A Faith That Stirs

Readings 052926 

“Let your love for one another be intense,
because love covers a multitude of sins.”
And again,
“Do not be surprised at the trial by fire among you.”

Because faith often begins right there—
in longing, in searching,
in the quiet ache
for something more.

The dynamics of faith—
the raw movement of the heart
when God begins to stir,
turning the temple of our ego
upside down.

And form is the grace
that shapes that movement,
the order God gives
to the chaos inside us.

Our life of faith
is born from both—
the stirring and the shaping,
the ache and the answer.

And if you want to see how that unfolds
in a real human life—
how God draws the heart
and then gently forms it—
listen to this.

Listening to a Catholic podcast the other day,
a priest shared a story that stopped me.
He said that as a young man,
he simply did not believe.
By his own reasoning,
he had decided there was no God.
But he noticed something in his believing friends—
a peace, a tranquility,
a steadiness
he could not explain.

That was the dynamics—
the stirring, the longing
for what he did not yet understand.

At a friends’ invitation,
that young man
went with them
to an adoration retreat.

Not because he believed.
He didn’t even know what it was.
He just wanted to be with his friends.

And once he was there,
he didn’t leave—
because he didn’t want to disappoint them.
So he sat before the Lord in silence,
again and again,
with nothing but an honest heart.

And he prayed the simplest prayer:
“God, if You are real… show me.”

Across those three days,
the peace he saw in his friends
became the peace rising in him.
Not imagined.
Not forced.
Given.

“All that you ask for in prayer,
believe that you will receive it
and it shall be yours.”

That is the form—
God shaping the stirring,
God answering the ache,
God revealing Himself
in the quiet.

Jesus tells us that if we speak to the mountain,
“Be lifted up and thrown into the sea,”
and do not doubt in our hearts,
it will be done.

Prayer 

Lord, stir my heart
with the quiet ache that leads me to You.

Shape my longing
with Your gentle and holy form.

Let Your peace rise in me—
not earned, but given.

Teach me to sit before You
with an honest, open soul.

Strengthen my faith to ask,
to trust, to believe.

Make my heart free enough
to recognize You when You come close.

Amen

Memory and Anticipation

 Readings 052826  

My friends,
God has given us this holy gift—
the gift of memory
and the gift of anticipation.

We move through the world aware of ourselves,
and because we can reflect on that awareness,
we carry our experiences in memory.
And from that memory,
we imagine what may come next.
That is part of being spiritual,
part of being storied beings—
our lives woven with continuity,
threaded with grace.

But sometimes—
in the middle of the night—
I wake with a little trouble in my heart.
Something I thought I had placed in God’s hands
still clings to me,
still whispers, still unsettles.

So I pray the prayer of Bartimaeus,
the prayer of every soul that longs for mercy:
“Jesus, Son of David, have pity on me.”

Because this is what 

scripture reminds God’s people;
once you had not received mercy,
but now you have received mercy.

So when the world tells you to be silent,
when fear rebukes you,
when doubt tries to hush your prayer,
do what Bartimaeus did—
call out all the more.

Because Jesus still stops.
Jesus still hears.
Jesus still says,
“Call him.”

And in that moment,
memory becomes grace,
anticipation becomes hope,
and the night becomes light.

Prayer

Lord Jesus,
hold my yesterday’s in Your mercy
and my future in Your light.
Steady my heart when shadows rise,
and let my cry reach Your healing love.
Build me again in Your peace.

Amen