Do the Opposite

I came across a little list recently called “It’s Strange.” It pointed out some uncomfortable things: how two hours can feel long in church but short during a movie, how spending money on ourselves can seem easy while giving can feel difficult, how we can talk endlessly with friends but sometimes struggle to find words when we pray.

My first reaction was to think about how true it was.

Then I realized I was looking at it the wrong way.

Jesus warned us about noticing the splinter in someone else’s eye while ignoring the wooden beam in our own. I’ve spent enough years of my life doing exactly that in one form or another. It is easy to notice what other people should be doing. It is much harder to kneel down and ask, “Lord, what needs to change in me?”

And when I started asking that question, some of the answers were uncomfortable.

I’ve had time for television when I told myself I didn’t have time to pray.

I’ve spent money without much thought on things I wanted, while sometimes hesitating when it came time to give.

I’ve been able to talk for hours about business, problems, plans, music, politics, sports, or whatever happened to be on my mind, yet there have been times when ten quiet minutes with God seemed difficult.

I’ve picked up my phone first thing in the morning before I ever thought about picking up a Bible.

I’ve rearranged schedules for things I wanted to do while treating prayer, Mass, Confession, or time before the Blessed Sacrament as something I would get to if the rest of life left room for it.

So this letter isn’t me pointing a finger.

It’s me looking in a mirror.

And lately I’ve been thinking that maybe one way to begin changing is remarkably simple:

Do the opposite.

If I can spend two hours watching a movie, maybe sometimes I should spend those two hours with Jesus in Adoration.

If I can spend money easily on something I want, maybe I should learn to give just as willingly.

If I can talk to a friend for an hour, maybe I can sit before Christ and speak to Him with the same honesty.

If I can read chapter after chapter of a book, maybe I can read one chapter of Scripture every day.

If I can wake up and immediately reach for my phone, maybe I should reach for God first.

If I can rearrange my life for dinner, a trip, a football game, a concert, or something else I’m excited about, maybe I can rearrange it for Mass, Confession, or Adoration too.

If I can remember gossip, arguments, headlines, and things that irritate me, maybe I can make the effort to remember the words of Christ.

If I can tell somebody about a great restaurant, a great song, a great product, or a place they absolutely need to visit, maybe I can learn to speak just as naturally about Jesus.

If I can stay up late watching television, maybe I can give God ten minutes before bed to examine my conscience, thank Him for the day, and ask forgiveness for where I failed.

If I can drive across town for something I want, maybe driving across town for Confession shouldn’t seem like such an inconvenience.

If I can stand in line patiently for something I’m excited about, maybe I can learn to sit quietly before the tabernacle without needing to be entertained.

If I can celebrate birthdays, anniversaries, vacations, games, and victories, maybe I should learn to celebrate the great feasts of the Church with real joy too.

And if I spend most of my life asking God to bless my plans, maybe I should start doing the opposite there as well.

Instead of constantly saying,

“Lord, here is what I want. Please make it happen.”

maybe the better prayer is:

“Lord, what do You want?”

That one scares me a little more.

Because asking the question is easy.

Following the answer can cost something.

But I’m beginning to understand that this is what conversion actually looks like. It isn’t simply realizing that certain things are true. It is gradually allowing those truths to rearrange your life.

I have a long way to go.

I’m writing this as someone still trying to remove the beam from his own eye. Someone who has wasted plenty of time, misplaced plenty of priorities, and spent far too many years thinking he had plenty of time to get serious about God later.

I don’t want to live that way anymore.

So I’m trying something different.

When the world pulls one direction, I’m going to try to turn toward Christ.

When comfort tells me to put prayer off until later, I’m going to try to pray now.

When I instinctively reach for the phone, the television, the computer, or another distraction, I’m going to try to remember that Someone is waiting for me in the tabernacle.

I’ll fail at it sometimes.

Probably often.

But then I’ll begin again.

Maybe that is the point.

Not pointing out what everyone else is doing wrong.

Not proving how religious we are.

Not comparing ourselves to anybody.

Just looking honestly at our own lives and asking:

What would happen if I started giving God the same time, attention, enthusiasm, and priority that I so easily give everything else?
And then, little by little,
do the opposite.