Are You Trying to Tell Me Something, God?

Friday, Feb. 16, 2024

Dear God,

Once again I come before you in prayer as I prepare to write this column. I’ve been doing so every week since starting this gig, and usually when you don’t answer it’s because there’s an excellent commentary from Catholic News Service or Our Sunday Visitor that speaks to some important point I haven’t even considered.

Lately, though, my prayer is met more frequently with silence. I’m not sure what to make of this. I’ve approached you with some suggestions for topics, which in the past you’ve helped me develop into a column, but even after a week of prayer all I have are a bunch of ideas that refuse to be fleshed out. There is Sister Miram Pollard’s reflection in Sunday’s “Give Us This Day,” which takes the reader into the mind of the leper from the Gospel reading, who approaches Jesus, asking to be healed. Sr. Miriam repeats the words of the Gospel: “Lord, if you want to...,” and adds, “Meaning, ‘Lord, if you care enough. Do you care? Do I matter enough for you to squander your power on me?’”

A whole homily could be preached on this. Do we, like the leper, believe that Christ can make us clean, if not of a debilitating illness then of whatever sin or addiction or pernicious habit that prevents us from being fully a member of the Christian community? And are we, like Jesus, willing to stretch out our hands to the lost and the least, and help them heal?

I’d like to write an entire commentary on this, Lord, but that one paragraph is all I can manage, even after praying to you.

The same can be said of the novel I’m reading, which has touched my heart with fear and hope. Our Missing Hearts is a cautionary tale of what can happen when panic leads to scapegoating, but the story also speaks of the power of parental love and how individual acts of courage can inspire others. But, not least because of the political undertone, to write effectively about this book would require a deft touch, which I lack without your guidance, God.

In the past I’ve drawn on my life for material for this column, but although I’ve been busy, nothing strikes me as worth writing about.

The purpose of this column, alluded to by the title, is to confront my doubts about this faith I profess, as St. Thomas did when he returned to the Upper Room. Over the years you’ve revealed yourself to me in nature, in everyday occurrences, in books, in other people, but these days I can’t find you no matter where I look.

I promised when I started writing this column that if it ever devolved into a vanity project rather than a spiritual one I would stop. Is your silence these last few months a sign that this column has run its course? If so, know that your message has finally reached my deaf ears. If not, when I sit in prayer these next few days, please give me the 600 words I need to fill this space next week. Amen.

Marie Mischel is editor of the Intermountain Catholic. Reach her at marie@icatholic.org.