Here I Am!

by David Lins  |  02/05/2023  |  (Being) Catholic Matters

In this column, I have an advantage over homilists—I can zero in on a single line from the four readings (if you include the Psalm), whereas celebrants need to do their best to integrate as many of the readings as possible.

This is one of those weeks where I can’t help myself because when I opened the readings, a line from Isaiah jumped of the page.

“Then you shall call, and the Lord will answer, you shall cry for help, and he will say: Here I am!”

There are some of you who read that line—who heard that line this weekend—and it stings like poison instead of a sweet promise. It stings because you have called out to the Lord. You might still be crying out to the Lord. Bottom line: you have made your voice known to the Lord.

Possibly, you are tired of feeling like you are surrounded by friends or family, but you feel all alone. Maybe, your child is in danger. Or your spouse has passed away. The cancer has come back. You are tired of going to Mass alone. The money is going out faster than it is coming in. Your children are too busy for you. You worked so hard, and for what?!

He is supposed to say, “Here I am!,” but all you hear is silence.

I don’t know what you struggle with, but I do know what it is to struggle in some of these ways…

It stinks when an army of people are praying that you’ll be able to keep your adopted child safe, but the prayers seem to go unanswered. It isn’t easy when a parish is praying for your back surgery, but instead of a three week return with weakness, it turns into a two month return with pain.

I don’t know about you, but I should at least consider the possibility that those prayers might have provided that little girl extra angelic protection going forward. Those other prayers might have prevented the surgery from going tragically wrong. Or… and this is even harder medicine to swallow… maybe the Lord let things go the way they did (the way they are going for you) so we could be a light for Him in a beautifully humble way we could never imagine—and that fragile way is our path to heaven.