my wife passed away, and when you become widowed, there is an inescapable loneliness factor that enters your life. But I have learned that loneliness has no boundaries. It reaches out for everyone and captures many of the unsuspecting, including those who are seemingly happy, contented, and successful, dragging them into a world of hidden misery and often depression.

However, many who have experienced loss manage to bounce back and find contentment, peace, and even love again. Others cannot — why is that? The common denominator seems to be that those people who have God in their lives were never alone at all. Those who do not, remain alone. The first consequence of rejecting God is the loss of hope. They have allowed hope to be erased from their spirit.

The results of losing hope are devastating. In fact, the loneliness factor in the United States has reached epidemic proportions. Here are a few statistics that show how losing hope has affected our nation. Loss of hope leads to despair, and the ones affected most by this loss are in Generation Z: those who are in the 18 to 22-year-old range. I have grandchildren older than that. The entire concept of these young people, fresh from adolescence and beginning adulthood, having lost hope is so sad. How can this be?

Cigna referenced a “Loneliness Index” which shows that loneliness has become rampant in the United States. This worldwide health services company used the UCLA Loneliness Scale  (yes, they have a loneliness scale), which is a 20-item questionnaire designed to determine a person’s social isolation and their subjective feelings. This evaluator is used frequently to track and measure loneliness. Some of the results were astonishing. This is from their report of May 1, 2018:

  • 47 percent of Americans sometimes or always feel alone
  • 27 percent of Americans feel no one understands them
  • 40 percent feel that their relationships have no meaning and feel isolated
  • 20 percent feel they feel close to no one and have no one to talk to
  • Amazingly, Generation Z (people 18 to 22) are the loneliest generation. How heartbreaking is that?
  • Social media users have a 43.5 percent loneliness factor, which was comparable to the 41.7 percent for those who do not use social media.

Isn’t it interesting that nowhere is the name of God mentioned in these findings? And nowhere is the importance of the traditional family considered. The numbers are mind-boggling. We are a nation of almost 330 million people. If 47% say they feel “alone” that is nearly half the country. We only have to go back 25 years to the early “90s to see the rapid decline in the absence of hope.

Since then, there has been a 58% decline in club meetings, a 43% drop in family dinners, and children have their playtime regulated, depriving them of natural social development. People use their phones to message each other, apply for jobs, get interviewed, quit jobs, break up with their boyfriends or girlfriends, file divorce papers, and do all sorts of interactions without having to go face to face with a person, never saying one word.

Getting back to God and family would be akin to putting the linchpin back into the hub of life. Then, people, kids included, might be taught that they can turn to Jesus and never be alone. They might be taught to think of His words:

And behold, I am with you always, until the end of this age. (Matthew 28:20)

We must count our blessings on Thanksgiving, especially knowing that more than half of all Americans still believe in and honor God in their lives and that we have the freedom to do it. This Thanksgiving, millions upon millions of us will pray together, thanking God for all we have. We should also pray for all those who do not have hope in their lives. We know it can always be reignited and prayer can be the kindling used to fire up the hope lying dormant in so many.

God is just waiting to be asked to light the match.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Copyright © Larry Peterson 2019

The Mercy We Are Called to Live

Eucharistic AdorationWhen introducing the corporal and spiritual works of mercy in her book, Blessed Are You, author Melanie Rigney writes, “Both types can come free and easy … or hard and challenging” (Franciscan Media, 2016, p. 66).  This immediately made me think of the healthy benefits of exercise. I can stroll around the park with the kids, or I can strap on the boxing gloves and go a round with the punching bag.

As I read in Melanie’s chapter on mercy, which included Sts. Teresa of Calcutta, Maria Karlowska, and Frances Xavier Cabrini, she brought an important question to mind. How do I approach the responsibility of showing mercy to others in my own life? She did not mean just the common decency we’re called to extend to each other in day to day living with others. But the “words into action, called to be a saint” kind of mercy.

The Works of Mercy remind us that mercy is much more than forgiveness.  In totality, these works encourage us to live beyond ourselves. Though we may not all be called to the streets of India, as Saint Teresa of Calcutta was, we are responsible to care for the poorest of the poor—spiritually and physically.

Take for instance praying for the living and the dead. There is a straightforward way to accomplish this work of mercy such as offering the intentions for others during prayer. One of my favorite “free and easy” praying for others actions involves Facebook and Adoration.  Before my Eucharistic Holy Hours, I will post on Facebook an image of the Eucharist in a Monstrance and the words “Can I pray for you?” The response this post garners humbles and amazes me. I typically receive 100 or more likes and/or comments indicating a request for prayer. Then, when I am sitting in the chapel before Jesus in the Eucharist, praying for each person and their intention by name, I am overcome with a profound sense of hope and peace. Though the requests often break my heart, I would still place this act in the easy act of mercy category.

A few years ago, after completing a novena to St. Ann for help with a serious financial matter, I felt a spiritual nudge to give back in charity for great blessings received in an answer to this prayer.  After a time of prayer, I was inspired to rejoin the ministry of bringing Holy Communion to the homebound. My pastor was happy to have my help—but it would require me to attend the 8 a.m. Mass and rearrange my work schedule.  Sacrifice?  I didn’t see that coming; I thought it would be at my leisure and on my time. These were inconvenient sacrifices but the “hard and challenging” was yet to come in a most unexpected way.

First, you have to know I am extremely germophobic. Just weeks into this new ministry, I arrived at my assigned assisted-living location and was greeted by a giant note taped to the door, “ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK. STOMACH BUG EPIDEMIC.”

What?!

The situation was made more difficult because in my hand wasn’t regular Communion but Christmas Communion. How could I not bring them Jesus for Christmas?  Christmas was just days away when I was expected to host our family Christmas celebration.   It felt selfish to walk into the building and risk getting sick, or worse, exposing my entire family to the bug.  Yet, I was holding “Christmas Jesus” and I knew my new friends were looking forward to receiving Communion, which made it seem selfish to walk away.

As my spiritual director always says, “If you are going to trust God, then you need to trust God!” The hard and challenging aspect of this valuable work was trusting God regarding my health for the sake of serving others. When we step out in faith to serve God’s people, we, in essence, become Christ in the world.  Even the simplest of tasks can come with obstacles and difficulties; our spiritual muscles are strengthened when we forge through despite them. As in my exercise analogy, the workout that is harder takes more determination and effort. And let’s be honest, the harder workout will produce the greater benefit, too.

In case you are wondering, I did go into the building that morning, and I did not get sick. The smell of Lysol wafting heavily in the air gave me a bit of confidence, but the joy on the face of the first woman quickly told me I made the right choice.  I next visited a sweet couple, who had been married for over seventy years.  When I was preparing to leave, the wife said, “Jesus will bless you for your kindness.”

Reflecting on that special Christmas, regardless of whether I had become ill or not, the Lord had indeed abundantly blessed me.  Abandoning my fears and mustering up my courage to walk through those electronic doors that Christmas elevated my trust in God to a whole new level.  The reinforced trust generated in that experience would become the greatest gift I received that year.

It’s Perfect – Not!

By Janice Lane Palko

It was Father’s Day weekend thirty-one years ago. Married only a couple of years, my husband and I had moved into our first house that previous January. We’d spent that spring painting, wallpapering—the things you do to get a home into shape. On Saturday of that weekend, I’d cleaned the whole house while my husband had spent the day outside trimming hedges, weeding, and cutting grass in anticipation of a Father’s Day picnic for both sides of our family—the first event in our first home.

As we called it a day, I remember looking at our neatly manicured lawn and gleaming house and thinking, “Everything is perfect.”

Then the phone rang at 7:04 a.m. Who calls that early on a Sunday morning? I thought as my husband rolled over and answered it. When I saw the color drain from his face, I knew something was terribly wrong. He hung up and stared blankly at me, too stunned to show any emotion. “That was my mom. Tommy’s been killed in a motorcycle accident.” Tommy was his twenty-three-year-old little brother.

We’d anticipated a Father’s Day picnic filled with fun and laughter. Instead, we were now faced with death, identifying a body at the morgue, and making funeral arrangements.

So much for perfection.

Flash forward to June seven years later. I’m sitting in a counselor’s office after suffering for months with panic attacks. “From what I’ve observed,” the kind therapist said, “You are very hard on yourself. You need to allow yourself to be human. You think you have to be perfect.”

As you can see, my dance with perfection has been filled with missteps. From Tommy’s death, I learned that life is not perfect and never will be, and through my joust with anxiety, I learned that I am not perfect and never will be.

So, how does someone who’s had these types of reality checks with perfection square them with Jesus’s words in Matthew’s Gospel where He instructs us to “Be perfect just as your heavenly Father is perfect.”

To a perfectionist, His words area a recipe for disaster. You may have heard the adage “Perfection is the enemy of the good.” Well, when we perfectionists get rolling, we tend to discount anything, however good, that does not meet our level of perfection. We get tangled up in being immaculate. I’ve worked hard not to be a perfectionist, so when I came across that bit of scripture again recently, I, once again, reacted to it with disregard and confusion—not a good way to react to scripture.

I know perfection is impossible and shouldn’t even be pursued lest I become paralyzed in my quest to be flawless. There is no perfection on this side of eternity. I know I cannot be perfect, I made myself sick trying. Why would Jesus impose such an impossible directive on those He loves?

Ah, but I’ve also come to learn that when Jesus commands us to do something, He always promises to provide us with the grace to achieve it. His words in John’s Gospel provide the key. “Apart from me you can do nothing.” Apart from Him, I cannot reach perfection. Apart from Him, the world wallows in sin and destruction. Perfection in the way Jesus means is a work of transformation and something for me not to achieve but to surrender to. Through Jesus and His act of redemption, we reach perfection. Paul in his letter to Philippians gives us this assurance: “I am confident of this, that the one who began a good work in you will continue to complete it until the day of Christ Jesus.”

I’ve learned that Jesus is working on me, and that sounds absolutely perfect to me.

Running for the End Zone

By Janice Lane Palko

I recently celebrated my birthday. Now that I’m past the fifty-yard line of life and heading to the end zone, I can no longer deny that I am aging. When I was in my twenties and thirties, I could ignore the subtle signs of the advancing clock, and in my forties, platitudes like “forty is the new thirty” provided a flimsy veil of denial that I was growing older. However, when you hit your fifties, your children are grown, you are now called grandma, and conversations with friends gravitate toward aging parents, physical ailments, and possible retirement dates, there is no denying the obvious: I am getting older.

Many of us take a passive approach to our advancing years, believing that how one ages is out of one’s control–that it’s something that just happens to you. Others go into warrior mode and fight the “dying of the light” with hair plugs, Botox, and sundry other remedies in an attempt to vanquish the inevitable. This birthday spurred me to examine how I wanted to age. I decided I didn’t want to take the “curl up and die” approach and surrender to Father Time, but I also decided that I didn’t want to take the “aging rock star” approach and look foolish trying to cling to my youth at all cost. So how to approach this process of growing older? The second chapter of Luke’s Gospel provides the prescription. This last line jumped out at me as this chapter concludes: And Jesus increased in wisdom, and age, and grace with God and men.

It may seem odd talking about growing older when considering the immortality of Jesus. Though human and divine at the same time, Jesus, nevertheless, did age in body as is evident from his progression from birth as an infant to his culmination as an adult man in his thirties. Therefore, Jesus knew what it was to grow older, and as in all things, He provides the example for all humanity. This verse from Luke is His prescriptive on aging, and it implies that it should be an active, deliberative process that includes three aspects.

The first aspect is to grow in wisdom. To age following Jesus’s example, we must actively pursue wisdom. What exactly is wisdom? Proverbs 9: 10 tells us that “The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom.” Fear in this sense does not mean wariness of God, but of a healthy knowledge of His magnificence and our place and God’s place in His grand design. To acquire wisdom is not to gain knowledge but to be always persevering to know God and know ourselves in relation to Him.

The second aspect is to grow in age. While we know that Jesus advanced in years, many commentaries say that this phrase actually means to mature. Not only did Jesus grow in wisdom, but he flourished into our Savoir. What does it mean to mature? It means to become what God intended you to be, to embrace and fulfill your mission on earth. So, we are not only to gain knowledge of God and ourselves, but we are also to channel that wisdom into serving God by becoming exactly who He intended us to be.

Finally, we must grow in grace. Now, if Jesus is perfect, he could not have grown in grace as we usually think of it. Most biblical scholars take this passage to mean that Jesus performed greater and greater works for men and for God. Therefore, to follow in Jesus’s example, we must continue to acquire knowledge of God and ourselves and strive to fulfill our mission on earth. However, unlike Christ we are not perfected in grace. As such, we must rely on God to help us do greater and greater works in His name.

So, our golden years are designed not to be a passive time of acceptance of the elapsing years or an unreasonable attachment to bodily youth, but to enjoy a dynamic time of continued growth and development. We are to continue our run all the way to the end zone—perhaps with flagging physical strength and failing breath—but, nevertheless, with a vibrant spirit filled with wisdom, maturity, and grace.