Space for Grace

A Reflection on the Psalm for November 7th, 2021:
Thirty-Second Sunday in Ordinary Time

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Psalm 146

R. Praise the Lord, O my soul!

It is the Lord who keeps faith forever, who executes justice for the oppressed; who gives food to the hungry. The Lord sets the prisoners free. 

R. Praise the Lord, O my soul!

The Lord opens the eyes of the blind and lifts up those who are bowed down; the Lord loves the righteous and watches over the strangers. 

R. Praise the Lord, O my soul!

The Lord upholds the orphan and the widow, but the way of the wicked he brings to ruin. The Lord will reign forever, your God, O Zion, for all generations. 

R. Praise the Lord, O my soul!

I don’t know what lies ahead. This is both the reason why I fear, and the reason why I praise the Lord. It’s a bit of a conundrum, and so I have been rolling over in my mind how the two can be held in tension at once. I’ve twisted and prodded at the possibilities, but in the end, I’ve found it to be impossible.


When I fear, I assume that God’s plans are not good. Fear is good when it alerts me to imminent danger. It is not good when I construct it out of an uncertainty about my future. It is at this moment in time, this transition from surrender to grasping, when I have fallen out of relationship with God. I can see these moments in hindsight. The trick is to catch myself when I’m in the process of crossing over from God’s will, to mine.


I’ve recently been given the tremendous privilege to sit in a room with a number of highly accomplished, intelligent, and holy people. It is a gift I don’t receive lightly, and I am in awe and gratitude for the opportunity to learn from each of them. Most recently though, as I sat amongst them, I was fearful. I was ashamed of my littleness, apprehensive to say the words that were rising up out of my heart, doubtful that I belonged. Looking back on it, I was comparing myself and competing a bit. The presumption that I didn’t belong was one I had constructed out of my own insecurity. Insecurity does not lock hands with grace. When I left their presence, I sat in my car and wept. I was deeply disappointed in myself for not speaking up—for allowing fear to rule my heart and mind. Moments later though, a new sense was rising up from within me: a sense that it was ok that I didn’t speak. It was a remembrance of the gift this opportunity truly was; an acceptance of my littleness. Another moment after this shift, came the grace—a swirling of words and inspiration from the Holy Spirit that I felt immediately compelled to write down. When I looked at what I had written, another emotion came over me: love. When I share these inspirations with those who sat at that table, I don’t know what the outcome will be, but I trust that God opened that door for a little one like me so that I would not speak, but listen intently for His voice in the room.


In these moments of intellectual and spiritual poverty, there is space for grace. This little movement from the fear of ineptitude, to the embracing of it, is a praise worthy gift. It’s an almost imperceivable conversion of the heart resulting from a little death so that a little resurrection may swiftly follow.


I praise You Lord for the unexpected gifts. They help me to trust.

I praise You Lord for Your revelation of memories. Whether they cut me deeply or cause rejoicing, You walk with me as I return to them and teach me who I am.

I praise You Lord for my wounds, they are cultivating empathy.

I praise You Lord for the sunrise each morning, for it brings with it the hope of a resurrection.




​Lori MacDonald

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