Dark Devotional: Still Waiting

Last updated on: May 26, 2016 at 9:08 pm by Guest Contributor

Dark Devotional: Still Waiting 2016-05-26T21:08:11-05:00 Guest Contributor

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Life, death, time. That about covers it.

An Ignatian Contemplation* on a Reading from the Gospel According to Luke (9:11B – 17), In Medias Res

Then, taking the five loaves and the two fish, and looking up to heaven, he said the blessing over them, broke them, and gave them to the disciples to set before the crowd

They all ate and were satisfied. And when the leftover fragments were picked up, they filled twelve wicker baskets.

As they begin to hand it out – the five loaves and the two fish miraculously stretching to feed the multitude – I wait in expectation. As an introvert, this isn’t what I wanted precisely; I don’t handle large crowds well, and would’ve preferred something smaller. I’m envious of those closer to Him, those twelve who sometimes seem to take for granted their immediate proximity to Christ – further, those three among the twelve He seems particularly close to.

But still this is a way to share a meal with Christ – Him – whom I love from a distance. No, it’s not the same as the intimacy I want. But I know that what I’ll be receiving is part of the food he originally touched, and that’s something, though maybe a little creepy – I feel a bit like a holy stalker. Still, what else can I do? – it’s Him. And sometimes I’m mad for Him. Sometimes a little obsessed. “Nothing to draw us to Him,” the prophet said. Nothing indeed – and that nothing is more dangerously magnetic than everything else in all the world.

And so I wait, expectantly, with open hands. It’ll be my turn soon. I begin to grow hungry, and as I do, I do the good Catholic thing and reflect on what I’m about to receive. Those around me are tearing into it – the food – like hunks of fried chicken. Isn’t there some sort of reverence due, some ceremony? And this is miraculous – touched by Him. Can I keep some of it? Or will it spoil like the manna kept overnight in the desert? I’ll try, I resolve, to keep some. And with that resolve, I wake from my reverie and look around.

Christ Feeding the 5000, image source: Melkite.org

Slightly alarmed, I notice that more and more of those around me have bread and fish; still I have none. I try not to become anxious. Surely there’ll be enough. A half-miracle in which only some get food would be odd, uncharacteristic. But my hands remain empty while the hands of those around me grow increasingly full. Fighting panic, I look around – maybe there are others – maybe the food is just being distributed in a way I don’t understand.

And here and there I do seem them. Some are agitated – some angry – others quiet and resigned with a touch of sadness in their eyes. They’ve seen this happen before. Bread for everyone – everyone, the unspoken line goes, except them. And so I grasp after that. Maybe I’m left empty so I can empathize with them, be companions to those who also don’t receive, many of whom are even poorer than I am. But then with a flash of anger I want to know why they’re going hungry in the first place. Fine if God wants me in solidarity with the poor and hungry. But why are they poor and hungry to begin with? Everyone else is being fed.

So I try another tack. There are those around me eating, being filled. It’s real food meeting real hunger. Not everyone is being fed, but for those who are, it’s no sham. Surely this is cause to rejoice. And so I try, deflecting attention from my empty hands and trying as best I can to celebrate with those around me. You got bread! His bread! Such joy! Some are oblivious to the slight moisture in my eyes that even the most concerted earnestness can’t mask – spring allergies, I say dismissively, and they believe me. Others notice the emptiness and the eyes and avoid me. And still others make an effort, knowing that neither of us want this. They never asked to be rich with me poor any more than I would be rich with them poor. Yet bound in this strange love by the awkward emptiness of my hands and the awkward fullness of theirs, we begin to wonder: can even awkwardness be sacramental?

In my emptiness, I wait. There is word rippling around the crowd that this is not the end of the story – that somewhere it is written, “they all ate and were satisfied.” To be satisfied – I look at the emptiness of my hands. To be satisfied – this must be what is meant by faith – to trust the rumor of an ending that hasn’t yet arrived.

Karl Persson is a scholar of premodern literature and theology and a professor in the Literature and Language Departments at Signum University. He also contributes to the Inner Room, a blog focused on contemplative spirituality and the recovery of ancient Christian practices and social imaginaries. Together with his wife, Meg, and his son, Andrew, he spends his winters surviving the polar vortices that descend on Winnipeg, Manitoba, from the Canadian North; his steadfast endurance has led to the deep wisdom that can only be bought through the patient suffering of many winters. Well…perhaps the bits about wisdom and patience and steadfastness aren’t quite true. But the suffering is real. He is Sick Pilgrim’s Viking Correspondent.

*The term “contemplation,” as used in the context of the Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius of Loyola, refers to an imaginative and affective engagement with Scriptural narrative, usually from the gospels, undertaken under the supervision of a spiritual director and guided in accordance with the rules, norms, and doctrines of the Church.

Dark Devotional

contemplative prayer

feeding of the 5000

Ignatian Spirituality

Karl Persson

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