The associated reading for this reflection can be found in your Every Sacred Sunday Mass journal or online here.
In reflecting over these last several months, in our Church and in our world, I’ve noticed a common thread that is deeply intimate to the human experience: Breath – the loss of breath, and the coming of the Spirit as Breath.
On May 25th, in the midst of the ongoing cries of our nation, George Floyd pleaded for his life, gasping, “I can’t breathe.” Then, just a week later, we as a Church, celebrated the coming of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost, the birth of the Church, when Jesus Himself breathed on the disciples and said, “Receive the Holy Spirit.” The image of the Holy Spirit as breath has become a mainstay in my prayer lately, and in praying with the readings for today, a line immediately grabbed my attention: “The Spirit himself intercedes with inexpressible groanings” (Romans 8:26).
And we are groaning for breath. As I write this, over three hundred thousand people in this country, and many more around the world, have experienced severe shortness of breath due to the coronavirus. Many have already uttered their last breath. Injustice and division stifle our breath. So many of us are likely holding our breath. In anticipation, fear, anger and disbelief. In reconciling hard truths. In mourning, loss, and surrender.
Inundated with these external realities, I feel that this year has become one big, inexpressible groan. We are experiencing a pain far too deep for words. It is ineffable. Inexpressible. A pain far too great for the human heart to bear alone.
These times more than ever require faithfulness to and persistence in prayer. If you’re like me, though, maybe you’ve found that there are really not even enough words. But there is a great beauty and consolation in knowing our littleness before God. Sometimes faith as small as a mustard seed looks like having the courage to just show up before God and say, very simply, “I don’t know what to say. All I know is that I need you.” And the Lord, who is good and forgiving, will sit with you in the silence. The Lord who experienced the greatest, inexpressible suffering as his hands trembled in the Garden of Gethsemane, knows how to hold our pain. He’s held it before. And He’s holding it all now.
It is my prayer for you that today, you will have confidence in the Spirit that comes to your aid, who prays for you in the Breath of the Father. That you will have faith in the one who searches your heart and claims it. He knows your pain, dear reader, and He feels it too.
Laurie Medina is a graduate of Texas A&M University and a first-year participant in the Echo Graduate Service program. She loves spending time outside, getting creative, having heart conversations over coffee, and finding beauty in the holy ordinary. You can find her curled up on the couch re-reading Joy of the Gospel, arranging flowers on the dining room table, or reacting to the latest drama on the Bachelor. You can also find her on Instagram or read her latest blog posts for Life Teen.