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That which we are reluctant to do for ourselves, we often gladly undertake for the sake of someone we love. We get our sleep deprived bodies out of bed in the middle of the night when we hear the baby cry. On one level, we do this out of necessity; we do not want the baby to starve, and we do wish to get back to sleep ourselves. But when we smile in our tiredness at this demanding child, we are remembering the deeper why, the love that persuades and inspires our action.
Young children quickly grasp this when they realize, for example, that the joy of getting a cookie is made greater when they break that cookie in half to share with another. Admittedly, this original good impulse does not automatically prevail from then on. That same child will wrestle with wanting to take what another child has, to hold on to what they have, to shout a defiant “no” at the suggestion of sharing. But the gratification of giving is an invaluable life lesson that can prevail over time and with repetition.
This learned capacity to give beyond our natural inclination is a resource within us which we are free to draw from as needed. Once we have learned the worth of doing for others, it becomes a memory muscle within us that inclines us toward generosity and helps us overcome the inertia of self-centeredness.
This inclination can rise above the level of everyday interaction and beyond the immediate circle of family and friends. A friend of mine recently donated a kidney anonymously, an act of gratitude for the kidney her own husband had received. She struggled, however, upon learning that the surgery was unsuccessful. This in no way negated the sacrifice of her giving, but it left her understandably confused and troubled.
What if there is a dimension here beyond the simple equation of give and take? What if we are moving in the realm of grace? What if the gift was not the kidney but the gift was her giving?
This is the kind of giving that is “laying down one’s life for one’s friends.” Surrendered into the hands of God, it becomes bread blessed and broken, multiplied and given for others. We may never know who or how it blesses, but we are assured that it does, indeed, bless. Nothing is wasted in the economy of God’s grace.
Isaiah 55 offers us this image of God’s overarching grace and purpose when he speaks of the Word of God and says:
10 As the rain and the snow
come down from heaven,
and do not return to it
without watering the earth
and making it bud and flourish,
so that it yields seed for the sower and bread for the eater,
11 so is my word that goes out from my mouth:
It will not return to me empty,
but will accomplish what I desire
and achieve the purpose for which I sent it.
Isaiah reminds us God has a purpose overarching all of creation. That we get to play a role in that is where the realm of grace resides. That which we are reluctant to do for ourselves, we often gladly do for another. Left to my own devices, I might well pull those covers over my head in the early morning darkness. I don’t particularly want to get up and face the demands and challenges that await. But then I remember someone I know who will awake this morning, look across at the empty bed beside, and be reminded. For the pain of that remembering, for the daunting emptiness or her day ahead, I can easily swing my legs out of bed. Perhaps I can drop to my knees alongside my bed and whisper a prayer that she will be blessed this day with beauty and kindness, be reminded she is not alone.
For reasons beyond our knowing, God chooses that we should contribute to the good of one another, even of those we will never meet. If we didn’t learn if from the Catechism, we learned it from Covid—our well-being depends upon one another.
We are mysteriously connected by God’s grace as surely as we are by the human condition we share. Because of that, our choices matter, for others as well as for ourselves. In the old days of my Catholic grade school religion class, we called it, "offering things up." The terminology may be dated, but the concept is eternal.
It matters, the seemingly small choices and everyday activities, they all matter--or at least they can. Offered as gift, surrendered to God's larger purpose, this is the stuff with which God blesses, Christ's ongoing redemption, the stuff which makes the world whole, Tikkun Olam, in Jewish thought. (see earlier article,Tikkun Olam)
This awareness holds incredible power. Like the rain in Isaiah’s passage, we can water the earth making it bud and flourish. We can achieve the purpose for which God has sent us. And we can do it with simple, small intentions of self-giving. On such trivialities of love does our survival, does God’s kingdom depend. Blessed are we.
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