We read in the Acts of the Apostles that Jesus’ apostles have become very active. They who, not long ago, were cowering with fear, seem now fearless as they give witness “in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.” We also give witness to Jesus in our respective vocations, to our own “end of the earth.” It’s worthwhile remembering how Jesus went about giving witness and doing ministry.[i] He was very active, clearly; he counterbalanced his activity by regularly making retreats, the very thing you, our guests, are doing here with us.
In Jesus’ ministry, the multitudes are desperate to hear Jesus and to experience his help and healing. The crowds’ expectations only grow. And what does Jesus do? It’s quite revealing. He withdraws quite regularly. Jesus would minister mightily, and then the Gospels say he would withdraw to deserted places. Note the plural – deserted places – and he would pray.[ii] The cry is not the call. The cry for help is not one-in-the-same with our call to respond. It certainly was not for Jesus. There was always more to do. Jesus shows his truly-human side, without infinite resources, and he practices a kind of “life rhythm” clearly knowing when he must withdraw to rest and pray.
How is Jesus praying at these times? Two ways. I imagine he is “disgorging” the heaviness of need he has experienced – the anguishing pain and overwhelming despair and brokenness – in his contact with so many people in need. That kind of prayer we call “oblation”: handing to God what is too much for us to carry. Without that prayer of oblation, we risk becoming infected by what has affected us. A prayer of oblation. And then Iimagine Jesus praying for replenishment, for the restoration of what has been spent. Without this prayer of oblation and restoration – without Jesus’ doing that, and without our doing that – there will be nothing left to give or to live. Worse than that, the “nothing left,” if unaddressed, will eventually become a vacuum. Nature abhors a vacuum, and that vacuum will be filled. If the vacuum is not filled by what is good and right and full of light, it will be filled by what is bad and broken and very dark. Very risky business.
Bernard of Clairvaux, the great twelfth-century French abbot, clearly knew in his own days about crowds and people with overwhelming needs.[iii] Bernard had a strong admonition particularly for leaders of the church, but, for that matter, what he said can be applied to anyone with eyes to see and a heart to care for the needs of the world that surrounds us. The endless needs. St. Bernard said, if you are wise, you will be more like a reservoir than a canal. “A water canal,” he says, “spreads abroad the water as it receives it.” (A canal is a pass-through.)“A reservoir waits until it is filled before overflowing. A reservoir, without loss to itself, shares its superabundant water. In the church at the present day” – this is Bernard speaking about twelfth-century Europe but it is equally true for us today – “we have many canals but few reservoirs.”
The cry is not the call. Be a reservoir.Make a retreat, at least once a day. At least. You’re worth it.
[i]Jesus said that “a servant is not greater than the servant’s master.” (Matthew 10:24; John 13:16; John 15:20).
[ii] Luke 5:12-16.
[iii]Bernard of Clairvaux, O.Cist. (1090-1153) a French Benedictine abbot, led the Benedictine reform movement which became the Cistercian order.
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