Before settling into the deeper matters I want to discuss tonight, I need to share a few quotes from last night that make me laugh:
"I'm pretty sure I'm wearing a shirt as a dress right now" (that was me...I have developed a new, rather disturbing affinity for wearing shirts over leggings and seeing if I can get away with it. I try really hard not to go crotch-out, but sometimes you can't help it)
"That girl has cameltoe, and she's wearing overalls. Short. Overalls." (Addie- I even took multiple pictures of said unfortunate girl but now feel as if it would be extremely un-Christian of me to post them online)
"I am afraid there may be a fanny-pack involved" (me referring to an equally unfortunate girl involved in a bachelorette party last night)
Anyway, moving on to the heart of the matter (which happens to be the name of a wonderful india.arie cover featured on the SATC soundtrack).The Gospel at Mass today was from Mark - a story about Jesus healing a paralyzed man. At the end of the Gospel, Jesus says to the once-paralyzed man "rise, pick up your mat, and go home." And as I sat in that church today, I found myself wondering if there was such a huge difference between myself and the paralyzed man. We both felt - literally or figuratively - that we were at an impasse and could no longer move forward. And we both turned to God, albeit in severely different circumstances, to hopefully discover the next step. Clearly, when Jesus spoke, he assumed that the miracle had already taken place - he had healed a paralyzed man. But what if the real miracle is finding a place to call home?
The Gospel today left me with a profound feeling of hope. Jesus had healed the man's physical paralysis, and hopefully in time He will help with what I consider to be my current emotional/general life paralysis. Right now, I'm not so sure I can say that I know where home is. Again, I face a question concerning the difference between a literal and figurative definition. Which is more important, when you are looking for home?
I know where my literal home is, but I secretly feel guilty whenever I refer to Columbus as home in front of my mother. Columbus is not fully my home...I cannot behave like a petulant child here with the assurance that everyone will still love me when my hissy fit has passed. I am ashamed to say that I frequently lose my cool in McLean and behave more 4 years old than 24. But what is better than being assured of unconditional love? So...is that the definition of home? The place where you're assured of unconditional love? In that case, I do have a home. So why do I feel a little bit like a lost child, stumbling through the fog towards...God knows what?
This question is one that has plagued humans since the time of Jesus and continues to worry us today, as evidenced by a song (by my boyfriend TI) that has enjoyed recent popularity - the lyrics of which say "Oh, I've been traveling on this road too long (too long), just trying to find my way back home (back home), the old me's dead and gone, dead and gone."
When I hear this song, and when I heard the Gospel today, I can't help but feel nostalgia for a place I'm not quite sure I've come to yet (if you've read the quotes on this site you'll recognize that concept). At this point, I haven't yet decided if this feeling is painful longing or pleasant hope. Maybe both. I embrace this longing now, because it implies that at some point, I will find relief. I will find the true North towards which I have been unknowingly oriented my entire life.
I felt at home today in that church. I felt the unconditional love. Maybe Jesus was so assured that the formerly paralyzed man would find his way home because, in healing him, he had shown him the unconditional love that home was made of.
And isn't that a wonderful thought? The idea that at some point, I will - we all will - arrive at the place in our lives when we will recognize that we can finally exhale and say "There you are. Here I am."
And thank God for that.
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