Turn Right Here
“And your ears shall hear a word behind you, saying, “This is the way, walk in it,” when you turn to the right or when you turn to the left.” Isaiah 30:21
I sit with a cup of cappuccino and my computer on a balcony in Rome, overlooking Roma San Pietro. An occasional train speeds past, rattling the apartment’s foundation, drowning out the sounds of street traffic with a thunderous clatter. Wally and I are here on mission with Bridge for Peace, a healing ministry. We’re here to pray for priests and religious from around the world, many of them here in Rome from third-world countries, studying for licensure or doctoral degrees. Desperately in need of encouragement, these men and women are far from home, studying difficult courses in a language (Italian) they do not know. They are lonely, isolated in a foreign culture, eating strange foods, and struggling to get by with very little money.
Why has God called me to this particular mission? This question perplexed me as I prepared for this trip, and has cropped up even in the midst of the mission. You see, I’m not Catholic.
Even though I ask the question—why?—I know without a doubt that God has called me to this place, this week, this work, this team. I am here for a purpose. Could one of those purposes be that I have much to learn about listening for God’s voice?
It’s not that I don’t listen. As a contemplative, I am a listener by nature. I listen regularly for God’s voice in the Scriptures. I listen daily for the words “I love you,” “I have chosen you,”and “I am with you.” I listen to the sound of the Spirit in the words of others.
I listen first thing in the morning, when I hand my day over to God. But then I get caught up in forging my own path through the day. Meditation. Grocery shopping. Three hours working on an article or my book. Lunch with a friend. Pay the bills. Fix dinner. Time with Wally. Read a good book in bed before going to sleep.
This Thursday, on St. Peter’s Square, I experienced a paradigm shift. A shift as thunderous as the roar of the train clattering past my balcony.
Ed, my partner for the afternoon, and I stood under one of the porticos on the square and looked out over its vast expanse. We’d just finished eating a panini from one of the many venders outside the square, and were about to resume our prayer walk. The sun glinted off the water cascading down the fountain in front of us, turning it silver. Many people strode across the cobblestones with purpose, while others wielded cameras, posed for photos, or lounged against the columns, eating pizza. One young man tripped his girlfriend and made her fall, then jumped on top of her for a smooch. We must be in Rome, I thought with a smile.
Ed looked at me. “Which way do you feel led to go?” he asked.
Something tugged me to the right. “This way,” I said, stepping out. We walked slowly, eyes open for anyone the Lord might lead us to. Suddenly, there he was. A swarthy-skinned man in the brown robes of a Franciscan monk, a wooly yellow scarf wound ’round his neck.
I pulled on Ed’s coat sleeve. “There!” I whispered, as I walked toward the man.
When our paths intersected, I held out my hand. “Buon Giorno, Father.” I said. The man stopped and looked at me, his eyes brimming with curiousity.
“Hello Father!” Ed said, walking up behind me. “How have you been? It’s been awhile since I’ve seen you!”
It was my turn to be curious. Ed knew this priest?
“We met two years ago, right here on the square, when I asked you for directions. Do you remember, Father?” Ed asked.
The man nodded his head, a smile blooming on his face. He held out his hands to Ed, and then to me. Suddenly, we were old friends!
His name was Sarbed, and he was from Lebanon. We shared with him the reason for our visit to Rome—to pray for and encourage priests and religious people from around the world.
“How can we pray for you today, Father?” I asked.
His eyes, hooded and burning, stared intently into mine for a moment. “Can I trust you?” they seemed to ask. I smiled at him. “Over 1500 people from around the world will be praying for your intentions, Father.”
Sharbed closed his eyes for a moment, and then shared with us all that he would like us to lift up to God on his behalf. Prayers for country, family, and other priests, as well as for himself.
And then this beautiful man of God took both of my hands in his. Again, those dark eyes, full of Holy Spirit fire, looked deeply into my own. “Thank you,” he said. “Thank you for your prayers. I will pray also for you.”
Like the train that thunders past our apartment building hundreds of times a day, the wind of the Holy Spirit blew past, rattling my frame, breaking like thunder in my ears.
My being on this mission has nothing to do with being Catholic or Protestant. It has everything to do with listening to and obeying God.