BLOWING WHERE IT WILLS

by Fr. David J. Tokarz

Sunday afternoon this past was a typical one for me (at least, when there are no emergencies)—doing yard work. I knew the front yard needed attention, so I concentrated my efforts there. This involved edging, mowing, and then blowing the clippings and leaves off the driveway.

          All was going well. After all, it was not particularly hot, so I did not need a lot of water because of a lot of sweating. And there are a few places around the rectory where the curb is “cut out,” so to speak, making for the ideal place to blow the yard waste back on to the grass. My blower is not powerful or industrial, but it is enough to get the job done.

          As I was blowing things up the top part of the driveway, I discovered an unfortunate situation: I was moving NW, and the wind was coming from the NW! I think you can guess who won.

          For me, the lesson was that I was blowing where I willed; the wind was blowing where it willed. And how often do I find myself in the same situation, with regard to the Holy Spirit (re-read the analogy from John 3, just to refresh yourselves)! I know where I want to go, but I find myself opposing the Holy Spirit (again, double check the passage of Acts 5—the advice of Gamaliel to the Sanhedrin, or the end of the speech of Stephen in Acts 7). But after all, shouldn’t the Lord consult me as to what needs to be done, and how to do it?

          There is a phrase that can be found very frequently in spiritual writing—being “docile” to the Holy Spirit. The word has connotations of being open, but the root really suggests that a “docile” person is one who is teachable. For me, the catch is how many lessons I need to go through before I become teachable—before I learn that I am not the one in charge.

          Pentecost is about being open to possibilities hinted at but surely never really taken too seriously: a group of Galilean nobodies who are going to be inspired (literally, Spirit-filled) to being a Jesus movement that has survived (sometimes by the hardest) for two millennia—really?

          There is no clear explanation for the beginnings of the Jesus movement (nor for its endurance in the context of horrible abuses and sellings-out), other than that there is a Power involved that is bigger than human talents (or sinfulness). Napoleon supposedly said to Pope Pius VII’s Secretary of State, Cardinal Consalvi, “We will destroy your Church!” To which Consalvi replied, “No, you won’t—not even we have been able to do that!” And so it goes: through all the ups and downs of the Church’s history, through all its glories and betrayals, for all its selfless saints and self-indulgent sinners, we finally (not popes or bishops or priests or layfolk) are in charge: the Holy Spirit finally is in charge. We have not always made the Spirit’s activity very easy to experience, but the Spirit is the soul of the Church, nevertheless.

          So for myself, the suggestion I need to follow much more is to turn off my own leaf-blower, to see where the Spirit wills to blow, and follow.