“I Can’t See Jesus”

My three-year-old daughter has a unique gift to bring a smile and joy wherever she goes. Always. Maybe it’s her ridiculously cute laugh, her Disney princess eyes, or her smile; but she is just too much sometimes (in a good way of course). She makes it difficult for me to be grumpy when I want to be. When I would rather sit and pout about my day, she would much rather pick me up with her cheeky grin and giggles because she wants to play a game or just be silly.

She is also one of the Lord’s favorite ways of teaching me the most seemingly simple, yet profound truths lately… Often, lessons I take for granted or never really spend any “real” time putting into practice – no matter how true I know those lessons to be.

Recently, we had one of “those mornings.” You know, where no one can find their shoes, everyone needs to use the bathroom at once, someone peed the bed, and someone else had a blow out in their diaper… and there is only 30 minutes before we need to leave for Mass… Did I mention both of the boys also managed to outgrow their “Sunday best” pants seemingly overnight?

When we surrendered to the fact that there was no way we were going to make our usual Mass time, we managed to limp our way into a different church, feeling defeated… and unprepared. But, knowing we must be holy… or at least look like it when we walk in… and act like we wanted to be there after a “rough” morning.  

It seemed to me as if everyone in the church must have had the same morning we did. Right from the start, I found myself distracted. Focused on all the wrong things, and critical, I half heartedly participated in the Mass… more as a spectator than anything else. The music was not the greatest for the Liturgy that morning… it bothered me. No one looked happy to be there… it bothered me. We got a few stink eyes for the youngest boy being a bit louder than normal and fighting with his sister over who gets to sit where… it bothered me. I really didn’t understand the homily or how it related to the readings… it bothered me. That lady really doesn’t like that my wife and daughters wear veils (by their own choice) to Mass… it bothered me. People were talking loudly through the consecration prayer… it bothered me. What didn’t seem to bother me was the fact that I was forgetting the most important thing: Despite all of what was going on around me, despite my crazy morning, Christ was there, just as he always is. Wanting me to encounter him; wanting to encounter me. Wanting me to receive him Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity in order that I may abide in him and he in me. So that I may have the hope of glory within… That I may recognize that this is also true of those around me.

I wish I would have come to that conclusion on my own. But I did not. When it came time to stand for the Our Father, my little sweet three-year-old daughter began to tug on me and stretch out her arms in the universal “pick me up” sort of way, and she said, “I can’t see Jesus!” “I can’t see Jesus!” Immediately, I was wrecked. In a good way! In a needed way! She taught me something. More accurately, the Lord used her once again, to speak something to my heart.

From her perspective, all she could really see is the backs of pews and… well, the behinds of people. Let’s be honest… in all ways, her level is not the best vantage point in terms of sights (sounds and smells too I suppose). It can be very hard to see Jesus when we have a similar perspective; whether literally or figuratively. My daughter had the right perspective that morning. Not me. She came to see Jesus, and she expected to see him; to experience his presence and she was determined despite whatever may be going on around her, despite her vantage point, despite whatever obstacles may be in her way, she was going to see him!   

“I can’t see Jesus!” She needed me to lift her up so she could see Jesus. Then, I realized, so do I! So do all of us! When we can’t see Jesus in the behavior of those around us, when we can’t see Jesus in the stink eyes and the moans and groans, when we can’t see Jesus in the faces of those who have given up an hour of their day to spend time with him – but look more like they just came from a funeral (including myself that morning) – when we can’t see Jesus in the words and behaviors of others, when we can’t see Jesus in the mirror…

We need someone to pick us up and help us to turn our eyes toward him, to have a better and higher perspective, to see Jesus! St Patrick wrote the words, “Christ in the eye of everyone who sees me, Christ in the ear of everyone that hears me, Christ in the mouth of everyone who speaks of me, Christ in the mind of everyone who thinks of me.” That is what we are to aspire to! That is the life to which we are called. He must increase, I must decrease (John 3:30). We must allow the love of Christ to dwell in us (Col 3:16), to conform us to his image so that others may see him in and through us. In the words of St Paul, “It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me; and the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me” (Gal 2:20). What if we were as the Scriptures say, the living, breathing, walking Bible we are called to be (2 Cor 3:2-3)? For a world starving for the love of God, the only way they can see Jesus is if we get out of the way and let his light shine through us.

That is helping others to see Jesus. That is answering the cry that really is deep within all our hearts, “I can’t see Jesus.” Would you help me? Would you pick me up and help me to see Jesus? We need each other. Scripture says, “As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another” (Prov 27:17). Sometimes the hardest place to see Jesus is in the mirror, in my own heart. That morning my daughter picked me up and said, “This is you. This is what you are made for. This is what you are supposed to look like. Now, I see Jesus.” For our children, and for the world around us, it is more often the case that the Christ others know is the Christ we show them through our words, through our deeds, through our thoughts. It’s past time we help others to see Jesus.

The Baptism of Jesus and Feeling Seen

Just after sunset on a cold January day, I arrived back to eastern Wisconsin after a week long Christmas break at my parents’ home in Missouri. I slipped into a 5:30 Monday evening Mass, and smiled when I noticed my boyfriend had arrived ahead of me and was kneeling in prayer. I slid into the pew next to him and Mass began. It was just a normal Mass, day after the Feast of the Epiphany, week before the Baptism of Jesus. 

During the Prayers of the Faithful, much to my embarrassment, Father added an extra petition: “And I see that Kate has returned safely to us after her travels, so we thank God for her safe return and for her presence and ministry here at our parish, we pray to the Lord”. My face must have turned the same rose hue as my turtleneck sweater. Though his prayer was a kind thought, and a nice welcome after a long day of driving, I still felt embarrassingly called out. 

Later, during the Sign of Peace, rather than a simple handshake, my boyfriend hugged me. A hug made sense, after all we hadn’t seen each other in a week. Yet still my mind raced thinking “Oh dear, do the elderly ladies behind us think a hug is inappropriate here? Does my boss know I’m dating someone? Is anyone going to say anything?” Though it was a kind, even sensible gesture, something in me just couldn’t rest in his brief hug since I was wondering if eyes were on me. 

Later during Mass, I talked to the Lord about it: “Jesus, I feel so oddly seen during this Mass. Between Father’s prayer and David’s hug, I get that they appreciate me, but it’s a little extravagant.” In a way that only He could, the Lord answered my worry and called me back to focus on the Eucharistic prayer with a gentle reminder to my heart: “No matter what happens, the most extravagant display of love at this Mass, and at every Mass, is Mine.” Jesus calmed my distraction and caused me to reflect on His own extravagant love.

Later that week, I read the upcoming Sunday’s Gospel, the account of the Baptism of Jesus. After Jesus was baptized: “the Holy Spirit descended upon him in bodily form like a dove. And a voice came from heaven, “You are my beloved Son; with you I am well pleased.” (Luke 3:22). The Holy Spirit descended and the voice of the Father proclaiming love and truth over Jesus was heard in front of a crowd of people. That’s very extravagant. And Jesus wasn’t embarrassed, He didn’t run from love, He didn’t wonder what other people thought, He just received the love being spoken over Him by the Father. 

How do I shrink away from love (either the love of God, or the love of people in my life)?

Can I go back and imagine God the Father’s gaze at me at the moment of my own baptism and rest in that extravagant love? 

Who in my life needs to hear love and truth spoken over them?