Dig Deeper into Sunday’s Gospel: Read John 6:1–15
I don’t like to sit down, because I can’t control life if I am sitting. I can’t fold the laundry, make dinner, or write the next masterpiece. I can’t be praised for something well done because nothing has been done. It’s why I dread manicures, all that wasted time sitting. I need to be moving to feel accomplished. And so what I am about to say might not sound like a big deal to you, but trust me, it is. You might want to sit down before you continue reading.
Sitting down is my new favorite thing.
I am not talking about sitting down with a glass of wine while scrolling through Instagram reels of backyard chickens (as glorious as that sounds). I am talking about sitting down in the presence of God and opening my heart to be in a relationship with the One who created me. This is a new routine for me. Prayer used to be when I woke up early, got my coffee, and curled up on the comfy couch while I told God everything I needed Him to do. Now, I’ll wake up early, and while I let out dogs and chickens and feed the cats, I pray a morning offering as I wonder, “What was I thinking with all these animals?” Afterward, I retreat to my prayer space. Sometimes, I meditate on a Scripture passage. Other times, I close my eyes and see where the Lord wants to meet me. In both cases, most of this time sitting is spent pondering the stirrings in my heart. In my imagination, I am always about eight years old—the sweet reminder of who I forever am in God’s eyes—His little girl.
Raised on the world’s lie that “you are what you produce,” getting off the gerbil wheel of activity was difficult—ask my spiritual director. She just about had to tie me to a chair to convince me that the most important thing I could do was stop moving, stop consuming, and just sit down. For the first couple of months, I sat for two minutes. I set the timer, closed my eyes, and did nothing, unconvinced that this interior prayer life was appropriate for a go-getter like me. The perfectionist in me, however, is no quitter, so I was willing to give two minutes of my life to the God who gave His entire life. I hear how crazy that sounds now, but sitting for two minutes and not asking for anything felt pointless. How would God know what miracle He should work in my life if I didn't tell Him what I needed?
It’s no wonder the feeding of the five thousand (John 6:1–15) in Sunday’s gospel speaks to me. An enormous crowd follows Jesus to the other side of the Sea of Galilee, and to test His disciples, Jesus asks, “Where can we buy enough food for them to eat?” (John 6:5). As the story goes, with just five barley loaves and two fish supplied by a child, Jesus takes the loaves, gives thanks, and distributes the bread to those who are seated (John 6:11). Jesus multiplies the small offering, and the people sitting down eat as much as they want, leaving leftovers. It’s a miracle.
Some theologians love this passage for its connection to Exodus and the miraculous feeding of the manna in the desert (Exodus 16). Others love to point out how it foreshadows the miraculous feeding of the Eucharist. And me? I’m no theologian—I love it because the miracle occurred after Jesus made the people sit down (John 6:10).
Has Jesus ever made you sit down?
The day Jesus made me sit down, everything changed. As I grew in spiritual stamina, union with God became my goal. This shift in focus began an interior prayer life I did not believe was possible for a distracted girl like me. What’s crazy is that the more I seek to know Jesus, the better I understand myself. I don’t want to disappoint you, but as it turns out, I’m not God! Not even close. I’m a beggar, standing before Him, utterly helpless. Does this sound terrible? Trust me, it is not. It is a beautiful place to be, because when I see the reality of who I am before God—that I am not perfect—I can let go of every false security I have relied on, things like control, pride, vanity, hypocrisy. I could go on, but you get the picture. While this has been incredible, I won’t lie; it has been a fight. It has meant hiding in my closet to pray when the neighbor's construction interrupts my peace. It has meant frequenting the sacraments and doing a daily examen when I’d rather sit with my chickens or search “how to become a Dallas Cowboy cheerleader” on the internet. It has required setting aside all those other prayers that make me feel in control—because I am not.
As the days go on, sitting at His feet feels less like torture and more like exactly where I need to be. The more I seek Him in the quiet, the more I want to be with Him. The more time I give to Him, the more I accomplish what matters. The fruit of this interior prayer life has spilled out into every corner of my heart, home, and apostolate. With Jesus, I have created a beautiful hiding place in the center of my heart. It is a place of rest where I do not have to do anything to prove myself worthy or produce something I think will earn me salvation (Ephesians 2:8–9). Anxiety and fear are left at the foot of the cross, and I am free to be little again, to jump into the arms of my Father and expect the miracle.
Speaking of miracles, my family received one not long ago—an answer to a three-year-long prayer. It wasn’t exactly what we prayed for, but we couldn’t help but see God’s hand moving. And here’s the thing: I might have missed it. Had I not learned to quiet my soul, I might have let my mind rob me of this moment—to keep me from seeing the Blessed Mother watching over us. One of the fruits of sitting at His feet is that He remains when I stand up. His peace accompanies me to the train station, the chicken coop, and the laundry room. Interior prayer has a way of lingering and infusing everything. Like slow-rising incense, it heightens the senses, calms the nerves, and fills the room. No matter where I go or the trial I face, it whispers, “I am here; I did not forget you; I am still working.”
Intimacy with the Lord is the most important thing we can strive for. It helps us understand who we are (daughters of God), yield to His will (surrender), and increase our faith (You are God, and I am not). It is in the sitting down that we realize God is perfectly capable of doing the impossible without our help. It is in the sitting that the miracle happens.
Food for thought or journaling…
Do you want to deepen your prayer life but believe the lie that you don’t have the time?
Do you long to feel God’s love?
Do you need a miracle?
Start with two minutes a day.
Holy Spirit, You are welcome here. Quiet my heart so that I can enjoy God’s presence. Amen.
P.S. If you want to strengthen your interior prayer life, Rest: 31 Days of Peace is a simple Scripture-based book of meditations. It’s the perfect introduction to sitting down and quieting the soul.