Word of God Speak!

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. —John 1:1

As we begin another year of Bible study, we're diving into the Gospel of John. Fr. Tom invited us to sit with this opening verse from the Gospel of John. Instantly, the word that came to mind for me was connection. We would not exist without Him. Through the Word, all things were made. We are in Him and He is in us. We are connected to Christ.

But life moves fast. Many can relate to days filled with meetings, emails, logistics, and multitasking. Fast forward just a few hours past Bible Study and I catch myself checking my phone while brushing my teeth, answering messages while making breakfast, planning the next thing while doing the current thing. Somewhere in all that motion, I forget to enjoy my own life. I forget to breathe.

I think about the Cross, how Jesus never rushed. He walked. He paused. He noticed. Even on His way to the Cross, He was present to all around Him, including in His own pain. He didn't hurry past suffering. He entered it fully. He stayed.

The Sound of Silence

Stillness isn't just about silence; it's about trust. And trust is hard when we're used to filling every moment. On a recent cruise to Alaska, I chose not to pay for WiFi ($300 for the week is madness!). I wasn't sure how I would do; would I break down and buy it for a day? I expected to miss it. But what I found was something deeper: I didn't miss it at all.

I remember staring out at the ocean during breakfast, watching the water ripple with the wind. I wasn't bored. I didn't need anything else. I was just... there.

It felt like silence, even though there was noise all around—families talking, footsteps passing by. But in that moment, it was just me and the ocean. And it felt unfamiliar, dare I say even uncomfortable. I realized I didn't know what presence felt like. I've always filled silence with tasks, with sound, and with motion. Letting it be was uncomfortable.

Resting in His Holiness

Rest isn't a reward for finishing a list. It's part of the rhythm of our lives. Resting in Christ's Holiness. The Cross reminds me of that. It's not just a symbol of sacrifice—it's a place of deep presence. Jesus didn't numb out or distract Himself. He didn't fight back. He stayed with the pain. He stayed with us. And in doing so, He showed us that love is not afraid of silence.

I know I avoid slowing down because I'm afraid of what I'll feel. Feeling the grief tucked away, the longing ignored, or just the ache of being human. But the Cross holds all of that. It doesn't rush us past it. It meets us in it. We are the Cross.

A full life isn't crammed. It's spacious. It makes room for joy, sorrow, and wonder.

After returning from that cruise, I got sick with COVID. I was trying so hard to push through it, but I lost the fight. I finally surrendered. I took a day off and let my body rest. For three whole days, I let my body rest. That quietness, that pause, reminded me that slowing down isn't weakness, it's wisdom. And He will meet us there. With that rest, my body began to heal. But more than that, my mind did too. Because healing—real healing—can't happen when we're rushing. It needs space. It needs silence. It needs trust.

Remember, you don't have to earn rest, and you don't have to justify slowing down. You are already held. Already forgiven. Already loved. Let the Cross be your invitation to presence. Let the silence be not empty, but holy. Let the Word speak again.

With Love in Christ,

Maria

 Originally published in the Holy Apostles E-bulletin. Subscribe here.