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Be My Rest, O Jesus

If I said I was "concerned," that would be an understatement. I had trouble focusing during Mass today. I'm deeply convinced that we should all pay attention to the political process, and participate with fully-formed Catholic consciences. And in that, I forcefully reject any notion of making the perfect the enemy of the good.

I gave the Lord every feeling of agitation and anger. I have to surrender. I have to trust. And I am. In that, I will grow.

I may regard the advice to look for virtue elsewhere than in this sphere as nothing more than pious nonsense that shifts responsibility in the face of unreason, but perhaps people who say this are just tired. I'm tired, too.

But He's there. He lifts me up when I don't want to go on. He reminds me that he's not going anywhere. I remember his voice on the day his vicar decided it was time to go. He spoke to me in the silence. That was the day I realized I was a child, and God the Father was my father. I was 33 years old, and every shred of human love I could muster was streaming down my face. It was for this man, Benedict XVI, and I wasn't sure it was going to stop. But I went on. In God's mercy, I went on.

Therefore, even if the temporary triumph of evil men makes us weep, perhaps like we never have before, even if our very nation is taken away from us, Jesus will be there. And that's more than a platitude; He told me, as he has all the other times.
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