How will the Lord find you?
Jesus said to his disciples: ‘As it was in Noah’s day, so will it be when the Son of Man comes. For in those days before the Flood people were eating, drinking, taking wives, taking husbands, right up to the day Noah went into the ark, and they suspected nothing till the Flood came and swept all away. It will be like this when the Son of Man comes. Then of two men in the fields one is taken, one left; of two women at the millstone grinding, one is taken, one left.
‘So stay awake, because you do not know the day when your master is coming. You may be quite sure of this, that if the householder had known at what time of the night the burglar would come, he would have stayed awake and would not have allowed anyone to break through the wall of his house. Therefore, you too must stand ready because the Son of Man is coming at an hour you do not expect.’
The Gospel reading at Sunday’s Mass got me thinking in a way that compels me to get pen to paper. I can’t keep having these moments without putting them down, because in time, it will inevitably drive me mad. I desperately need sleep, but I need this even more.
To have heard our Lord, to respond, I must write something, anything, of what I thought and felt hearing these words. Today, Christ compelled us to keep watch, to stand ready, for we did not know the day, nor the hour. Like in the days before the flood, when people carried on with distraction and indecency, completely unaware that the end was upon them.
When prophets cry aloud, there are few who care to listen. I had to get something out, to get something down before these thoughts burn me up and they find me, nothing but a pile of ashes in the morning.
The Lord warned us to be watching and waiting, and I wanted to propose that for each of us, this meant something very different. Certainly, there is the fundamental aspect of penitence and prayer. But more than that, I don’t doubt the Lord wishes to find us at work—the work to which we were called:
The painter at her easel,
The pianist, fingers upon keys,
The carpenter at his craft,
The bootmaker, cutting, shaping leather.
The poet at his eloquence,
The dancer on her feet,
The blacksmith at the anvil,
The Friar in adoration.
May He find us, each of us, at that delicate toil to which He has called us. God forbid that our Lord find you maggot brained, futilely scrolling, abandoning method for mirth, for fleeting whims, and inane distractions - mired in the meaningless, rotted muck that passes for culture these days. Should He find you enthralled by a John Ford film, there is little shame in it. Art, film, music, and song have their place, their meaning, their wonder—an aspect of His creative brilliance. But not the rot, dear reader.
The masterful bounding of the athlete has its place. The toil of the strong man beneath the bar has its place. The song of a mother bathing her child, soothing her toddler, is perhaps as beautiful as anything else upon this earth. Should our good Lord find you at the chess board with your beloved son? There’ll be no shame in it. And above all, anyone at prayer needn’t fret, for the Lord is already with them, and may their wills be united should that prayer be deep enough and true enough.
What must it be for you, dear reader? The paintbrush on the canvas? The calloused hands on the kettlebell? The embrace of your beloved, listening to the gentle whisper of their breathing as you lie awake just to hear them? The wonder of the written word: the phrase that you yourself craft, or the fine work you behold?
Either way, there’ll be no shame in it. But for the love of God, may He find you in love, at work, at prayer, and at peace with His will in all things. I need sleep. I desperately need sleep, but I need this even more.