Existential Reflection on Friendship
I’ve been in the DMV region for a little over a year now. I’m sitting down and processing all of it — the highs and lows and the reflection of life as a post-graduate. When I got to Maryland last year, I had these wild expectations of meeting all of these fun city people and rallying around a circle that just brings me into their life and everything is happiness. How it turned out didn’t really look that way. And I reflected on my time in college for a comparison — only then did I realize that it quite actually took me 4 years to build up my companionships that are still lasting today. Three years of Sarah’s discipleship formed me and continues to mold my personhood. From the time that I walked into my first Bible study, to the last time that I prayed at St. Augustine’s, the Lord gave me friends and community spread out over the course of 4 years. None of the involvement, ministry, and sharing of life happened overnight. Even at times of immense loneliness in college, when I felt not surrounded, the Lord was blessing me with steady friendships and an army of beholders. When you’re in the thick of the fight, it’s easy to view life from the tiny hole of a straw.
Fast forward to now, I am living in Bethesda and soon moving out to a townhouse on Capitol Hill (yay!) and I work in DC. The Lord gave me an attraction to the law and liberty because of my involvement with religion and the pro-life movement. Some days, I come home from work and feel like I have no one in this city. I have been bouncing around from church to church and haven’t settled deeply into community. Churches in Maryland consist of people that have these deep histories of families and friends that have known each other for ages — that “Have you heard from X? What is Y up to these days?”type feel. And I get that; the Church creates a Body of community that share stories and lives in the parish atmosphere. But gosh, sometimes I can’t keep up with who is who and where does my Floridian background fit in? I was going to Immaculate Conception in Shaw for a while, and still call that parish one of my homes here. Fr. Charlie helped me through the “dark ages” of Lent and Covid, which perfectly coincided in time. When the Archdiocese of Washington was forced to exercise an abundance of caution under Archbishop Gregory with church attendance signups and 10 person maximums, I decided that I would look for a refuge in a new church. I stumbled upon St. Rita’s Catholic Church, which is in the Diocese of Arlington under Bishop Burbidge. Reception on the communion rail for every mass; Latin Mass Tuesday, Thursday & Sunday; large families; convicted priests. I still haven’t formed a community here — very much have just gotten to revel in the beauty of the architecture, liturgy, and my normal routine in the church. I was sitting in 7:30pm mass the other night, just in awe at my life currently. As part of my current vocation, I have the time to go to the gym and then pop over to mass, fit in a couple minutes of adoration and confession. I delight in sitting in the gothic Church, and as the rains storm outside, I feel at peace. I feel surrounded by the Lord because He is so present to me in this Church — in this congregation that thirsts for beauty and truth within the liturgy and how that plays into our daily lives to strive for conviction. My intention is to meet people at St. Rita’s that are yearning to live out the pillar of community in our faith and strive towards holiness and pure friendship together.
Much of my time here I have spent not feeling chosen. After leaving my friends and FOCUS and everything that was good (and sometimes hard) at UF, it still is easy to feel like I’m not chosen. To feel this tug on my heart when I reflect back on my very best friends in Florida, sweet memories where my heart was crafted, or heck even the cuddles from my dog in South Florida. I am constantly choosing a life here, and God is constantly choosing me here even in the moments of loneliness. He never gives up on us, even when I feel like just another person in a pew. One day, I will know the bliss of recognizing people within the Church, and the joy of congregating outside of the Church. Again, it took me four years to confidently walk into the courtyard of St. A’s and feel at home. Yet, there are still tiny graces to see when I remove the straw from my view and recognize what is in front of me. I have Rachel, who has told me that something good should be shared and invites me into her family dinners on some Sunday nights. I have Rhett and Molly, who gave me friendship during Covid and celebrate closed chapters with me. And I have so many new experiences growing and stretching me. I don’t think that people talk about the loneliness of transition enough. It is incredibly scary to transition from a thriving campus ministry surrounded by your beholders to a new city and state and place in life. It is hard to fit in and feel like you are known, loved, and cared for in a place that doesn’t really know you. The thing is that The Lord is present to us no matter where we are and knows the longings of our hearts intimately. He has not abandoned us, He is Emmanuel.
I stole this from Sr. Miriam’s Abiding Together podcast but, community is the fruit born through brokenness. Intimacy is the fruit that grows through touching one another’s wounds. And gosh, do we need hands open ready to receive this brokenness, this longing for a deeper union with Christ but also with one another. I have hands open, ready to receive your creation, Lord. I have hands open, ready to receive those that will invest in a life shared with me. All that is given to me is a gift, and I will receive it into my hands. In light of all that isn’t given to me, I will pick up my cross and carry it. Jesus, carry my cross with me. Something that is inherently good should be shared. A good friendship bears the life of Christ because you are enveloped into a discovery of the face of Christ. His creation bears fruit of a deeper recognition of His own self to you. Oh how I long to receive deeper friendships here.
From The Young Catholic Woman:
I’ve often heard that if the love you’re experiencing is real, then you don’t have to change — you can completely be yourself, always. Part of this is true — there should be a comfort, peace, and acceptance in love, but we’re fooling ourselves if we think that we can always “be ourselves,” because we don’t even know who our real selves are yet.
We have yet to be made into the perfect dwelling place, we have yet to let Love Himself completely rearrange us. Real love — human or divine — if you let it through the door, inevitably has to change you.
“Imagine yourself as a living house. God comes in to rebuild that house. At first, perhaps, you can understand what He is doing. He is getting the drains right and stopping the leaks in the roof and so on; you knew that those jobs needed doing and so you are not surprised. But presently He starts knocking the house about in a way that hurts abominably and does not seem to make any sense. What on earth is He up to? The explanation is that He is building quite a different house from the one you thought of — throwing out a new wing here, putting on an extra floor there, running up towers, making courtyards. You thought you were being made into a decent little cottage: but He is building a palace. He intends to come and live in it Himself.” — C.S. Lewis
I want to discover the person that I am more intimately and more intensely. I want to see the person that you created me to be. I want to see daughter. Abba Father, I belong to You. Take the empty nothingness and make it something. Allow me to encounter others joyfully, because they must know they are worthy of love. I desire to give you tiny flowers for your Kingdom. Totus tuus forever amen.
