Spiritual Desolation
And unexpected graces
It is Christmas Eve already, and the day is half over. In two and a half hours I will be squished happily in a church pew, snuggled by my children, smelling the Christmassy smells, singing old hymns, and feeling the heavenly joy as we welcome the birth of Christ.
Our preparations this Advent have been more planned and paced than most years, but there’s still the last minute gift wrapping and deciding what Mass to go to.
This afternoon we got an unexpected letter from our dear friend, Brian, now known as Br. Barnabas, who is a novice in the Franciscan Friars of the Renewal out in New York City (CFR’s). His presence in our lives was the gift we didn’t know we needed, but was - and continues to be - a real coming of Christ to our family.
Almost three years ago my husband left his job at our small town parish. We made the decision with so much confidence and peace, but it was an incredibly painful experience. Even these years later, the waves of grief still come crashing over me - and I still try to make sense of it all in therapy. So many of my most cherished relationships -my relationship with God, my relationship with the church, my relationship with our small town community - were all ruptured in their own unique ways. But in it all, we were held by Love and provided for in miraculous ways.
It was just some odd months after that, the summer of 2022, that Brian discerned out of the seminary and moved home to Fowler.
That year that he was home, his friendship was a balm to our grieving hearts. He was the tangible presence of Christ to us over and over again. He was the kind of friend that would just be present. Whatever projects we were working on, he’d jump right in to help. He’d spend hours at our house, just hanging out with our family. He would randomly drop by with food (I can’t even name how many times!) or stop in for coffee and conversation after a weekday Mass. When he left, he would always ask us how he could pray for us.
He was beloved by our kids who immediately adopted him into the family: they would pick on him like one of our own, bringing him into their games, and telling him about their lives. He was a man of prayer. He was a listener. And he was always encouraging us in our roles as parents, individuals, and in our faith.
My favorite story is the time he randomly visited our house one day after our microwave unexpectedly died. We were making light of the situation - as our house was bursting with the strong odor of a burning plastic.