Open My Ears, Lord

by Fr. Christian Mathis on May 18, 2013

During my last weekend at St. Thomas, a friend and parishioner handed me a book called Hiking Through by Paul Stutzman. He told me that it might have a message for me. This past week I have been reading it, reliving my own moments on the Appalachian Trail and remembering the lessons learned through the experience. I am beginning to see that that quite a few of the things I have learned on the trail apply to living in sobriety. Here is a small story from Stutzman’s book:

Relaxing alone in my tent, I thought about the month I had spent on the trail. I’d seen and done so much, everything far removed from my previous life. I had learned to accept the friendship of others quite different from myself, and I was beginning to be happy being me, even with all my shortcomings.

Every day, it seemed that God revealed more of Himself to me. Perhaps it was because I wanted to hear. Several days before, I had been following a young man on the trail. When I was within speaking distance, I attempted a conversation with him, but was ignored. I realized he had earbuds in and was focused on his music. Everywhere these days, people are plugging their ears and depriving themselves of good conversation. That earpiece is like putting up a “Do Not Disturb” sign. This ear-plugged hiker shut out not only all conversation with fellow humans, but also all the sounds of nature. He could not hear the singing birds or the whispering pines.

Apparently he could not even hear approaching thunder. The ear-plugged young man had a hiking partner who was a short distance ahead of him. Thunder had been rumbling around us, and raindrops started to fall as we crossed a road. The unplugged hiker had heard the warning rumbles; catching sight of a country church down the road, he dashed to the refuge of its little porch. But the other hiker marched on, head down, watching the trail and concentrating only on his music. His friend stood on that dry porch, calling, but the hiker never saw his friend leave the trail and certainly did not hear his name called out. He was soaked by the rain and separated from his partner. I wonder how far he walked before he realized he was alone.

Though I watched with amusement as this little scene played out, I felt an inner nudge that said, “That’s you, you know.” And I got it. I saw myself in church on Sunday mornings, hoping to hear from God but letting so many worries and distractions clog my mind that I never could hear Him, even when He stood there calling my name. I saw the times I had knelt for a quick prayer at night and then immediately tumbled into sleep. How could God talk to a sleeping person?

Now I had finally removed everything plugging my ears and my head, and I felt willing and able to listen to God. 

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  • http://www.facebook.com/tricia.varga Tricia Varga

    Wow I could have written that last paragraph.

  • http://www.blessedisthekingdom.com Fr. Christian Mathis

    He is a good writer and expresses what I think many of us have experienced at one point or another in our lives.

  • http://www.facebook.com/tricia.varga Tricia Varga

    I might check it out. I do finally see it is not God who does not listen, it is me! Thanks, this passage is where I found God in my day. :)

  • Deacon Jerry

    “I wonder how far he walked before he realized he was alone.” That’s a great observation and a great line. I think I’ll use this story with my youth or young adult group.

  • http://www.blessedisthekingdom.com Fr. Christian Mathis

    Thanks Deacon Jerry!

    I hope they will find it helpful. My own experience of walking the Appalachian Trail had taught me many lessons that apply to my life daily. At least they do when I am paying attention!

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