Lenten Reflections: Wonderers and Wanderers

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Though this may be an exaggeration, I'm quite certain that almost any time anyone asks how they can be praying for me, I almost always say to pray that I would be content.

Just yesterday I heard a story told by one of my favorite lyricists, Aaron Weiss of the band mewithoutYou.

A man's horse runs away. His neighbor is distraught and sad for the man. The man replies, "Who knows what's good and what's bad?

The next day, his horse returns and there are many horses with it. The neighbor is overjoyed for the man. The man replies, "Who knows what's good and what's bad?"

A short while later, the man's son is riding one of the new horses when it bucks him off and he breaks his leg. The neighbor is upset by this. The man replies, "Who knows what's good and what's bad?"

The next day, the government announces that it will be enlisting all the able-bodied young man to go fit in its current war. The man's son cannot go off and fight (and possibly die) because of his broken leg. The man replies, "Who knows what's good and what's bad?"

The point of the story is that this man does not move with the ebbs and lows of immediate circumstance. He is not unpassionate (having no desire) but dispassionate (being in control of his desire). More so, he learns that his actions are so insignificant in the scope of a larger consequence that he cannot possibly know, what is ultimately good or bad for himself.

I think this is an important thing to remember during Lent and throughout life. It can be easy to say from a place of comfort, but it is a mindset that will carry us through lows and keep us sober in our highs.

The chaplain at my college once said that when God does something miraculous in your life, you should give him thanks and carry on along the business of your life. Do not become drunk with pleasure, even the pleasure of a miracle. In one of St. John Chrysostom's homilies on Lazurus and the rich man, he says that we should be, "drinking a drunkeness of self-control."

I've been doing this exercise where I think, "how to I become content with dying right now?" And my mind is sobered a little and I start to forget the future (which is in no way guaranteed) and the past (which may as well have never existed). I collectively try to be present with where I am, forgetting what I could have done and not boasting about what I might do.

What more is the heaven promised to us than to be perfectly present and content in our souls with God? And what more can we offer others?

I seriously thought about this. What could I offer as far as from Christ to a child coming out of sex trafficking? I think it would be the contentment of the Holy Spirit because all of its fruit are wrapped up in it. Paul even wrote to Timothy that, "godliness with contentment is great gain."

Another thing that my chaplain said was that we should learn to "let God be God." We can do so much more for the world and others when we realize that we can't save the world and aren't going to change it. And even if we do, who's to say whether it will be for the better or worse? Let God be God. We can do a lot more when we are content with those around us, for they are our "fields white for harvest." You can feed the homeless and be far from God because you talk back to your mother.

Isn't it so absurd to be absolutely content with everything in the world exactly the way it is? But we are not God. We will not change anything at all regardless of how many times we hear it. Let us be humble with our smallness. We will do our part with the greatest thing we can offer to our fellow man, our prayers and our immediate and close hand.