More than just a few of us have been puzzled by the "Will of God." How many times have you thought "How do I know what God’s will is for me? How do I find out?" 

Let me assure you that almost never do we find out what God’s will is for us the way St. Paul found out. You remember, I’m sure. He was on his way to Damascus to continue his persecution of the infant Church. He was struck to the ground by a spiritual bolt from the blue. There was no wondering for him. Jesus told him flat out what He wanted Paul to do. 

Rarely will we come to know God’s will for us in such a dramatic way. But we do share something with Paul. He was struck blind. He had to be led to Damascus by his companions. He recovered his sight only after he had committed himself to Jesus, completely. 

When it comes to God’s will we are blind, too. Spiritually blind! And our blindness is a gift in a sense! 

For example, many, many times when celebrating Mass, I have thanked God for my blindness. What if, after the consecration, I were suddenly able to see Christ - - His reality; His totality. To see Him as He appeared to Peter, James and John at the Transfiguration. The awesomeness of His Glorified Presence.

One thing is for sure, in that moment of seeing Him as He is, I would, indeed, come to know the meaning of "Fear of the Lord." I would throw myself to the ground, as Peter did, trembling in fear, knowing that Jesus could see my ugliness; see every sin I had ever committed; fear that He would give me insight so I could see myself as He saw me. I would then know Fear of the Lord, dread that He might cast me into the darkness. 

I would certainly know His will then: That now, while still there is time, He wills that I cleanse myself through the Grace of His Sacramental Confession. I would see then how necessary is Purgatory - - that I might be purified, "made
perfect."  

No. He will not now give us the gift of "spiritual sight." He knows we could not stand to be in the presence of, to see the glory of His radiant God-hood. So we seek His will in darkness. We cannot see twenty years in the future, or one year or even one minute. His will is revealed through His "Gift of the Present Moment," through His eternal NOW. His way is lighted for us one step at a time; we step from darkness into light one step at a time. 

I thought of something that happened to me many, many years ago. It happened in my white birch. I learned what it meant to take one step at a time, from the darkness to light. 

When I was a kid, I lived in a big white house, the biggest in the neighborhood. It was on a hilltop and had many trees and flowers and bushes. Fruit trees, apple, crabapple and cherry. 

My favorite tree was a white birch, a giant white birch. It was taller than our house. To my young eyes, its tip-top branches seemed to brush the sky. When I sat at "my mother’s knee" she’d read me stories. I was sure that my white birch was just like Jack’s beanstalk. 

In my imagination, I had climbed to its top many times and had all kinds of adventures. I imagined that climb so often it became real to me.

One afternoon in late October, I was playing outside with my best pals, Billy and Jim. It was almost supper time; the Halloween sun was ready to call it a day. We were by the side of the house under my white birch. I made a dumb
mistake. I confided to them that I had climbed to the top of that giant tree many times. They laughed and started to tease me. Jimmy howled in disbelief, "If you’ve climbed it to the top do it now." The two of them wouldn’t let up. They hooted and laughed. They began to chant, "Climb it! Climb it!"

But I was so small I couldn’t even reach the bottom limbs. They spotted a stepladder leaning against the house. Billy and Jim wrestled it over to the tree and dared me to climb to the top. The limbs were quite close together so I started up. It turned out to be pretty easy. I climbed and climbed. I didn’t look down, just up toward the topmost branches. "I’ll show ‘em," I thought. Suddenly I became aware that my big birch tree was moving.  

The evening breeze was making my friendly, white giant sway from side to side. I was almost at the top! Still, I couldn’t make myself go higher. For the first time, I looked down. Jim and Billy looked so small! And they were yelling to me, "Come on down, come down. "But I couldn’t move. It seemed to me that the tree top was swaying more than ever, back and forth. I held on for dear life. I pressed my cheek tight against the bark. And the bark dug into my cheek. I still remember the smell of white birch!  

I heard my mother’s voice from way down below: "Robert, you come down here this minute." My pals had gone in to call my mother and as soon as she said, "Robert!" I knew I was in trouble. Even so, I couldn’t move. I was frozen - - like a kitten on top of a telephone pole.

Then I heard my father’s voice. He didn’t yell or holler. He knew what had happened. He almost whispered but I could hear him, "It’s okay Bobby, just hold on and I’ll be up to help you." 

So he climbed, too. Almost to the top. Right under where I was. Then he really did whisper; kind words, gentle words. He said, "Let’s play a game." He had a small pencil flash light. " See where I’m shining the light?" It was on a
branch four or five inches below my right foot. See if you can move your foot into the light." And I did! I surprised myself. But his encouragement was so warm and gentle. I felt I could do most anything. 

Then he moved the light to a branch under my left foot. And I managed to move it there. And we repeated the little game time and time again - - I stepped from darkness into light. Until I was at the very bottom branch. And from there, it was no trick at all, even in darkness, to jump into the open arms of my Father.

God love you,

Fr. Robert McQueeney

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