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"The
Living One who sees me."
"The universe sings of the Providence of God". The
saying is familiar to devotees of Providence. Indeed,
for the first millennium and a half of the Christian
era, emphasis was largely on God as the primary cause of
all creation. In this basically religious understanding
of the whole world as sacral, Providence was all
embracing to the point where individual freedom could,
for some people, seem stifled. A positive effect of 18th
century enlightenment was an emphasis on the autonomy of
the human person within the larger universe, without
necessarily negating our dependence on the Creator.
The global view of Providence does not mean that we see
the human person as a faceless creature in an
overwhelmingly large and complex world. We have it from
the New Testament that God knows each one of us by name,
that every hair on our heads is counted, that the Father
in heaven knows our needs, that we are more than the
birds of the air whose needs are obviously met. (Luke
21:28 and Matthew 10:29-30) John Henry Cardinal Newman
in one of his Sunday sermons reiterates this truth under
the title "A Particular Providence". Belief in our
uniqueness forms the basis not only of our personality
but even more so of our special mission in life.
Such a view is not commonly reflected in the Old
Testament, when only a few were favored with personal
attention from God. For instance, in the Book of Exodus,
chapter 33, though Moses is singled out as he receives
his mission, he is seen as leader for the chosen people
in general. However, in a story related in the Book of
Genesis, a woman by the name of Hagar sees herself as
the object of special attention from God. According to
Mesopotamian law a barren wife could present one of her
female slaves to her husband, and then acknowledge the
issue as her own. In this instance, Sarah, Abraham's
wife, presents the slave girl Hagar to her husband and
Ishmael is the offspring. Eventually the two women run
into interpersonal problems and Hagar decides to run
away. An angel persuades her to return. She attributes
this advice to a direct divine intervention from God,
who is for her "the living One who sees me". It is her
way of situating within general divine governance a
specific involvement in individual human lives. Still,
in many of the psalms, people saw God's Providence
mainly in the course of human affairs in general.
This deficiency is remedied in the gospels. Jesus makes
it clear that the same general Providence which lets the
sun shine on the good and the wicked alike is the
particular Providence which surrounds each one of us
with benevolence while not interfering with our gift of
freedom.
We
may wonder why it is difficult for us to be comfortable
with the idea that we are meant to have an easy,
trusting relationship with God. It seems that we do not
pay enough attention to the God-given energies within
us. We allow ourselves to follow blindly many current
fads and this because we have not grasped the meaning
and existence of a particular Providence. We think that
God operates only on a larger plan in which our
contribution is non-existent or at least minimal. And
yet we are very much aware that God creates each one of
us as a particular person and does not repeat; no two of
us have the same fingerprints and dental structure that
identify us as unique individuals. Why are we afraid to
acknowledge our close Creator/creature relationship with
God? Are we influenced by the idea that one does not
have the right to let another, even God, take charge of
us? Or perhaps our recourse to other "providences", e.g.
welfare states, puts us on the road to passivity. There
are those who would interpret de Caussade's views on
"abandonment to Divine Providence" as favoring such
passivity, but Vatican II's Gaudium et Spes and John
Paul II's treatise on Providence see our relationship to
God as respectful of our human liberty in a communion of
love.
Our belief that God is everywhere implies a divine
presence here and now both around us and within us. Luke
refers to the external when, in the Acts of the
Apostles, he speaks of the Spirit creating community
among the early Christians.
John in his gospel refers to the internal when he
reminds us to let the words of Jesus inhabit us through
the indwelling presence of the Spirit within us. A
presence as silent as the one in the growing plant on
our windowsill but just as real. Many of us know of
persons, in past or current history, whose lives
manifest an awareness of God's presence around and
within them. Even as they pay attention to the sights,
sounds, persons around them, they have a vivid
perception of the invisible world, some even convinced
of having been given a glimpse of heaven. It is an
otherworldliness which can integrate spiritual realities
with an intense interest in the affairs of this world.
All of us, as we journey together, involved with yet
detached from one another, are conscious, sporadically
perhaps, of a transcendent reality which is there yet
escapes us.
Our interest in human incidents, our sharing in the joys
and burdens of others, can take us along the pathway to
spiritual growth, from external factors towards
increasing internalization. The divine indwelling within
us, is the centre and heart of what is meant by a
particular Providence. This often comes home to us when
we experience the limitations, the vanity and suffering
encountered in our lives and that of others. All of this
can lead to a reassessment of our values and make us
turn to God's action within us, and know true spiritual
joy and beatitude. We can now liken our dark hours to
the seed that is in the earth, breaking apart and
showing little sign of what is to come.
At such times we are not only sought out and pursued by
God but we freely and deliberately and perhaps
desperately seek God. To use the terminology of
spiritual ascent, we have lived through the stages of
doubt and wonderment, have sought happiness in various
avenues, and have come to acknowledge the action of the
living God within us.
A particular Providence is evident when Jesus reaches
out to individuals, to strangers. He does not wait to be
introduced but makes the first move toward the rich
young man, the woman at the well, the good thief on the
cross. These are very different personalities, and Jesus
relates to each. He discriminates as to time, place,
situation. He even suspends the laws of nature, as on
his ascension into heaven.
For all these reasons it behooves us to recognize the
ways of a particular Providence in the lives of others
as well as own, and to respect this individuality
without imposing our own. The only thing we have in
common is our creaturehood, which invites us to discover
what is our mission, our response, whether it be
personal or communal. Beyond this point, say the
philosophers, it is not possible for us to know each
other except as we manifest ourselves in distorted
shadows to the eyes of others. We do not even know
ourselves, how can we really claim to know a neighbor?
Who knows, besides God, what pain is behind virtue and
what fear behind vice? Only God knows what makes a
person, the personal thoughts, joys, bitterness, agony
and injustice committed by others and by the self. All
of these are but a prelude to love beyond the grave,
where all is understood and almost all forgotten.
Providence has been spoken of in terms of a God who does
everything. "Quand Dieu fait tout", says Tavard. But he
does not see Providence as a cold system which would
ascribe to God the exclusive role of governing the
universe by laws and final causes, noting that the least
of our God-given gifts is that of freedom. Are not our
talents gifts from God, and what we do with them is our
gift to God? Is it not because we have received that we
have something to give? In recent years many a workshop
has helped us identify our personal resources, and shown
us how to keep in mind the parable of the talents as we
take inventory of who we are and what we can achieve. No
one can do this for us, for no one else has been
provided with exactly the same gift.
Richard Rohr issues a warning which others have echoed:
respect for our individuality should not be allowed to
disintegrate into selfishness and individualism. Each of
us is called upon to share our gifts, to integrate them
into a community of love and life. Emphasis on
uniqueness was at first received with enthusiasm,
probably because for too long most of us had known much
anonymity. It seems that, having discovered
individuality, society has been slow to move into the
next level of human development, namely the gift of our
particular self to others, in mutual support and
cooperation. A recurring comment today is that a growing
spiritual problem in the West is the lie of
individualism. Taken too far it can lock us into a false
notion of privacy. It can make community almost
impossible. It can make church almost impossible. It
makes compassion almost impossible. We are unique but
within a society. The Bible itself is a social history.
It situates each of us as part of a larger mystery,
living in a river that is bigger than the self. It is a
river of love. Life is not about me; it is about love;
and God, our source, is Love. What is love if not a
unifying force, an emphasis on relatedness, not on
isolationism. Our individual sense of mission is
fulfilled within societal situations as we minister to
one another, our contributions filling the gaps in our
relatedness.
As we look on our past, we find critical moments and
acts which at the time seemed most indifferent, such as
the school we were sent to, the persons we have met, the
seeming accidents which determined our calling. We have
to admit that much of who and what we are today has to
be credited to individuals other than ourselves. No
doubt we have played the same role with regard to
others, and may never know how and when we have
influenced their lives. Such experiences many have been
of the kind we would never have chosen, but may have
contributed to much happiness and growth. God's hand is
ever on ours and that of others, linking us to one
another within a divine embrace.
A persistent stumbling block in any discussion on a
loving Providence, is the problem of evil. There is the
evil of hatred among persons and among nations, an evil
which makes forgiveness difficult, and almost an
anomaly. There is the evil of unsolicited suffering,
both in terms of sin and of any form of moral and
physical unease. Cardinal Newman reminds us that our
difficulty with reconciling a loving Providence, whether
particular or general, with the mystery of all forms of
suffering, is due to the fact that we have not
accustomed our minds to feel that God loves us with a
love of mercy, a love "in spite of". We have allowed our
minds to wander from one opinion to the other, where our
hearts did not follow. The same general Providence which
lets the sun shine on all of us in times of fidelity and
of infidelity, on the good and the wicked alike, is also
the particular which surrounds Judas with benevolence
without interfering with his gift of freedom.
There is a mysterious link between social interaction
and what we interpret as evil. We know that even in the
sharing of our individual gifts, we risk allowing
ourselves to be hurt as well as praised. Reaching out
need not be always in terms of success and personal
enrichment. Where would our capacity for compassion take
us, and to whom, if not toward those who experience
suffering in any shape or form? We are surrounded by
victims of evil, whether it be within themselves or at
the hands of others or at the mercy of some kind of
environmental disaster. The problem of evil challenges
us to think deeply about our mission to try to surmount
it and be the human face of Providence.
Edouard Seguin, a physician, said something significant
when he laid the cornerstone on one of the first schools
for the handicapped in Syracuse, N.Y. "God has scattered
about us, rare as the possessors of genius, the
retarded, the blind, the deaf, in order to bind the rich
and the poor, the talented to the incapable, all welded
together by a tie of indissoluble solidarity".
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