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Epiphany of an Unfaithful Heart


I’m beginning to think there’s a lot more that goes into being faithful than what I once thought.

It’s about perseverance when I’d rather take a nap.

It’s about trust when I’d like to call in all those favors I’ve done for others, strong-arm when necessary.

It’s about dying to myself for my kids, the grandkids, my husband, my parish family – for Jesus Christ in the Eucharist in the monstrance in the middle of the night when someone needs a substitute-adorer for his hour of Adoration.

It’s about little sacrifices that only God knows.

Or big sacrifices, like dark nights and arid days, seasons of clinging to my “I believe” when my fear is stamping it out as fast as I can say the Creed.

It’s about embracing people who pop up from the past – a past I wrapped up in white paper and tied up with a bow – a past I neatly tucked away.

Faithfulness is more than an identity bracelet, more than a status on Facebook, more than a T-shirt slogan or what I do on the Lord’s Day.

It’s the sum total of everything.

Knowing that He didn’t die that I might live.

He died that I might die with Him and rise to live forever.

I can’t bypass the dying part. The living must pass through the dying. Not just once. Not just on the day of baptism. Every day.

American Evangelical Protestant teaching falls apart in Calcutta – and also on the narrow road. Bless me now doesn’t mean prosper me over and over and over. Blessing is not akin to prosperity. We have lost our religion if we think it is so.

Jesus doesn’t give us an IOU.

We give it to Him – every day.

Lord, make me faithful, because I know what it means now, and I’m not as ready as I should be.

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