On “Helping” in the Church

“He does not ask for help. He asks for you.”

Those words from the medieval author of The Cloud of Unknowing ought to be pondered by every liturgical director, elder, deaconess, chorister, church usher, and cutter-out of white felt doves for Pentecost, always and everywhere, till the Lord comes again, and let us hope that is soon.

I had occasion to discuss The Cloud of Unknowing the other day, while visiting a convent of sisters in Starrucca, a rural village in the northeastern corner of Pennsylvania. The Oblates of Mary, Queen of Apostles, are a new order following the Benedictine rule; they raise a great deal of their own food, and are partly sustained in their work by proceeds from the priestly vestments they sew. They are solid in their faith and generous to a fault, and the Lord has rewarded them with cheerfulness and a fine harvest of vocations.

But what impresses me most is that these good sisters, who have given their lives to the church, do not consider the church to be the arena for the use of their prodigious talents. They have not made the church into a career, or a hobby; they are not engaged in a human work, for they know quite well that no human work can bring salvation, even if it is topped by a fancy cross. Yet they work hard, as members of the church and on behalf of the church; and the hardest work they do is not to milk the cows or clear the field or stitch the alb, but to pray.

It’s a fine distinction to make, but necessary. The Lord wants us to use our gifts, but He does not need our gifts, and He certainly does not want us to fool ourselves into thinking that we are doing Him a favor, “helping” Him. Yes, He will use us as instruments, but that is His mercy, not His need. When Simon helped Jesus carry the cross, he became the emblem of every true Christian. But the divine Son of God did not need Simon; in fact Jesus never said to any of His apostles, “Follow me—I need you, I need your help.” Simon was allowed to “help” Jesus carry the cross, and I believe that in that help he was saved: he thought he was helping Jesus ascend the mount of Calvary, but Jesus was at that moment raising Simon up from a valley far deeper and darker than any in the environs of Jerusalem.

The Lord God, who did not need the talents of Johann Sebastian Bach, certainly does not need mine. But I need Him; in my working or sitting still and shutting up for Him, it is actually He who his refashioning me, breaking or burning and forging anew. No matter if He makes me into one of the humblest of household vessels, so long as I am admitted to the house, where I assuredly do not deserve to be. All is as He disposes. Perhaps one of my crosses will be the rebuff of a talent I suppose I have. Be He praised for the rebuff. They also serve who only stand and wait.