Expectation, Invitation, and the Grace of the Present Moment

“Holiness does not consist of extraordinary signs. Above all, it consists of the daily acceptance of the unfathomable designs of God.” – Archbishop Columbo (qtd. in Saint Gianna Beretta Molla: A Woman’s Life)

In late September of this year, I spent a beautiful weekend in the Cowichan Valley on Vancouver Island visiting with a friend who was working a seasonal internship on a small flower farm just outside of Duncan. I still have vivid memories of the restorative beauty and rest I encountered on this trip. After a particularly strenuous few weeks at work, my soul eagerly savored and delighted in every extraordinary moment: watching the sun rise while driving to the ferry terminal, soaking in the last stubborn rays of summer sunshine on my skin, waking up to quail cries before dawn, drowning in the sensory overload of a busy farmers’ market, and pondering complex spiritual realities while gazing in wonder upon a brilliant blanket of stars.

While separated from the rhythm of my rote daily routine and immersed in the juxtaposed realities of silence and sensational experience, my restless mind was free to wander down new paths and explore ideas in a fresh way. One particularly pleasant afternoon, my friend and I were both sitting on beds in her quaint, sunlit yurt. The instinct to engage our minds in intellectual activity seemed to strike us both simultaneously, so she picked up a book and I, a notebook and pen. Before long we were exchanging thoughtful commentary, and she began to read me quotes from Man’s Search for Meaning by Victor Frankl. While many of these segments offered great food for thought and prompted no little amount of scribbling on my paper, there was one concept in particular that took root in my heart. At the time, I couldn't have explained how or why I found it so fascinating. Like many things in life, its relevance was revealed gradually, as new layers of meaning were added in response to my experiences over the coming months.

The theme Frankl wrote about in this section of his book discussed the contrast of youth and advanced age, with the central focus being the difference between a life of possibility and a life of lived experience and memory. Frankl’s conclusion was that while the former is more frequently coveted, it is the latter that is more valuable. This immediately struck me as a true statement. It also struck me as a statement that seems to fly in the face of the values and priorities of modern man. There is no little pressure experienced today by people from all walks of life to ensure they create a life for themselves (or for their children) that is full of possibilities. No door must be shut too quickly. No sacrifice is too great to be made if it will earn one the dearly prized possession of having a future of greater possibility. Working longer hours, volunteering for more charities, participating in more extracurricular activities, dating more people, attending more social functions, getting another degree, taking another job, and many other examples demonstrate the multitude of ways our culture encourages us to engage in the hunt for endless and better possibilities. But there is a burden and cost that comes with this mentality. And the conclusion I reached while surrounded by birdsong and the smell of cedarwood walls on this fateful weekend in September was that this burdensome mindset had a source with a familiar name: expectation.

I think of expectation in this context as the willful anticipation of a future reality that may or may not come to pass. This can be either a positive reality (such as finding your dream job, getting married and raising a family, or checking travel destinations off your bucket list) or a negative one (such as living through a natural disaster, losing a loved one unexpectedly, or being diagnosed with a terminal illness). When we live with this expectation mindset, we tell ourselves that things need happen a certain way for us to be satisfied with our lives and maintain a disposition of peace and contentment. If our dreams are fulfilled and the plans that we have made play out as we are expecting, we will be happy. As long as none of the worst-case scenarios or negative circumstances we have allowed ourselves to think and live through in advance come to pass, we will not be shaken from our sturdy foundation. However, this is a precarious position in which our interior peace becomes dependent on our exterior circumstances. The fruits of living a life of expectation in this way can only be negative. If we trend towards pessimism and live in a constant state of expecting worst case scenarios, we will see fruits of anxiety, stress, weariness, and wariness. If we choose a more optimistic outlook and expect our lives to be full of possibility and promise, waiting for and working towards a very specific fulfillment of our hopes and dreams, we will see the fruits of dissatisfaction, disappointment, restlessness, and resentment when reality does not live up to the cookie-cutter mold we have used to shape our future.

When we live with this anticipation of either positive or negative realities, it is often an indication of a spiritual malady that lurks beneath the surface. Expectation can be seen as a manifestation of “grasping,” by which means the wounded human heart seeks to control what it does not wish to surrender. When we find ourselves driven to stubbornly hold on to a very specific dream, or to exhaust ourselves preparing for a worst-case scenario, this often turns into a desperation that indicates a lack of trust in God's love for us. We may find ourselves entertaining common lies that the enemy whispers into our ears, allowing these phrases to become a rhythmic soundtrack by which we frantically dance through the motions of pretending that we can manipulate our own destiny: “God will not provide for you; you are on your own; God does not care about you - he is distant; you can only rely upon yourself; no one else will come through for you; God does not care about your little dreams.”

There is, of course, always an alternative choice to be made. When we consciously counter these lies with truth and develop our "trust muscles" by growing in intimacy with God, we open up the possibility of living with a mindset of invitation instead of expectation. In contrast to the grasping action of stubborn expectation, we can choose to take a posture of receptivity towards the present moment by inviting God to show us his will for us in it. Instead of the fruits of anxiety, distress, and frustration, living with this attitude of invitation produces joy and peace through the action of surrender and the cultivation of gratitude and humility. Mary’s “yes” to God’s invitation to give birth to and raise the saviour of the world provides an example of this surrender par excellence: May it be done to me according to thy Word she said to the angel who bore God’s invitation to her. Though she knew not the details of what this great adventure would look like or how it would impact her quiet life, Mary had a close relationship of trust with her Lord, and this allowed her to experience the peace that comes from accepting God’s will in all circumstances. She then journeyed to visit Elizabeth and allowed a spirit of gratitude to fill her heart to the point of overflowing with a joy that produced the words of her Magnificat: My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my saviour, for the mighty one has done great things for me, and holy is his name.

(Shortly after drafting this paragraph in the days leading up to Christmas, I discovered the following song on an Advent playlist which beautifully reflects upon this theme):

When we choose to imitate Mary’s receptivity, living with an attitude of invitation and seeking God’s will and his presence in all circumstances, we are not anxious about what may or may not come to us in the future. We live in confidence of our identity as beloved children of God, and with the certainty that he can (and will, in his perfect timing) bring about our greater good through all things. Our abiding peace will then come from knowing that God can be found in every place and circumstance, and that there is no situation we will encounter in which he is not waiting for us, loving us, and offering the grace we need to be victorious in our daily battles. Everything is grace wrote St. Thérèse of Lisieux, whose life and writings provide a beautiful witness to the simplicity of surrender and the joy that comes from total trust in God and abandonment to his perfect will (I highly recommend this Abiding Together podcast episode if you want to explore this connection in more depth).

Christmas is a particularly appropriate season in which to ponder and practice the difference between living in a state of invitation and one of expectation. While the Christian hope that is reflected in the Christmas story is cause for great joy, the celebration of Christmas often brings with it the anxiety of trying to live up to unrealistic expectations. It is not difficult to observe in our workplaces, on busy streets, and in our own homes the chaos and stress that often results from striving to create a “perfect” Christmas experience and uphold a plethora of Christmas traditions. This is perhaps one of the reasons why it is not uncommon for many people to easily recall sorrowful memories that took place around Christmas time. Although loneliness and loss are a common part of the human experience and occur at all times of the year, there's a particularly painful awakening to the reality of living with willful expectation when death, illness, cancelled plans, or family emergencies jarringly interrupt the steady hum of seasonal celebrations and festivities. On top of this, the winter months often provoke a spirit of restlessness and listlessness, which can provide fuel for an expectation mindset. When days are short, weather is dreary, and nature reflects the supernatural reality of death before rebirth, it is easy for our hearts and minds to fall prey to an impatient anticipation of warmer days.

There is a particular song that wove its way into my consciousness in the weeks before Christmas which I found to be a powerful representation of how the dissatisfaction and frustration that results from this state of expectation can steal our joy and eclipse the grace of the present moment. There was one particularly memorable evening in which I found myself singing the lyrics of this song softly to myself as I fought to release the burden of expectation and embrace the posture of invitation that I knew would bring profound peace into a day that had been punctuated by moments of pain and anxiety. It was a Friday night, and I had recently learned of the unexpected passing of a family friend (she had died of a cancer we didn’t even know she had). I arrived home from work to a dark street and cold, quiet basement suite, as a power outage had eliminated the comforting glow of porch lights and Christmas decorations and brought an eerie stillness to the neighbourhood. The first heavy snowfall of the season was just beginning, and my thin jacket provided little protection against the below-zero temperatures that rarely make their way to BC’s west coast. My gloveless hands were shaking as I turned the key in its lock and my teeth chattered, as much in protest against the heaviness that was settling upon my spirit as in response to the cold winter air.

The means by which I could take a posture of invitation in this moment was perhaps more pronounced than it often is, for I knew there was Eucharistic Adoration and Mass at a church nearby that evening. I eagerly traded the dark and cold of my basement suite for the warmth and welcome of the church sanctuary, and the fruits of this choice became obvious very quickly. I walked into this refuge with a chill weighing on both my body and my soul, and I left with a warmth and strength that I could not have hoped to produce in myself. Though my grief and weariness had not left me completely, gone was the expectation that they would overwhelm me and the spirit of disillusionment that I had felt myself slipping helplessly into. Not even the return to my dark suite (the power came on two hours later), the news of increased covid-related restrictions for the holidays, or the prospect of having to change my plans for the weekend due to weather disruptions could fracture the peace that I had found by accepting the invitation to come meet Jesus in the Eucharist.

I would like to conclude by providing some of my personal reflections on the lyrics to the song which has been playing itself in my head this Christmas season.

December air always gets stuck in my hair

And on my nose

And in my clothes

The feeling of winter chill can be invigorating to the senses and inspire a particular feeling of alertness which is not altogether unpleasant or unwelcome. However, when coldness lingers and buries itself in our bones, such that we forget what it was like to feel warm, there is a temptation towards bitterness as our unfulfilled expectation warmth overwhelms us with negative emotion. Our souls can similarly experience the coldness of grief, betrayal, unforgiveness, and other sources of emotional pain as a chill that gets stuck in us and which we cannot seem to shake off. Of course, we cannot prevent the experience of this cold “December air” which seeks to pervade our inner being, but we can choose how we respond to its visits.

Hands in pockets on the side walking

Down the street

Fumbling with the cords that kept you from having to listen to me

The image that comes to mind with these lyrics is that of a teenager who has chosen to close themselves off from the world, from God, and those they love by seeking the protection of a set of headphones and an unapproachable posture as they take to the pavement to seek escape (a scene which may or may not have roots in my own memories of adolescence). It is the image of a soul trying to isolate themselves when what they really need is to open themselves up to the invasion of grace that is just waiting to step across the threshold once the door is opened even a crack. How often, I cannot help but wonder, do we block out God’s invitation to receive hope, healing, and comfort in moments of pain, stubbornly choosing the noise of the world over the silence he invites us into so that we might hear his voice? How often do we expect that God will speak to us in the specific way we want to hear him, or that he will provide a soundtrack for our lives that perfectly aligns with our own plans? Like an adolescent fumbling with headphone cords while in an agitated state of mind, our efforts to force our own dreams into reality are clumsy and distract us from the clarity of vision we might receive by opening the doors of our heart to God’s voice.

You just wish it was warm

You just wish it was warm

You just wish it was warm

And you were with me

The chorus of this song reflects the dangers of an attitude of expectation, which can put us at risk of living in a constant state of dissatisfaction. We are fickle creatures. We wish for any season other than the one we are in. We wish for a different vocation, a new job, a new home, something other than what we have, which we believe will help us experience life in a more satisfying way. But life is lived in the present moment. The desires and longings of our hearts for love, warmth, joy, healing, union with God, etc. are good and beautiful desires (God himself planted them in our hearts). However, we must not allow these longings to lead us away from contemplating the reality that “everything is grace,” including our present circumstances (even if they reflect the cold and barrenness of winter more than the hope and promise of spring).

The fireplace is like a grace till it turns to coals

And the air grows cold

And it’s getting old

As long as we are comfortable, we are easily satisfied. But how do we respond and who do we become when physical and emotional comfort disappears? This is a true test of a person’s character. To whom or what shall we turn when the fireplace dies, when we are in long seasons of waiting and warmth and light have faded or died altogether? Do we allow ourselves to become impatient during drawn out winter seasons, anxiously waiting for the springtime? Or do we seek the grace that is inevitably whispering to us in the wind or lingering in the still December air?

You can't escape, run, hide

Only wait until the winter’s over

Finding peace when God is asking us to wait out our winter seasons requires an attitude of acceptance and surrender. We often run to material distractions and sensual pleasures, believing they will fill the emptiness we feel when our expectations remain unmet. But ultimately these will only leave us feeling lonelier and more dissatisfied than before. True peace comes only when we invite God into these cold and lonely places to provide the grace we need to sustain us through darker days.

You just wish it was warm

You just wish it was warm

You just wish it was warm

And you were with me

It is natural for our souls to desire the warmth of the sun or the restorative heat and comforting light of a fireplace. God has created our hearts to experience these good things, which find complete fulfillment in the beatific vision of heaven. But progress in spiritual maturity while we are on earth requires that we release our grip on these pleasures and embrace God's will in all seasons and circumstances.

But it can't be what it is not

And it is not time for you to be

With me

There’s a season for everything

And you'll be with me

This is perhaps my favorite verse of the song, and the one that most frequently plays itself out across my lips at random moments throughout the day. It is important to acknowledge our longing, even if the ache of experiencing unfulfilled desires is more painful than the numbing of them might be. But to feel does not mean to dwell upon, and to accept does not mean to cling to.

Resentment, not peace, is the fruit of grasping. But receptivity to the gift of every season and circumstance of our lives plants seeds that blossom into a security and a calmness of spirit that is born out of the trust that comes from developing an intimate relationship with a God who loves us more perfectly than we could ever love ourselves.

"For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven: a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted; a time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; a time to throw away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; a time to seek, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to throw away; a time to tear, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak; a time to love, and a time to hate; a time for war, and a time for peace." – Ecclesiastes 3: 1-8