Lord, let me serve You.” ~ Fernando Ortega, Just As I Am
I do not know where and when I got my servant’s heart from but today I wondered a few times about why I have one and why others don’t share the same passion. I like to think that we all serve in our own way but why do some of us serve more and with greater zeal? Why do we return the Love given while others maybe put it on a shelf in the closet?
This morning I was blessed by a workshop given by a young man who is at Princeton Theological Seminary. A friend said during the break what a gifted man he was—a storyteller, a pastor, an educator, an advocate for Deaf people…and so much more. In the few days he has been here, he has left quite an impact on people. He seems to be able to give and then give more without keeping tabs. He is one of those Deaf people who lights up a room with his facial expressions and beautiful use of signed language, who rises above the oppression he has faced and turns the pain into a golden nugget. He knows Whose he is and rests peacefully in that knowledge.
Tonight at mass at the prison, the sharing was about how do you know what love is—and how do you know that God loves you. The person speaking did not know if she was truly loved by God. I am always puzzled by this concept. I may not have always felt loved in my home growing up—I was an awkward, shy, self-professed ugly child, but I always knew God loved me. I have known since I was five years old. I cannot always describe to people how I know this, but I do know it as my Truth. So many people have yet to learn this. We have a lot of hurting hearts that cannot trust anyone, let alone God. This was evident tonight in the conversations with the men after mass. One told me he was whipped with electric cords but that he knew his mother had done a good job raising him. Really?? This person has no clue what love is. All I can ask is to be a loving presence to people who have yet to learn that Love exists.
I cannot say that my life is been clear sailing or that I was left unscathed by the years, but even in the most miserable moments, I have known that I was Loved. This photo was taken in Burundi during a difficult workshop on grief for trainers who had lost entire villages during the genocide. It belies the pain that was unleashed during my days with these people and yet I have hoped that my presence there did allow the joy to return to hearts so shattered.
I have been given so much that I must return it. Perhaps this is why service seems so obvious to me. In the Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius, the final days of the prayer asks the retreatant to find the courage to say, “Take, Lord, receive. All is yours now. I return it. All I need is your love and your grace. That is enough.” Take the remaining days of my life, Lord. May I serve you with a heart that does not count the cost.
Peace,
Suzanne
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