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Take, Lord, Receive All I Have and Possess

by Stephen Doran

Take, Lord, and receive all my liberty, my memory, my understanding, and my entire will...

From high school on, I had worshiped at the pagan altar of achievement. While the ancients prayed before Baal or Chemosh, modern day idolators pay homage to whatever or whomever brings pleasure, wealth or power. For me, the drive towards success was my golden calf. Whether it was athletics, academics or my career as a neurosurgeon, each successive accomplishment quickly gave way to the hunt for the next worldly goal. It was the proverbial hamster wheel. 

Anyone familiar with the Jesuits is well acquainted with the motto of Ad Majorem Dei Gloriam:  For the greater glory of God. For me, my successes were for the greater glory of Steve. Each achievement fueled a growing sense of self-entitlement, which reinforced a compartmentalization in my life. My faith became increasingly isolated from the rest of my life and decreasingly important to me. Self-entitlement begets self-indulgence, and I became progressively emotionally and spiritually isolated. Externally, I do not think anyone knew the difference, save my wife, Sharon, who knew something was not quite right, yet she stayed by my side. Love stays.

All that I have and possess, you have given to me. To you, O Lord, I return it...

As providence provided, Sharon and I signed up for a pilgrimage to the Holy Land. Sharon is an experienced scripture scholar, having taught bible studies now for over 20 years. For Sharon, being in Israel made the scriptures come alive; her excitement was contagious, but even more, I was awakened to the reality of my fragmented, disordered life. We were on a small boat on the Sea of Galilee. The motor was cut and only the soft sound of waves and wind surrounded us.  Matthew 14 was read: the story of Jesus calming the sea and beckoning Peter to get out of the boat and walk on the water towards Him. I was flooded with grace. I was overwhelmed with the urge to get out of my boat of self-imposed exile and hurl myself towards Christ. I reached into my pocket for a keychain of St. Ignatius given to me by my son. As tears spilled down my cheeks and my wife and family prayed over me, I read aloud the Suscipe Prayer on the backside of the image of Ignatius.

I was overwhelmed with the urge to get out of my boat of self-imposed exile and hurl myself towards Christ.

All is yours, dispose of it wholly according to your will…

This was a pivotal event in my spiritual journey, and I returned home tangibly different, at least according to those who knew me best. A good friend asked Sharon, “What happened to Steve?” The Suscipe prayer on the Sea of Galilee was a metanoia: my heart was transformed and through the grace of the Holy Spirit, the fragmentation of my life began to coalesce, albeit in an imperfect way. 

Give me only your love and your grace, for this is sufficient for me.

The love and grace of the Trinity poured over me, but especially through the Eucharist. For some time (Weeks? Months?) as I approached the altar to receive Communion, I would know with certainty that the Lord was present, and I was about to bring Him into my body. I was keenly aware of His mercy and forgiveness which was made manifest in the sacrament, but also through Sharon. Overwhelmed by gratitude mixed with compunction, I would return to my pew, kneel, bury my face in my hands, and weep. Time after time. My teenage sons would glance over at their father and roll their eyes, as if to say, “He’s doing it again.” 

Overwhelmed by gratitude mixed with compunction, I would return to my pew, kneel, bury my face in my hands, and weep. Time after time. My teenage sons would glance over at their father and roll their eyes, as if to say, “He’s doing it again.”

Pope Francis once said, “The Lord, offering himself to us in the simplicity of bread, also invites us not to waste our lives in chasing the myriad illusions that we think we cannot do without, yet that leave us empty within.”   The pursuit of success, accomplishment, achievement was an illusion that I thought I could not do without. The drive towards success is still present, but the simplicity of bread beckons me towards Christ, if only I continue to listen. He went on to say that the Eucharist heals our orphaned memory, "The Lord knows that evil and sins do not define us; they are diseases, infections. And he comes to heal them with the Eucharist, which contains the antibodies to our negative memory."  

Take Lord, receive my memory. My memory remains but it has been and continues to be healed through the Eucharist. The grace and love poured out through the Eucharist are enough for me.

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Stephen Doran

Stephen Doran is a neurosurgeon and deacon, and the author of To Die Well--A Catholic Neurosurgeon’s Guide to the End of Life

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