It was no longer possible to consider myself, abstractly, as being in a
certain “state of life” which had special technical relations to other “states
of life.” All that occupied me now was the immediate practical problem of
getting up my hill with this terrific burden I had on my shoulders, step by
step, begging God to drag me along and get me away from my enemies and
from those who were trying to destroy me.
I did not even reflect how the Breviary, the Canonical Office, was the
most powerful and effective prayer I could possibly have chosen, since it is
the prayer of the whole Church, and concentrates in itself all the power of
the Church’s impetration, centered around the infinitely mighty Sacrifice of
the Mass—the jewel of which the rest of the Liturgy is the setting: the soul
which is the life of the whole Liturgy and of all the Sacramentals. All this
was beyond me, although I grasped it at least obscurely. All I knew was that
I needed to say the Breviary, and say it every day.
Buying those books at Benziger’s that day was one of the best things I
ever did in my life. The inspiration to do it was a very great grace. There
are few things I can remember that give me more joy.
Had to look up the definition of "impetration." I've been a lifelong Catholic, and, for some reason, I have never heard that term. To "impetrate" means to beseech or entreat. According to catholicculture.org, "impetration" is "[o]ne of the fruits of prayer and good works, especially one of the four ends of the Eucharistic Sacrifice. Impetration with right disposition and the fulfillment of prescribed conditions invariably obtains from God what is asked of him, provided it is to our spiritual advantage. It is ensured petition. (Etym. Latin impetratio, the action of procuring or obtaining by request or entreaty.)"
Basically, impetration is answered prayer. Of course, answered prayer comes with conditions. It requires the right "disposition," which means that you can't be praying that someone catches COVID or that Donald Trump goes to prison (although, I think there would be something pretty divine about that). No, in order to have the right disposition, what you are asking for has to be pure, unselfish, and for the greater good of the universe. (Again, Donald Trump going to prison seems to fit the bill, but I'm not God.)
So, praying that a loved one who is seriously ill undergoes healing seems to fall in this spiritual spreadsheet. However, there is the caveat: ". . . provided it is to our spiritual advantage." That means that the impetration mustn't harm us spiritually in any way. Perhaps there is a reason for a loved one to suffer or be taken away. Don't ask me to explain that part of the deal.
When my sister was diagnosed with lymphoma of the brain, I asked God to heal her. Impetrated. I did that a lot. My sister never jumped out of her bed to do a "I am healed" dance. Instead, she got sicker and sicker until she passed away. Even now, almost six years later, I'm still trying to understand the divine plan in her death. My family sort of fell apart after she was gone, and we're still picking up the pieces. All the king's horses and all the king's men can't put this Humpty together again.
Of course, I'm trying to understand the mind of God here. (Does God have a mind? That's the subject of another blog.) There is no way really to do that. To understand the mind of God means you can see the past, present, and future all at once. The "big picture," so to speak. Even saints lack that ability. Saints are human, and human beings have a limited capacity for understanding. Some humans have much greater understanding than others, but even Albert Einstein didn't see the potential of nuclear war when he wrote to FDR in 1939, urging the president to develop an atomic bomb before Adolf Hitler did. Huge mind. Human understanding.
So, impetration is tricky. It requires purity of heart. Selflessness. Surrender. In the end, it also involves acceptance--we take whatever God dishes out. It may not be exactly what we ordered--rare steak versus medium. Or it may be something completely different from what we wanted--egg plant instead of barbecued ribs. We can't send it back to the kitchen. So, we make the best of it. Eat the meal that's set before us. Give thanks for the broccoli because it is better for us than the banana split.
As I said, my sister will be gone six years this August. I'm still sitting at the dinner table with this one, trying to appreciate the entrée before me. God answered my prayer, just not in the way I wanted or understand. I'm human. I'm limited. Still learning the menu.
Saint Marty hopes the next thing he orders comes with onion rings.
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