Exploring Capacity
Monday @ Montpelier: September 23
Blessed by Limitations
The past two Sundays, I have found myself starkly reminded of my limitations. Last week was our first Atrium at Montpelier, and this week I served an atrium in neighboring Chapel Hill, NC, and their gaggle of three-year-olds fresh to the environment.
Both weeks, as I attempted to prepare for “teaching” in the atrium, I would hit a wall and fail to make mental progress towards a “plan”. Having now spent 40 years with myself, I finally have come to understand that when I can’t focus my brain or get it to retain information, these restrictions are my body’s message that my energy needs to be directed to more productive places (usually rest).
In the past, the closer I would get to a moment of responsibility without my brain settled on a detailed course of action, the more panicked I would become. Thankfully, I am in a new era where (with the help of medication for anxiety joined with years of therapy and spiritual growth) that panic has become a signal to lean into the work of curiosity and trust in a power greater than mine.
Catechesis of the Good Shepherd intentionally steers clear of the language of education (ie: “teaching” and “lesson plan”) for good reason. It is not a place of education but of formation, and catechists are not teachers but guides and co-learners. Don’t mistake this distinction as empty semantics; it’s an attempt at using imperfect terms to define a cosmic work happening in a cosmic environment in which adults are limited co-laborers.
I am reminded this morning of a passage in John 3, in which John the Baptist tries to put words to his experience as an earthly co-laborer in a heavenly work.
“It’s not possible for a person to succeed—I’m talking about eternal success—without heaven’s help. You yourselves were there when I made it public that I was not the Messiah but simply the one sent ahead of him to get things ready. The one who gets the bride is, by definition, the bridegroom. And the bridegroom’s friend, his ‘best man’—that’s me—in place at his side where he can hear every word, is genuinely happy. How could he be jealous when he knows that the wedding is finished and the marriage is off to a good start?
That’s why my cup is running over. This is the assigned moment for him to move into the center, while I slip off to the sidelines.”
Following in the example of John’s ministry, in the atrium, we work as hard as we can within our limited capacity and then we “get out of the way” for the profound movement of the Greater that we serve.
Personal Reality Check
Don’t hear me saying that intentional preparation is a bad thing—we should, we must, give the very best to the children we are serving—but I argue that the most effective preparation we can do is in ourselves. For me, this means familiarizing myself with the materials for myself, deepening my encounter with them for the sake of my own spiritual growth. It means engaging in an intentional practice of trust through personal conversation with God. Trust is surrender and it creates open spaces in my mind and heart for what the Good Shepherd will give to those particular children at that particular time. If I fill myself too full of plans and schedules and expectations and desires, there will be no room left for the spontaneous encounter that is being in God’s presence with unique persons in a unique moment in time.
For myself, I have found that making exact plans in preparation for the atrium is more an act of self-protection than care for the children. It is an instinct of control that, though born much out of love, nonetheless ends up being more for me than for the ones for whom the gift is meant. The result may be that we get an impoverished version of the potential wealth both the children and I might have received.
Though I’m still learning, and practicing imperfectly, my pre-atrium work as a catechist is to
know the materials through personal encounter;
make minimal plans and hold them very loosely so there is plenty of empty space (internal and external) to be filled with the teaching of the Holy Spirit through the children and their work;
be honest about my own capacity and engage my muscles of faith in believing that God can and will fill my cup to overflowing through his abundance.
The Not-so-secret Truth
I am talking here much about our limitedness as humans, but the truth is that we have been offered the gift of limitlessness.
In relationship with God, we have direct contact with the source of all things. If we will accept His invitation and relinquish to the flow, without attempting to control and direct it, we can be like a glass beneath a waterfall.
Maybe that doesn’t sound safe. And I guess in some ways, it’s not. Maybe that which easily breaks is meant to be broken and replaced with a sturdier vessel. We do have to be brave; we do have to take steps into the wild unknown. That is what it feels like for me nearly every time I step into the atrium: it’s a daily practice, for better or worse.
I can’t offer many certainties beyond my own experiences, but those have taught me time and again that openness and surrender lead to more abundance than I could have dreamed, and increased capacity to carry it.
