I Lift My Soul

By Leif Kehrwald

As we enter the Advent season and prepare our hearts for Christmas, we recall the visitation of the angel Gabriel to Mary announcing that she would be the mother of the Christ child.

I, too, was recently visited by an angel.

My wife and I were late for Mass, so we slipped into an empty pew in the back just as the lector began the first reading. I was distracted by our rush to church and our attempt at a quiet entry, and so I mentally missed the entire reading. I tuned in toward the end of the Responsorial Psalm:

Good and upright is the Lord;
thus he shows sinners the way.
He guides the humble to justice,
and teaches the humble his way.
R. To you, O Lord, I lift my soul. (Psalm 25)

After the Gospel and homily, the children (and some of their parents) returned from the Children's Liturgy of the Word. Only then did we discover that our pew had first been claimed by two other families totaling five pre-schoolers and three adults. They all squeezed in with us. I felt trapped.

Our pew became a tumultuous sea of motion and noise. My prayerful reverie turned to recollections of "wrestling" with my own sons in these very pews nearly twenty years earlier. I also felt angry and judgmental: at my wife for making us late, at these parents who clearly could not control their children, and then at myself for having these judgmental thoughts.

Meanwhile, one little girl was noisily crawling around at my feet in search of her dropped cheerios. CRUNCH! I guess I found them first.

As we sat for the Preparation of the Gifts, the same rambunctious girl boldly crawled right into my lap . . . uninvited! She looked me in the eye and offered a coy smile. My heart melted a little and I whispered, "Would you like me to hold you?" She nodded. Then an amazing thing happened. For the first time that morning she became still and quiet. She just looked at me, and while I tried to focus my attention to the altar, I pretty much just looked at her. Her peace and calm were infectious. Soon, the other four children seemed to mellow and settle down.

When it came time for Communion I quietly asked if she would like me to carry her up the aisle with me. She nodded just like before. So together, we made the journey. I received the Body and Blood, and she got a personalized blessing. She stayed in my arms until the end of Mass.

When I handed her off to her mother, who was indeed grateful for my help, I was feeling pretty good about myself. Single-handedly I had diffused the chaos of the back pews, helped out a young mother, and made a new little friend. If that doesn't qualify me for sainthood, I must at least be ready for grandparenthood!

But upon reflection, I see now that it wasn't I who was Spirit-inspired. Oh, no. Rather, it was the little angel who crawled right into my lap and spread her peace to all those around. She did for me what I could not do for myself. She lifted my soul so that I might catch a glimpse of the ways of God.

Your ways, O LORD, make known to me;
teach me your paths,
Guide me in your truth and teach me,
for you are God my savior,
and for you I wait all the day.
R. To you, O Lord, I lift my soul.

These words are from Psalm 25 and they were part of the Responsorial Psalm at Mass this last Sunday, the first Sunday of Advent. (It also serves as a common psalm for the whole Advent season.) A little angel by the name of Megan helped me see what it means to lift my soul to the Lord, and so I pray, "O God, give me the humility of Mary in responding to your call. May my soul magnify your greatness, and may my life proclaim your goodness."

I cannot promise you an angelic visitation such as I received, but I do invite you to begin your Advent with a reflection on Psalm 25. Begin by listening to Timothy R Smith's rendition, To You, O Lord. The melody and lyrics will soon sweep you away.

Spirit Compass reflections are developed in partnership
with the Center for Ministry Development.