Looking out the church front doors, which are in the collage below, one can see down a path to the abbey's cemetery. It is a serene spot, surrounded by trees and flowers, and there is a secluded bench where I like to sit during the silent retreats. I don't especially love grave sites, so don't be concerned--but it really is a lovely spot.
This year I began the retreat with many conflicting ideas, questions, doubts and feelings of failure. Only an hour or so after arriving I entered the retreat center's tiny library. I don't know why I did, because we are encouraged not to read books but to concentrate on short passages of scripture. On the wall was something that may have been there during previous visits and remained unnoticed. Upon reading it, I hurried (as much as is possible when one is walking slowly) back to my little room for my notebook. I felt a great weight lift from my spirit. This was what I copied. The bold print is my addition. The peace it gave me was a precious beginning to the time of prayer and silence. I hope it encourages you as well.
Creating the Church of Tomorrow
Archbishop Oscar Romero
It helps, now and then, to step back and take a long view.
We accomplish in our lifetime a tiny fraction of the magnificent enterprise that is God's work.
Nothing we do is complete. Which is a way of saying that the Kingdom of God lies beyond us.
No statement says all the would be said.
No prayer fully expresses our faith.
No confession brings perfection.
No pastoral visit brings wholeness.
No program accomplishes the church's vision. No set of goals and objectives includes everything.
This is what we are about:
We plant seed that one day will grow.
We water seeds already planted, knowing they hold future promise.
We lay foundations that will need further development.
Nothing we do is complete.
We cannot do everything, and there is a sense of liberation in realizing that. This enables us to do something and do it well. It may be incomplete, but it is a beginning, or a step along the way, an opportunity for the Lord's grace to enter and do the rest.
Nothing we do is complete. We may never see the end results, but that is the difference between the Master Builder and the worker.
We are the workers, not the Master Builder, ministers not Messiahs.
We are prophets of a future not our own.
Later I took the notebook and my Bible and sat at the cemetery as the warm evening light faded. I pondered, what might these Norbertine priests and brothers, now gone from earth, have desired from life? Did they feel, as St. Paul did, that they had finished the course and kept the faith? Had they pursued the wrong things? Did they feel they were leaving too soon? Was work undone, spiritual seeds unplanted, unwatered or unharvested? (If you click on the picture to enlarge it, you can see some of their names and dates of their deaths.) Yet here I sat, seeking new focus and direction for my own life and work, and I watched the sun set and listened to a large flock of Canadian geese excitedly honk encouragement to one another as they practiced their formations for the upcoming migration. Life was continuing. God's presence was with me, and God's divine plans will proceed. I am only a worker, not Master Builder, and I do not have to understand the end.