Be Still, My Heart

As we were preparing to leave for Medjugorje, one of the pilgrims asked me how he should prepare his heart to receive whatever gifts God may want to give Him. His desire was good. He was hopeful of receiving something from God. But he was anxious. He felt pressured. And that pressure caused him distress.

I experience this myself at times. For example, people are gathering here this evening for the Eucharistic Healing Hour. I admit that I feel some pressure to lead that prayer well. My intentions are good. I want people to feel loved and blessed as they come to the church. But I also feel some degree of anxiety about it.

Perhaps we shouldn’t feel ashamed of the self-consciousness and sense of inadequacy that sets in the moment we think of God wanting to do something in our lives. After all, we’re burdened by the effects of sin - our first reaction to life is always the uneasiness of one who believes himself to be orphaned. But, if we quiet our heart in prayer, we can perceive the presence of a great love that casts out fear.

My mother reminds me from time to time about something a priest once said to her in the confessional. She had gone in with a heart full of wounds and a mind full of thoughts. The priest said to her, “Carol, be still. Quiet yourself. And especially when you go home again after this confession, in your response to your husband and children, be still.” She refers to that counsel even now, as she strives constantly to remember it.

I have often borrowed that priest’s words, myself, when offering counsel to others. “Be still.” In fact, I said something similar to the young man preparing for the Medjugorje pilgrimage. And I have to allow the Holy Spirit to say it to me this morning in prayer, as my heart races toward this evening’s Holy Hour. “Be still, my heart. You are not an orphan. You are greatly loved.” +