(Stock Photo Canva)
By Marrick Reeve
One of my favourite parts of Archdiocesan Leadership Camp is having Mass en plein air. In a place where we do a lot of crazy and cool things (like Ultimate Cabbage (think Ultimate Frisbee but with a cabbage), life-sized Clue, water jousting, archery, and fire building with flint and steel on the beach), the quiet, slower moments are my favourite – the one-on-one conversations with the youth and with leaders alike, the first sips of coffee on the deck overlooking the lake while most others are still asleep, a perceived moment of being alone on the dock only for the muskrat to swim out from underneath it. And still, Mass outside, facing the water, listening to the priest preach as Jesus might have, the moment of consecration where Christ Himself becomes tangibly present, always stands above them all.
This year, with St. Francis and his relationship with nature at the forefront of my reflections, I noticed something different. The trees, in all that they are, praised the Lord with us. And the fire ants, in all that they are, praised the Lord with us. And the pesky fish flies (which we determined would be worse if they smelled like fish as well), in all that they are, praised the Lord with us. They didn’t bring anything special; they didn’t bring anything different. The grass continued to grow in its place, and the trees did not get up and move, but in their simple being, spent time praising the Lord in the flesh. Oh, how special to have been one of those trees, that may have spent its whole life yearning and waiting for this moment and might spend the rest of its life yearning and waiting for it again. And oh, how I take it for granted. With two legs, a heartbeat, and breath in my lungs, and still I make excuses for not going to Mass. “I have to work,” “it’s my baby’s nap time,” “I’m too tired.”
My prayer became for the Lord to give me a heart that yearns to praise Him like the trees did, like the lake lapping on the shore did, like each grain of sand did that day. In all that they are and not in what they do, their praises rang loudly and possibly louder than mine. I was reminded of the canticle from Daniel found in the liturgy of the hours (Daniel 3:57-88,56). A reminder that no matter what surrounds me, whether it’s peace, or calm, or chaos, or mess, or the everyday mundane, I am to praise and bless the Lord, and what better place to praise the Lord than in the Eucharist.
One of Michelle Braden’s ministry philosophies is “here comes everyone!” and it rings true. This year was truly no exception. People from all ages and walks of life, with varying levels of wealth and need, relationship with God and religion, and desire to serve, came to a place that many call home summer after summer. All these differences, and yet all the same call: to praise the Lord in our own ways. I am invited to praise the Lord as I praise the Lord and not how anyone else does. The birds and the trees and the butterflies and the mosquitoes and the grass and the muskrat praise the Lord as they are, and they do not try to do it any other way. And how much more special it is to praise the Lord in the flesh all together as one. For them, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. For us? Every Sunday, if not every day.
May we too praise the Lord in our own way, and may the Lord give our hearts the desire to praise Him in all things in every moment. May He call us to His home here on earth, the Church, and grant us the desire to meet Him in the Eucharist.
“Bless the Lord all you works of the Lord
Praise and exalt him above all forever.”
Marrick is a former youth ministry coordinator and NET alumna. She currently spends most of her time at home caring for her son, hanging out at local coffee shops, grabbing lunch with a friend, perusing the weekly grocery flyers, and dreaming of traveling.
