Lift Up Thine Eyes, This is Sanctifying Work

"Lift Up Thine Eyes"   Norman Rockwell, 1957

I recently found a bag of forgotten postcards from our summer road trip stop-off to the Norman Rockwell Museum.  As soon as I saw this one again I knew it had to go at my sink - the spot where I put the things that I need to read often and often-er.

I love this painting and its message to me.  

Rather than see this painting as a depressing commentary on the busyness, self-absorption, and distracted preoccupation of modern life, I actually find this image full of hope and encouragement.  Someone is about to look up.  Who will it be?  Which fortunate passerby will raise his eyes to the majesty of the church and be simultaneously overwhelmed and comforted by its immensity, its enormous presence?  Someone is about to realize the awesome presence of God in the midst of the busyness, in the midst of the crowd, in the midst of his very own simple, but significant, life.  That someone will continue walking down the street, but will not be lost to the drudgery.  Instead, he'll continue on transformed.  He will go about the same tasks, but now with his eyes fixed on that which sanctifies them - the holy presence of God in every bit, every tiny, seemingly insignificant corner, of our lives.  

So often, I set myself to my daily tasks as if to the grindstone - leaning into it, back hunched over, eyes down.  Resigned to my responsibilities.  Got to get through this.  Drudge.  Drudge.  Drudge.  But over and over I'm given divinely appointed reminders that the daily drudgery is actually my holy work. 

I come back to this concept over and over again - God calls me to be holy.  God called me to be a wife and mother.  God doesn't make mistakes, so the calls cannot be mutually exclusive.  I should not long for the holiness that is achieved after the dishes are done, laundry is put away, stones are picked out of the lentils (tedious and thankless job, but needs must be done), noses and bottoms are wiped, and books are put back on the shelves.  I should long for the holiness that is achieved not only during the dishes, and laundry, and lentils, and wipes, but because of the dishes, laundry, lentils, and wipes.  I should not grasp at holiness in spite of my vocation, but run toward and throw my arms and heart around the opportunities for holiness in my vocation.

I first truly appreciated this one day when I believe I heard God speak to me while doing the dishes.  I write about the dishes a lot - it's just one of those chores I can never come to terms with...  I had been chatting with friends earlier in the day, speaking about the desire for holiness and the difficulties of making time for spiritual enrichment in the midst of busy life.  It was late, the dishwasher was full and so was the sink and I was inwardly grumbling about the dishes, as I am sinfully wont to do,  A voice inside me clearly said, "I've given you these dirty dishes for your holiness!"

What???  Lord, these dishes are how you want me to grow in holiness today?  These dishes are what you've given me to draw me closer to you?  You really picked these dishes in this moment so that I might have the opportunity to draw closer to you?  Your desire is for me to use achieve holiness through this mundane task right here right now?

"Yes."

You weren't waiting for me to do something bigger?  Something more?  

"No.  It's the dishes.  Allow them to be your gift to me.  Allow them to be your formation in holiness."

Mind blown (as they say on Pinterest). 

I still struggle with my attitude toward housework, toward the tasks that keep my eyes downcast and my back hunched in resignation.  Often I go about my day with the demeanor of those in the painting, with a side order of self pity, "this is all there is --- it's always the same --- here we go again --- what's the point."  Fortunately, through prayer and my postcard (!) I often remember the words I received at the sink.  Maintaining and managing my household, though work, is not drudgery.  It's within my home that I'm called to grow in holiness and provide opportunities for my family to do the same.  These walls, these floors, these pots and pans, these scrub brushes, these baskets piled high and higher with laundry are instruments of my sanctification.  

God calls me to look to Him to appreciate the value of the ordinary responsibilities of everyday life.  And valuable they are if I truly embrace and love the truth that they are God's specially chosen "path" for me.   He says to me, with the most tender of smiles, "I know you, Theresa.  I love you.  We both long for your sanctification; let me help you!  Here... I know you through and through and I've perfectly and lovingly chosen these dishes to help you."  

He longs, so completely, for me to draw near to Him, to grow in holiness, that he's chosen some very specific means for me to do so.  

Storing away the summer clothes.  Lift up thine eyes.  

Searching for a missing shoe when we should have been out the door ten minutes ago.  Lift up thine eyes.

Taking out the garbage in the snow and cold.  Lift up thine eyes.

Picking up trash instead of stepping over it.  Lift up thine eyes.

Bathing the kids and ending up soaking myself.  Lift up thine eyes.

Planning and preparing meals.  Lift up thine eyes.

Soothing sick ones when I'd rather be sleeping.  Lift up thine eyes.

And the dishes in the sink.  Always the dishes.  Life up thine eyes.  This is where I will grow in holiness.  This is where I will be sanctified.  This is not drudgery; it's saint's work I'm doing here!

Sanctity is made up of heroic acts. Therefore, in our work we are asked for the heroism of finishing properly the tasks committed to us, day after day, even though they are the same tasks. If we don't, then we do not want to be saints.

St. Josemaria Escriva, Furrow, 529