Be the Instrument

Saturdays are for Mary. I get her. More importantly, she gets me. I didn’t love her so much at one time, but I grew to love her because my heart was fervent for her. As a converted Catholic, I committed to giving her a chance, to knowing her more deeply and to accepting the Church’s teachings on her. I could not understand her role and place in my life and couldn’t quite fit her neatly, squarely into my life’s hectic corners. But I desperately needed her…

I needed her guidance and tender care. I needed to understand how she could pray for me. I was desperate to see how I could get myself closer to our Lord, and knew that she was the fastest and surest way there.

My theological mind told me it wasn’t possible. My intellectual mind told me it didn’t make sense. But my heart, my heart was longing and wanting for love of her, for imitation of her, to be close to her. To read of the Saints that had seen her, the graces she offered, the love she carried with her. It took a short time for me to understand the Marian doctrine, but a much longer time for me to accept it.

I started to see her as an instrument of God’s love. A carrying of His heart. She brought forth divine life and hope. She was a teenage unmarried Jewish girl who was chosen by God to carry the savior of the world. What an awesome and terrifying task. There was so much there for me. The weight of a large divine task, the visibility of this divine responsibility, the loneliness she must have felt, and the knowing that this birth would change the course of history.

I thought of my own journey- pregnant with a love for Jesus as a converted Jewish girl, visible for all to see, my great loneliness in carrying our Savior. I too was an instrument of grace, trying to make my way as a young Jewish girl who had become a Christian. God’s chosen instrument, as I did not choose Christ, but rather He chose me.

It is difficult to be God’s instrument in a world that does not understand. It is difficult to be different. It is difficult to be an instrument of His will with a great desire to play only sweet sounding music when your audience does not understand nor care for your brand of music. Over the years, I have invested in the truth; that I do not play for large audiences, I play for an audience of one.

But I have come to this conclusion.

An instrument is played by it’s musician and the musician is focused on the instrument, not on the audience. That instrument being played is God, and so is the audience we play for.

Mary has helped me understand that. She has helped me keep my focus on Him. She has helped me accept myself as a Jewish girl who has fallen in love with Christ. I trust her, give my all to her, so she can guide me straight to Him.

She is a worthy vessel, an honorable mother, a great protection. She has showed me how to play beautiful music, to use my life for the greatest good and most importantly she has made my crosses sweet.

I don’t pray anymore for God to take my crosses away, but instead to send Mary.

I will always be a Jewish girl who loves Jesus. It doesn’t require further explanation accept to say that I could not imagine my life any other way.

And I will play that sweet music that He has assigned to me, as Mary did, to bring the love of God to the ends of the earth.

90 Seconds

How do you live one moment at a time? You cannot. This concept is wholly secular. Moments are increments of time that pass in movement from once frame to the next. They are snippets. They are still frames that can only be entered once the “moment” has passed. And, we move on to the next moment…

There is a lot of pressure to live “in” the moment. But moments are passing shadows. The movement of a shadow on a sundial covered 40 moments in a solar hour. On average, a moment corresponds to 90 seconds. And moments, (for all that they are not these days), were marked by a call to prayer at various intervals throughout the day. They were not a random “creation” of moments, they were an intentional calling on God, a movement towards Him. Even the earliest reference to the moment was defined by a Saint (St. Bede the Venerable).

When taken out of context, the moment becomes distorted, like other concepts extracted from out of their holy boxes. The world takes them and twists them to fit their own relativism, where one is in control of who and what they are. The God-man is lost in self-help books and do-it-yourselfers. And the moment? The moment fades away (how very cliche).

But if we return to mark our own moments, good and bad, can God change them? Can He use them? Or does the passage of 90 seconds define our whole lives? Each bead of the rosary marks a moment that I can change, a prayer, defining me. The now is the now I ask for Mary to pray for me, in this very moment, fifty times.

So the decades of the rosary are made up of moments, are marked by intentional prayer, are graces I give away after consecrating myself to our Holy Mother. And in those moments that have passed me without prayer, can I strive to make them holy by praying over them, especially the ones that stop me from enjoying life, the ones that rob me of my joy?

I say, contradict the world.

LET THE MOMENT PASS. DON’T HOLD ONTO IT. Jesus said as much to Mary Magdalene…