AMDG

I was born a performer. By the time I was five years old, I was organizing my cousins into a theater troupe at family gatherings. I would write, direct, and star in the show we put on, while the rest of them (all older) would roll their eyes and go where I directed them. I have a vivid memory of striking a deal with them; they wanted to color, I wanted a play. The compromise? I let them color on stage. So we had two minutes of me hamming it up as a teacher in a one room schoolhouse followed by ten minutes of all the actors sitting on stage coloring while I glared at any adult who should happen to whisper. Not my finest moment as an artist, but I am rather proud of my precocious ability to manage people.¹

I suppose it comes as no surprise that after learning that I couldn’t be a priest, I found the most visible liturgical roles that I could. I lectored and I cantored whenever I had the chance. I was used to performing, after all, so I might as well do it for God.²

But I found that I got a lot more nervous before I sang at Mass than I did before I sang at an a cappella concert. If I messed up a solo, I looked like an idiot. If I messed up a psalm, I could distract people from God; the stakes were a lot higher.

So before each Mass, I made an offering to God. I asked him to guide my voice and told him that I trusted him to do what was best for the salvation of souls. Then if I did well, I knew it was by his grace. And if my voice cracked or I messed up the words, I trusted that he would use that for his glory. Maybe my failure convinced somebody that she could praise God even if she was flawed; maybe awkwardly singing the wrong verse snapped someone out of his daze and got him paying attention again; maybe I was just such a hot mess that it made somebody angry and forced her to confront her temper issues. I didn’t need to know how my screw-ups became blessings, but I trusted God that they did.

This new approach gradually began to transform the way I approached my ministry. I became less self-obsessed and better able to trust in God. But until recently, it stopped there: at liturgical ministry.

This summer, it hit me like a bolt of lightning–that offering, that trust, that surrender–I could do that every day, with everything! I could offer my whole life that way, not just singing at Mass. Instead of being consumed by pride when I do well or self-loathing when I screw up, I could trust God in all matters.

You see, when we say God is sovereign, we mean that he rules over all things. He could very easily intervene in daily matters (and I think he does more often than we give him credit for). When he doesn’t, though, we have to recognize that he chose not to. He is so desperate for our salvation and our holiness that I have to believe that he’s bringing all things together for our good even when he seems absent. Really, I have to believe it because Scripture declares it to be true:

We know that all things work for good for those who love God, who are called according to his purpose…. If God is for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare his own son but handed him over for us all, how will he not also give us everything else along with him? (Rom 8:28, 31-32)

Now, this clearly doesn’t mean that if you’re a good person God will give you rainbows and bunnies. I ellipsized³ the part where Paul says we have to be conformed to the image of Christ. You remember Christ, right–the guy on the cross? Clearly there’s going to be suffering on the way to this good that is promised.

What the passage tells us isn’t that “every little thing is gonna be all right” but that God is able to make all things work for good. Which means that the nonsense that I usually get all stupid about (“Oh, dear God, I was sarcastic to that kid who I thought would find it funny and he didn’t and now he’s going to hate you and your Church forever and be so unhappy all his life and just because I’m a jerk who can’t be bothered to think beyond a punchline and I’m not even funny and I’m just mean and insensitive and why, God, why am I so awful??”)⁴ isn’t actually the end of the world. Because God can use my idiocy for his purposes just as much as my brilliance. Probably more–there’s far more of the former.

So I’ve been trying recently to start my day with this prayer: Dear God, I offer you every moment of my life for the glory of your name and the salvation of souls.

Then when I’m an idiot or a jerk (notice I said “when,” not “if”), I can offer my failure again to God and trust that he can work it for good. Maybe it doesn’t make me act any better, but it helps me to be less self-centered.⁵ The more I can let go of my mistakes, the more I can be present to him and allow him to bless me, undeserving as I am.

I don’t know why not obsessing over the past seems like such an epiphany to me–maybe it’s more the idea of rejoicing in what’s gone before and even accepting all my weakness and poverty as gifts of God and instruments of his grace. In the end, God can work through my failings as easily as he can through my greatest victories.

A life consecrated to God will be used, through success or through failure. When I’ve given myself over to him, he’s going to let his will be done in me. I just need to trust him that my failure will not be to no purpose. In Christ, even my brokenness is in his will and is for his glory. So I will try to rejoice in failure because I know that my only success is that of the Cross. Failure is just a veil for the greatness of God working, somehow, through my brokenness.

A large part of the cross I carry is an ongoing battle with shame over such minor things. In this offering, I try to remind myself that a life of discernment, reflection, and recollection means I’m at least trying to do God’s will–there’s nothing to be ashamed of when I fail.

So I’m offering my life–and every awkward moment in it–Ad Majorem Dei Gloriam (AMDG): for the greater glory of God. As Christians, we’ve got a pretty sweet deal. We offer God our shame and suffering and sin and in return, he gives us glory and joy and holiness. I’ve been pretty good at trying to make my whole life an offering to God; now I’m aiming at trusting that every awkward sneeze during the consecration, every ill-timed joke, and every overstayed welcome can be used for the greater glory of God and the salvation of souls.

I’ve been toying with writing this for a few months. Then the other day, I found this prayer on a prayer card. You’re going to love this one:

Lord, I offer you all of me, all that I am and all that I am not. I offer you every good decision and every regrettable mistake, every great accomplishment and every missed opportunity, every divinely inspired gift and every unapplied talent, every success and every miserable failure. I offer you all joy and all heartache, every kindness and every bitterness to be forgotten, every twinkle in my eye and every tear flowing down my cheek, every great love and each lost or irrecoverable act of charity. I offer you every quiet reflective moment and all of the unneeded chaos around me, all things holy and good in me and all things in need of greater purification. I give you every joyful memory and every bitter foul pain, each future moment and every missed opportunity to love, every kind act and each regrettable harsh word, all meekness and humility within me and every misplaced prideful thought, every virtue and every weak vice, every laugh and all misery mixed with weeping. I give you every healthy breath and every weakness of mind and body, every attempt at chastity and every unworthy lustful thought, every restful repose and every anxious sleepless night. O Lord, you can have all of me, the beauty that you’ve deposited deep within me and the emptiness of my sinful faults. I love you and am yours completely. Amen. -Pedro de la Cruz

So let’s thank God for every aspect of our lives, the good, the bad, and the purple⁶ and trust that whatever situation or vice or awkwardness we can’t triumph over is a gift for our sanctification and the salvation of the world. Ad Majorem Dei Gloriam!

 

Sorry I’ve been MIA–lots of speaking engagements last week. I’ve got a few new Gospel meditations up if you want to check them out. New videos will be posted…soon.

If you’re in the Mid-Atlantic/Southeast region of the country and you’ve got something you’d like me to speak at, hit me up. I’ll be trekking down to Georgia soon before camping out in DC for a while. I’d love to support you in your ministry!

1. We’re saying “manage people” because if I say I’m proud of how bossy I was–and how good I was at it–then I sound like a jerk. [↩]
2. Ministry is not performance, I know. I didn’t then. [↩]
3. Is that a word? It should be. [↩]
4. You think I am exaggerating. Oh, how I wish I were exaggerating. [↩]
5. Funny how scrupulosity makes you more sinful, isn’t it? [↩]
6. As we used to say in my family, although I have no idea why. These things are usually cultural references that I didn’t catch as a child, but googling it only turns up Dragon Ball Z. [↩]