Thank You for Forgiving Me

Last evening at the Cathedral, the Bishop presided at Mass. I sat on the third pew from the Sanctuary, up close to the ambo and altar from where he preached and consecrated the bread and wine into which Jesus became and becomes.

The homily instructed us on God's mercy and forgiveness. The Bishop emphasized that God forgets our sins. The slate is wiped clean with our sincere repentance, our intent asking for forgiveness. Yes, we are forgiven. Jesus wants us to be free. We aren't to lug a bag of sins from our past. This weight hinders the freedom to love and be for Jesus Christ all that we are created to be. We are created for love. We are created to love our God.

This picture of Jesus hung between the twin beds in my room when I was a child. Seems as if I was sick often enough with tonsillitis, and other times I'd read books on my bed. And, I'd also just spend time thinking, and thinking included thinking about Jesus, and this picture helped. I am that little girl sitting on His lap. Of course, you figured that out, didn't you? I'm still there.

At the Cathedral, after the Mass, I felt an urge from my dad (deceased and in Heaven) that I must take "the high road" and make things right, even if it meant self-abnegation. I stood patiently waiting for the Bishop to finish speaking with a young woman at the back of the Cathedral. When it was my turn, I approached and shook his hand. He said, "You are 'Zenith', right?" I responded, "Yes, I am 'Zenith'. 'Zenith Beagle'--the one and only." He smiled, and I smiled. I then thanked him for the meaningful homily. Suddenly, and unexpectedly to me, my heart burst forth these words: "and thank you for forgiving me!"

This took him back a bit. His body seemed to literally shift back, and then to shift forward, his head inclined toward me; and bent a little more than the already bent, he responded with a genuineness so charmed and pleasing, soft and stunning, "and thank you."

I think my dad was pleased. My mom, too, although lately I've been asking Jesus for some kind of assurance of my mother's place and closeness. How should I doubt, though? They are helping me with my work here on earth, if I cooperate and accept the assistance. I think my Father was pleased, too. My Husband, also. We floated out of the Cathedral, and a great burden had lifted. Was this a part of being in littleness? Did Jesus know me better in that moment of gratitude for forgiveness?

Some could argue that I had not done all that much wrong and perhaps others should have told me they were sorry for words spoken, situations mishandled, for misjudgments and wrong assumptions. But no, the high road is the road of humility, the road closest to the ground, of placing one's nose down in the mud and acknowledging that when there are swirls of controversy, someone has been part of the swirl, even if the swirl is perceived by others and not a bad swirl. Truly and surely, yet unintentionally, I had caused the Bishop and some others, some trouble. Even if it was the trouble of hearing wrong comments about me, of complaints by those who perhaps were wrong to complain, I had been a source of swirls. And swirls take time away from other more important matters that Bishops and Vicar Generals and priests and people who are good useful need to attend to.

My parish priest the next morning, when I told him what happened, said that things seem to be moving in a very good direction now. Yes, when a Bishop who has given his whole life to Christ and His Church, smiles at me and thanks me for thanking him for forgiving me, a good has occurred. Being good useful means being good little, good humble, and good self-abnegation.