The Courage to Surrender

This morning, I stood at the ambo and proclaimed, “Seek the LORD while he may be found, call him while he is near.” (Isaiah 55:6)

And then, “The LORD is near to all who call upon him.” (Psalm 145:18)

When you proclaim Scripture aloud, you listen to it differently. You’re entrusted with giving God’s Word a voice so that others might hear what He is saying. And sometimes, while you’re proclaiming those words to everyone else, you realize He is speaking directly to you.

Today was one of those days.

I’ve been doing a lot of seeking lately. Seeking answers. Seeking peace. Seeking relief for someone I love. Seeking some understanding of circumstances that seem to have no clear resolution.

And if I’m truthful, sometimes my seeking looks more like begging God to change something than asking Him to show me where He is in the middle of it.

So Isaiah’s words landed differently this morning.

“Seek the LORD while he may be found.”

Not seek the answers. Not seek the outcome. Not seek the explanation. Seek the Lord.

And then:

“For my thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways my ways, says the LORD.” (Isaiah 55:8)

I would very much like to understand His ways right now. I would like to know why certain prayers seem to go unanswered, why people we love endure things we would give anything to take away, and especially when things are going to get better.

But today’s readings didn’t give me a timeline. They gave me an invitation.

Seek. Surrender. Serve.

And, as Fr. Albert reminded us in his homily, do it all without comparison.

In today’s Gospel, Jesus tells the parable of the landowner who goes out early in the morning to hire workers for his vineyard. Then he goes out again. And again. Even when the day is almost over, he is still looking for workers.

Fr. Albert drew our attention to something I had never really considered: the landowner kept going back because he wanted to give every worker a chance. Every single one.

Not just those who arrived first or had already proven themselves. Even those still waiting at the eleventh hour. And suddenly, the parable wasn’t simply about wages or fairness. It was about a God who never stops seeking us.

There are seasons when I feel like I’m doing everything I possibly can to find God in the middle of my circumstances. But this Gospel reminds me that while I’m seeking Him, He is also seeking me. And He hasn’t stopped.

The Courage to Surrender

This was the part of Fr. Albert’s homily that really got me.

He explained that the world sees surrender as defeat or weakness. But in the spiritual life, surrender is a courageous handing over of our hearts to the boundless plan of God.

Courageous.

Surrender doesn’t feel very courageous when you’re exhausted and desperate for something to change.

Sometimes I don’t want to surrender. I want to fix it. I want to find the right answer, the right treatment, the right person, the right prayer, the right combination of circumstances that will finally make everything better.

I want to do something.

And there’s nothing inherently wrong with that. Love moves us to act. Love advocates, researches, makes appointments, asks questions, and refuses to stop caring.

But somewhere in all that striving, I can begin to believe that everything depends on me. That if I just work hard enough, think carefully enough, or pray correctly enough, I can somehow guarantee the outcome.

And that is an awfully heavy burden to carry.

Fr. Albert pointed to Mary as an example of surrender. She didn’t understand everything that would happen, and she certainly wasn’t promised a life without suffering. But she gave God her yes.

And that is what surrender looks like for me right now.

Not abandoning the people I love. Not giving up on healing. Not pretending suffering is somehow good simply because God can bring good out of it. But recognizing that I am not God. I can love. I can advocate. I can pray. I can do everything within my power to help. And then I have to entrust what I cannot control to the One who loves them even more than I do.

That isn’t defeat. It might be one of the most courageous things I ever do.

What If the Thing We Want Removed Is Refining Us?

I came across a thought today that I haven’t been able to shake. What if the very thing we’re asking God to remove from our lives is something He is using to refine us?

I have to be careful with that thought. I don’t believe God desires the suffering of someone I love simply to teach me a lesson. I cannot reduce another person’s pain to an instrument of my own spiritual growth. Their suffering matters. Their dignity matters. Their healing matters.

And I will continue praying for relief with every bit of faith I have. But I also know that God can work in me through circumstances I would never have chosen. He can deepen my compassion, refine my patience, and expose the places where I’ve confused trusting Him with controlling the outcome.

Maybe the distinction is this:

I don’t have to believe God caused the suffering in order to believe He can meet me in it. I don’t have to stop asking Him to change my circumstances in order to allow Him to change me. I can ask for healing and refinement in the very same prayer.

Lord, please make this better. And while we wait, please don’t let this suffering be wasted.

Serving Without Comparison

Fr. Albert’s final point was about serving without comparison.

In the Gospel, the workers who labored all day became upset when those who arrived at the eleventh hour received the same wages. The landowner hadn’t taken anything away from them. He had paid them exactly what he promised. But when they saw what someone else received, their satisfaction disappeared.

As Fr. Albert explained, they didn’t lose their joy because of their hard work. They lost their joy because of comparison.

How easily we do the same.

Someone else’s life seems easier. Someone else’s family doesn’t appear to be carrying the same burdens. And suddenly, instead of recognizing God’s goodness in our own lives, we begin measuring it against what He’s doing in someone else’s. But God’s generosity isn’t diminished because He is generous to someone else. And His love for me isn’t measured by how closely my circumstances resemble theirs. I don’t have to pretend my circumstances are easy in order to recognize that He is still good.

I keep coming back to the psalm I proclaimed this morning.

“The LORD is near to all who call upon him.” (Psalm 145:18)

Near.

Not necessarily removing every difficulty, providing an explanation, or answering on my preferred timeline.

But near.

I don’t know what tomorrow holds. I don’t know when the prayers I’m praying will be answered in the ways I’m hoping. But I know the landowner is still going out into the vineyard. I know He hasn’t forgotten the ones who are waiting. And I know that the God whose ways are higher than mine is also the God who promises to be near when I call.

So I’m going to keep practicing the courageous, extraordinarily difficult act of handing over what I cannot control. Not because I’ve stopped hoping. But because I haven’t.