Wisdom 9: 13-18B; Philemon 1: 9-10, 12-17; Luke 14: 25-33
On an August day in 1997, I sat in the waiting area of Sloan Kettering Hospital in New York, my mother having been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer the previous month. I sat in that waiting area anxious but also filled with hope. You see, a CT scan indicated that the tumor was small and restricted to the tail of the pancreas and her doctor was optimistic that it could be surgically removed. However, her surgeon cautioned us that often CT Scans underestimate the extent of cancer’s presence in the body and that the full extent of my mom’s condition would only be revealed through a laparoscopic procedure, where a small camera, inserted through an incision, would assess the full extent of the situation. If it revealed that the tumor was as the CT scan had indicated, he would proceed with the surgery. But if the laparoscope showed that the tumor was larger or if it revealed other tumors elsewhere, he would not perform the surgery. To do so, would be fruitless. The doctor told us the operation would take five hours. But if we saw him in an hour and a half, it would mean that the news was not good and that the cancer was too far advanced to be removed.
So off to the waiting area my father and I went to keep vigil. Along with my hope, I was armed with my rosary beads, and every prayer card and prayer book that I owned. But I found it difficult to pray, being drawn into the lives of the others who were there waiting . . . into their joy as they found out the surgery was successful or the tumor was benign . . . into their deepest sorrow as the news they received defied their prayers and their deepest hopes.
I had also brought a book with me and thought I might have better luck with that. The book was called, “The Gift of Peace,” by Cardinal Joseph Bernardin, who was the Archbishop of Chicago, and had died the year before, ironically of the same type of cancer that my mom had. I came to a point in the book where Cardinal Bernardin described his own fight with the disease and that, spiritually, the greatest but hardest lesson he had to learn was to “let go and let God.” “Let Go and Let God!” I had never heard that before and the thought touched me. I closed my eyes and repeated the phrase to myself to allow it to sink in: let go and let God . . . let go and let God . . . let go and let God.” When I opened my eyes, the very first thing I saw was the surgeon walking toward me, an hour and a half after the surgery began. And I, like some of the others that I had seen earlier in the waiting area, heard words addressed to me like: “malignant,” “terminal,” “quality of life,” and “keeping her comfortable.” Let go and Let God: it was a difficult lesson for me to learn that last year of my mother’s life. It still is a difficult lesson.
“Let Go and Let God.” I think that’s what Jesus is telling us to do when in today’s gospel he says, “Anyone of you who does not renounce all his possessions cannot be my disciple.” We’re hoarders, aren’t we? We hold on to things we don’t need, shouldn’t be holding onto, or have been carrying way longer than we should be: possessions and problems, resentment and regrets, worries and fears, negativity and hurt, the dreams we hope for and the nightmares that sometimes become our reality. We’re control freaks. We convince ourselves that everything is under our control, even when it’s not, and that we don’t need anyone’s help, even when we do. But in today’s gospel, I think Jesus is telling us: “Clean out! Throw out! Get rid of it! You don’t need it! The only thing you need is me.” He’s telling us to let go of anything, physical or nonphysical, that gets in the way of giving ourselves over totally to him.
Getting rid of our physical baggage is kind of self-evident. So let’s focus on the other less obvious things that we have a difficult time letting go of. So what does this entail? It means following God's lead without knowing where he's sending you. It means waiting for God's timing without knowing when it will come; It means expecting a miracle without knowing how God will accomplish it; It means trusting God's purpose without understanding the circumstances. It means giving up what's beyond your control to embrace what you cannot change. It means giving everything over to God: that which we possess and that which possesses us.
Why is it difficult to let go? Because letting go equals surrender. The definition of surrender is to yield to the power, control, or possession of another. In other words, you stop fighting a battle you can’t win and turn it over to the One who can. You yield to God’s power and control, and stop attempting those things by yourself. But surrendering to God, making that act of abandonment into the hands of God, isn’t easy. It means facing the unknown. And the unknown scares us.
Letting go means releasing your dream or your problem, your it, into God’s hands. He longs to take it from you and make something good of it. But he isn’t going to play tug of war. He’s too much of a gentleman to snatch it away from you. You have to let go. And you have to let Him hold it by Himself, to mold and shape and create something beautiful from the ashes you’re attempting to cling to but in reality are slipping right through your fingers. We need God’s help; He doesn't need ours! In fact, oftentimes there is nothing he can do in a situation until we release it completely. As long as we keep trying to fix it ourselves, he will sit back and let us wear ourselves out. And that's exactly what we do, isn't it? We wear ourselves out, trying to do something we were never able to do to begin with. The thing is, God cannot give himself to us unless our hands are empty to receive him.
Letting go and letting God involves trust - trusting that God is in the midst of every situation, and all is well. The sooner you let go and let God handle a challenge or problem, the sooner you'll feel lighter, unburdened, free, and happy. He's making all things in your life good. No matter what it is, it can be reborn, revised, renewed, rebuilt, renovated, redeemed, and restored. You know you've let go to God when you rely on God to work things out instead of trying to manipulate others, force your agenda, and control the situation. You let go and let God work. You don't have to be "in charge." Instead of trying harder, you trust more.
So let it go. Hand it over. God can handle those jagged, broken pieces of your life a lot more safely than you can. And He can hold your hand in His nail-scarred hand even while He creates a masterpiece. We need to trust God to work things out, in his own perfect time, in his own perfect way. As Psalm 37 says, “Surrender yourself to the Lord, and wait patiently for him.” (Psalm 37:7) Surrender isn’t giving up; it’s “giving over.” It’s giving over to God, putting into his hands, what we can’t accomplish with our own hands, desires, plans or worries. Surrender is not defeat. Surrender can bring about victory. If you have any doubts about that, just look at the cross.
What are you holding on to?
