The following is a transcript of a Raised Catholic podcast episode.
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Today is episode 181: How it Used to Be
Hi friends. This week, we cleaned out the two upstairs bedrooms where my kids were raised, and we got the rooms ready for new carpet. Now, both of our kids have been out on their own for years and since they moved out, the rooms have served kind of a hodgepodge of new purposes, but something about fully clearing out these rooms and changing out the flooring upon which they, you know, took their first baby steps, and I rocked them to sleep in a chair my mother gave me – well, all of this made me kind of unexpectedly emotional.
As I was clearing things out, I found the pre-teen nail polish spills on the rug from my daughter and the place where I knelt next to my then-preschool aged son’s bed and prayed every night along with his best penguin friend, Penny. I remembered where their cribs were placed and the changing tables and then there were the closets where we had stored every size of clothing that they wore from newborn sleepers to grown-up size sweatshirts and everything in between. These were the rooms where my beloved children slept under my roof for a bit over twenty years. And even though it’s been years since they lived here, and even though it is a truly lovely experience to enjoy them now as adults, I found the whole experience of clearing out a bit sad, because it’s not how it used to be, and it never will be again.
I took a walk around the college campus near my home, and this was the same place where I went to school, and it’s where I did my student teaching, too. There used to be a laboratory school on this campus, and back in the spring of 1993, I taught a class of fourth graders, doing recess duty out on the playground along with all of the other parts of our school day. But the laboratory school is no more. The building has been repurposed and the playground is gone, the whole area completely overgrown with plant life to the point that if you didn’t already know about it, you would be hard-pressed to believe that there ever was a playground there at all. It’s not how it used to be, and it never will be again.
On that same walk, I went past our chapel out back where there used to be a statue of Mary and a little stone bench where you could sit and pray. But since the statue fell into disrepair and was removed, that area has become completely overgrown with weeds and vines and wildflowers and the stone bench itself is just about fully engulfed by all of that green. It is not how it used to be, and it never will be again.
Still, the prayers I prayed there and the ones that others prayed too – they still exist in the economy of God, right? They are still a part of God’s plan for how He works to intercede for His people in time. Just as the 4thgrade kids I taught who are now, unthinkably, forty years old, still have some small piece of me inside of them, whether they know it or not. And my own son and daughter, well, there are untold millions of memories that live inside them and us that do not require a space to hold.
But it’s still sad sometimes, right? And for those of us who experienced a church or faith community which once did flourish, and now no longer does, or who have seen church culture or leadership change and shift in ways that we lament, that reality can feel heavy sometimes because it’s not how it used to be, and it never will be again. And I think it’s okay and even important to mark the truth of that and to feel the emotions that come with it. Because when we do, we make space and room for hope for what will come in its place.
No, we don’t get to see the changes that are up ahead of us on the road, the really good things which God in His kind Providence is getting ready for us, but the scriptures are full of encouragements about looking ahead and not behind. The Apostle Paul encouraged the Ephesians with these words.
“For this reason I kneel before the Father, from whom every family in heaven and on earth derives its name. I pray that out of his glorious riches he may strengthen you with power through his Spirit in your inner being, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith. And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the Lord’s holy people, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.
Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen.”
In our beloved spaces in the world or even the places within us that are transitioning to something new, it is so good for us to remember that God is able to do immeasurably more than all we could even ask for or imagine. That means that we can’t even conceive of the good things He will do, friend. And so, these good things from the hand of God can come to us maybe in a shape or a way that we might not expect, but which are even better than what we could dream of. Isn’t that an encouraging word today?
Both Paul and Jesus were very clear on the passing of time and on looking toward the future. Paul called our souls “treasures in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us,” acknowledging that while “our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day,” and emphasizing that “the things that are seen are transient but the things that are unseen are eternal.”
In Ecclesiastes, we learn that “there is a time for everything and a season for every activity under the heavens,” and Peter reminds us that “with the Lord a day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years are like a day.” John talks about the world and its desires passing away, but Jesus tells us that He is “with us always, even to the end of the age.” As things shift and change and as things pass, one thing we can know for sure is that we are never, ever alone.
Where the Mary statue used to be behind my chapel is now positively filled with vines and bushes and this year, the most stunning, deep red wild roses. Or at least that’s what they look like to me, but I didn’t plant them – nobody did, to my knowledge. They’re just there, growing and flourishing in the place where Mary once stood and something in my spirit told me to stop and pay attention to this development.
Because no, it’s not how it used to be. There’s no statue of Mary or structured place to sit and pray there as I once did. The community that once gathered in this place is mostly gone, and much of how it used to be done there has fallen away in time. But in its place both there in the garden and within me too, there’s a new wildness, and expectant beauty, and statue or not, Mary’s presence is still very much there, reflected in the deep red wild roses. I believe that every prayer that’s ever been prayed in that place is in her hands and still in motion in a way that we could not begin to comprehend.
No, it’s not like it used to be, it’s true, but with a little hope and expectation for God to move in us and in his Church in a way that we cannot yet imagine, maybe it’s better.
Thanks so much for being with me today, friend. If you need me, you can find me on Instagram @kerrycampbellwrites, at Substack at kerrycampbellwrites.substack.com, where I hope you’ll leave a comment on this week’s episode, or on my website at kerrycampbell.org. Thanks so much for rating, reviewing, subscribing and most importantly, sharing this podcast with a friend. That makes a real difference in growing our community, so thanks. If you would like to support this podcast financially, there are a couple of ways for you to do that in the show notes, along with some resources related to today’s episode, so do check all of that out, but before we go, let’s pray together.
In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, amen.
Oh God, you are the One who makes all things new. As we sometimes mourn what used to be, please give us hope and expectation for what will come while resting in the certainty that you are always, always with us, walking in love.
In the name of Jesus and wrapped in the mantle of Our Mother, Mary, we pray. Amen.
Well, thanks so much for listening today, friend. I’ll see you next time.
Show Notes
This week we’ll look at the hard emotions around letting the past go and welcoming in the future we can’t yet see. I hope this episode is a blessing to you.
If you’d like to connect with me, find me on Instagram, at my website, or on Substack. If you’d like to help support this podcast financially, there’s a way to do just that on my page at buymeacoffee.com! Thanks for sharing, subscribing, rating, and reviewing, as this helps our community to grow.
Thanks as always to my friend, Peter Vaughan-Vail, for providing the beautiful harp music you hear in this and every episode.
Here are some resources to help you dig into this week’s topic on your own:
1. Book: The Next Right Thing, by Emily P. Freeman
2. Podcast: The Next Right Thing with Emily P. Freeman
3. Song: Letting Go, by Stephany Gretzinger
4. Song: The Clearing, by Amanda Cook
5. Song: The Cathedrals of the Nelder Grove, by Benjamin William Hastings
6. Journal Questions:
God, in your kindness you move us through seasons. What is a season in my life that is passing? What should I let go of now in order to make way for the new – in work, family, relationship, community? How can I find hope for something new that I can’t quite see yet? What examples from my life will help me to trust that you are at work planning something for my good to take the place of the beloved thing I am letting go?
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