It’s that time of year again. Probably not our favorite season because it’s a special time of sacrifice and a time of giving. It’s a time for putting aside the worldly gifts which have become so "necessary." "Things" we have acquired on our journey to God. I think of them as "second prizes": wealth, health, protection, peace of mind, etc. Any of the many things we have gathered which, if they become too important, distract us, shunt us from the main line, from "the way" of Jesus, on to a side track into the jungles of the world and to a dead-end. 

I suppose there are as many ways of "waiting on the Lord "as there are people seeking Him. I think it involves a journey of some sort. A spiritual journey. I think the Church has been preparing us for this Lenten journey. 

I think of Martha and Mary, sisters of Lazarus. They wait upon the Lord in different ways. Mary just sits at the feet of Jesus and listens to him; Martha waits upon Him in a practical way by preparing food and drink for his physical needs. When Martha complained to Jesus about needing Mary’s help, Jesus gently pointed out that Mary had chosen the better to way to wait upon Him. 

We too must make this Lenten journey as Jesus made His journey to the Father through Golgotha - with love and trust - and surrender. 

Several years ago, I went to the library looking for something or other. Whatever it was I never found it because I was sidetracked by an article on eagles. That symbol of ancient Babylon, of Rome and The Holy Roman Empire, of Germany, Russia and of our own United States. 

It seems that in Africa there is a particular kind of Eagle - one of the largest with a wingspan of eight feet. It has a built-in, programmed and irresistible urge to get off by itself periodically, about every seven years. In its solitude, in its own way it "waits upon the Lord." 

It finds an isolated spot, high on a craggy mountaintop, a high tor, where it won’t be disturbed by man or other birds. This magnificent eagle seems to know it will be there for quite a spell. There it surrenders to its innate program of renewal. 

The first thing it does is to tear out its feathers. With its powerful beak it pulls out first its wing feathers. Mercilessly it tears them out by the roots. They are still good feathers, worn perhaps, but they have helped him in his favorite work of hunting snakes. His tail feathers are next. He begins to look pitiful. But he is not through. He starts to scrape his talons, his sharp and powerful claws. 

He scrapes them hour after hour against the jagged rock until almost nothing remains. Even then he is not finished. He begins on his strong curved beak, grinding it against rock to a nubbin, until a big hole remains where the beak used to be. Finally he is finished. He backs himself into a stony niche to begin his wait. What a pitiful sight he is! He looks like a plucked chicken. Naked, alone, defenseless, he crouches in a silence broken only by the whispering wind - and he waits upon the Lord. 

After a couple of weeks of faithful waiting and watching something begins to happen. Slowly at first new feathers begin to appear. Soon it is apparent that they are strong and full. Perfect new feathers are replacing the old. Almost at the same time new talons are growing - bigger, stronger, more powerful than the old. And a shinny new beak begins to grow. Not cracked and scarred like the old one. The day comes when the eagle is magnificently arrayed. Bigger, fuller, more powerful than ever before. The eagle has surrendered to his inner urge to renew himself. No credit to the eagle, of course. He was responding to
an inborn impulse given him by God. He could not refuse or ignore his inner urge to renew himself. 

He could not say, "No!" But we can - we are free to say, "No."  An echo of Lucifer’s, "No. I will not serve." 

Now there is in the eagle an unmistakable air of newborn confidence and vigor. The day comes when he moves majestically to the edge of his craggy tor; when he spreads his new wings, leans into the mountain wind and his talons release him for his journey across the sun. 

That’s what Our Lord wants us to do this Lenten Season. To wait upon Him with patience and submission. To put aside those things in our lives that seem to be precious and irreplaceable - put them aside not forever, but just for the rest of Lent. 

It will take courage to say, "Yes!"; to embark on an inward journey where in a spiritual sense at least we release and put aside one by one those things that seem indispensable, things in which we take pride; things that are symbols of power, prestige, security, success. To pluck out of our lives all those things that distract us and distance us from Our Lord. We must rid ourselves of those distractions which turn us away from Jesus. 

There’s another kind of spiritual journey, one of sacrifice and surrender. On which, I pray, we will not be called upon to make - not yet, not ever. 

I remember such a journey to Our Lord taken by a little girl and her mother. I witnessed it only at a distance. Sarah was about seven. Her mother called to ask if I could come for a visit to see her daughter; she had a terminal disease. But that didn’t affect her personality one bit. 

As time went on she had more and more difficulty eating and keeping her food down. Through it all she just sparkled; she had such a loving and vivacious way. 

Through God’s grace, she fell in love with Jesus. She insisted that her mother take her to morning Mass no matter how poorly she felt. She wanted so much to be with Jesus in The Holy Eucharist. And she and her Guardian Angel became such good friends. It seemed that the Angel was constantly in her presence. I don’t think she could see her Angel, but at times I wondered. You couldn’t help but feel she had a loving and protective friend at her side. 

At the time, it happened that her parish was in disarray. Despite its small size, it had split into two or three cliques. They disagreed on just about everything. You should have seen the effect Sarah had on her little community. All the bickering and squabbling stopped. The whole parish became one in their support of Sarah and her mother. And as one they prayed for her healing. But the Lord had other plans for her. 

Even when the sickness became unbearable, she begged her mother to let her to see Jesus and have Him in her heart. The time came when the affliction was so crushing that the little one simply couldn’t make it through Mass. 

A day or two later, on a bright spring morning, she was leaning against her mother while she read her a story. At one point she put a finger across her mother’s lips. She was staring into the distance. She reached out her hand and whispered, "Mommy, I have to go now." She leaned back against her mother. She went - I’m sure, right into the arms of Our Lord. A Lenten journey
of trust and love. Of total surrender. 

We pray often "Sacred Heart of Jesus I place all my trust in thee." All my trust! 

We will really mean it when we stand alone and defenseless on our own spiritual, high and craggy tor and wait upon the Lord. As Sarah did. As her mother did. "They that wait upon the Lord will renew their strength and they will soar as with the wings of eagles." 

Come Easter Sunday see if our spiritual strength is not renewed. See then if we do not soar with The Risen Christ on eagles’ wings. 

God love you, 
Fr. Robert McQueeney Spiritual Director 

Fr. Robert McQueeney, 1919 - 2002
Spiritual Director
The Padre Pio Foundation of America, 1982-2002