Love comes at a great cost.
As a guest at the St. Benedict Acre’s farm, I have the privilege of watching the Lord breathe life onto the earth early in the morning. I bear witness to the morning sun blooming red and orange across the horizon, beyond a towering hill on which a wooden cross stands.
The sun arrives like an immense, harmless fire resurrecting from the cool ground. It is a miracle to see such beauty unfold without a single word being spoken.
I hear the groans of the cows early in the morning. The cows moo, and the sheep eat their hay as we farmers prepare for a day that will be unlike the day before and in which the graces and trials will not repeat those of yesterday.
The sight of the morning sky often turns my thoughts towards God, the source of all life, who made such a sight possible.
Lately, this great flame in the sky reminds me of St. Peter who denied Jesus in front of the fire where he was warming himself (Jn 18:17-18). Jesus reaffirms his love for Peter in front of another fire (Jn 21:9-19).
In this last event, the resurrected Christ asks Peter about his love for him. I ponder Peter, teary-eyed and vulnerable, as he realizes what the Son of God is asking of him. The flurry of emotions that must have swept through him is beyond imagination.
Just before this, Peter and his brethren had been trying, unsuccessfully, to catch fish. As day broke, Christ appeared on the shore and told them what to do so that they could bring in a bountiful catch.
With a net full of fish, they realize that the man on the shore is the Lord. Peter leaps into the sea, which would have been waist-high, and goes to him. When the rest of the disciples come ashore, Jesus makes breakfast for them.
Peter then affirms his love for Christ and receives not only forgiveness but also responsibility as the Lord instructs him to “feed my sheep” (John 21:15-17).
Love comes at a great cost. Like fire, love must be cared for with a sense of stewardship.
How many times have I been in that boat, not catching the things I want — achievement, recognition, wealth, control? How did that unsuccessful venture feel? Did I allow God to breathe his life and his will into that failure or those self-seeking pursuits?
How often do I leap into that blue sea at the sight of Jesus in my neighbor, with whom I am called to be united? Do I allow the Lord to feed me when my heart yearns to be satisfied? When I tell Jesus that I love him, do I really take it to heart as he tells me, “Feed my sheep?”
In the deep silence of early morning on the farm, I hear the word “forgiveness” repeated over and over in my heart, as the pink sunrise washes over me. I pray for those I need to forgive and for the grace to forgive them.
I offer up different aspects of my being (work, hardship, pain, joy) for those who have forgiven me while I beg God to give me the heart that he wants for me and to remind me of my weakness.
In learning to “pray always,” as the Little Mandate outlines, I find myself asking, “Jesus, help! Mary, help!” along with the Jesus prayer in between.
To reconcile myself with another person is an immense work of God’s mercy. I have to put myself at the feet of the Lord, day after day, on that sandy beach and allow him to feed me.
With God’s grace and through prayer, scripture, the sacraments, and the duty of the moment, I’m learning to shed the obstacles and pride that block my love for my neighbor.
In breaking down those obstacles, I just might be helping to build up the kingdom of God. There we will witness the hidden fruits of forgiveness as we all share in God’s love and see each other and ourselves for who we truly are.
To forgive myself, too, is a difficult, life-long task. Yet when I can do so, I discover more deeply God’s love for me and his presence in my life.
The Holy Spirit is constantly at work, revealing to us the Father’s desire for a relationship with each of us.
If I truly say “yes” to feeding the sheep of my heart and that of my neighbor, then, by the grace of God, I will open every door of forgiveness and communion that God wants me to walk through, as I hold the hand of my neighbour in one hand and the hand of God in the other, while we watch the sun break through the night.
Nick spent several months living at our farm.
