It has been happening for years now. In college, it was while driving back up to school after a Sunday spent in peace and recreation with my parents and siblings. Now it is still usually Sundays. After mass, maybe after a family brunch, a hike at a local park, or an afternoon lazily drifting in my hammock while the birds sing their songs, and I lose myself in the world of Avonlea. Sometimes, it is not on Sundays at all. Sometimes, a Lake Michigan sunset sets it off. Or Christmas Day after all the presents have been opened, and the egg dish, cinnamon rolls, and pecan pie have been consumed. Sometimes even after a good, heartwarming visit with friends, watching the little kids play in the yard as the sun goes down. When ‘the busy world is hushed, and the fever of life is over ’(St. John Henry Newman). When all that is good has been enjoyed and I sit back and think on how good it all is, and I am at peace, except… I am not.
I am not at peace. There is this little gnawing in my heart that will not go away, no matter how good the day was. In fact, all the goodness has made this ache all the more pronounced. It reminds me that even when everything is good, I still want more. And then I am almost worse off than if I had had a rotten day that just needed to end. There is a hole in my heart that nothing in this world can fill. It is more glaringly obvious than ever. It is then that I give the heartfelt cry of Philip, “Lord, show me the Father, and I shall be satisfied.” (John 14:8).
Why Are We Still Not Satisfied by You, Lord?
Sometimes, by His grace, I allow this melancholic kind of agony to lead me to the adoration chapel. Sometimes, I do find the satisfaction I am seeking there. It is all tears of consolation, or an overwhelming stillness of body, mind, and soul. But more often than not, it is plopping myself into a seat after a prostration, and, instead of decreasing, that ache begins to throb of longing that is left unfulfilled and seemingly empty no matter how long I sit there.
It is these times that I cannot help but wonder, why am I still not satisfied? I am literally with Jesus, body, blood, soul, and divinity. I am also, as Jesus tries to explain in today’s Gospel, with the Father, the whole Blessed Trinity in fact. He is veiled, yes, but He is really there, with all His merits, graces, His very person, and self. So why am I still so angsty? Is it just me?
I think there are multiple possibilities that coincide with the same reason Philip was not satisfied beholding Jesus Himself. Jesus, God, the most beautiful, compassionate man that walked the earth. People could not help but flock to Him. Yet even His own disciples were not totally satisfied by Him.
We Are Not Ready for Him
I think part of the reason for this continued discontent is, in a sense, just us.’ As in, it is our own fault, and this our Lord’s merciful response to our weakness. He does not satisfy us because, in many ways, we are still attached to things of this world. It took getting through the whole pint of ice cream and realizing I was still miserable for me to go to Him (for example). So, our ability to be filled by Him corresponds with our disposition.
In other words, seeing the Father face to face does not imply satisfaction for everyone. When we do get to see Him, when all is revealed, when we see the reality of all of our shortcomings in comparison with such Love, it will be extremely uncomfortable. Downright painful. That is purgatory. Even further, the souls of the damned will be absolutely miserable seeing Him face to face, so miserable that they choose Hell rather than remain in His presence. By maintaining His Eucharstic veil and leaving us with some longing left in our hearts, He is mercifully allowing us to actually stand in His presence while giving us the grace we need to amend our ways so that when we do see the Father, it is satisfying, not miserable.
There Is Work to Do
The second answer also comes down to mercy. If, with the grace of mere faith, Jesus Eucharistic could completely satisfy us in this world, we wouldn’t be able to keep ourselves anywhere but as close to the tabernacle as we possibly could be. Taking care of our families, going to work, evangelizing, none of it would get done. And there is so much work yet to be done for the coming of His Kingdom! So, He does not satisfy YET. But, he does give us more time to work on ourselves and to work on the whole world.
The More Desire, The More love
The third and perhaps most important reason our Lord does not allow us to not be completely satisfied, even in the Eucharist, is also, you guessed it, mercy. How much better it is to have something you have been waiting for for hours, days, weeks, years, whether it be the beer you gave up for Lent or the child you have been praying for in a season of infertility. Our Lord never gives us a desire He doesn’t intend to fulfill. But sometimes I think He lets the desire ember, spark, and flare into a full-fledged unquenchable fire to keep our paths fixed on His, to stretch out our capacity for grace, and to make our last hours in this world all the sweeter, knowing we will soon behold the One we have been waiting for our entire life.
So let us not fret when the emptiness of the Sunday Blues comes to haunt. Let us say with St. John, “It is the Lord!” (21:7). It is Him purifying us. Motivating us. Preparing us for the day when “The shadows lengthen, and the evening comes, and the busy world is hushed, and the fever of life is over, and our work is done…” (St. John Henry Newman). The day when we will see the Father, the day we will be satisfied. And we will have “peace at the last.”
