All that I cannot see

I’m a night owl. So it’s no surprise that I love stargazing. On a dark night, even from my urban backyard, I’m awed by the constellations above me—and my imagination becomes fascinated by all that is there that I cannot see. 

The other day at daily Mass, I heard St. Paul warning the Corinthians to refrain from making judgments on one another, for when “the Lord comes…He will bring to light what is hidden in darkness.” He will make known “the motives of our hearts.”

Yet even as I heard the words, I was distracted by the woman sitting across from me, making noises and whispering words. I was annoyed. I mean, doesn't she know how to behave at church? The Mass went on, but my distraction grew. It wasn't until we lined up for communion and I glanced at her once again that I noticed her wet face, a single tear on her cheek, and the way her head was completely bowed in reverence.

More often than I care to admit, I judge someone based on the few stars that are visible to my simple-minded eyes. I not only dismiss a person based on how they’re dressed, what they drive, or by their accent—I harden my heart with a snap judgment on their life. 

sun over No. Padre Island

"He will bring to light what is hidden in darkness.”