Last Sunday, I went to mass for the first time in months, or maybe it’s been over a year. I don’t remember.
By the time I arrived the Gesu, it was already the second reading. I was late, but it felt as though I came at the right time. I sat on a pew at the far-left end of the chapel, and the moment I sat down, I was overcome with, for lack of better words to describe it, lightness and breath. “I missed being here,” I thought to myself. I imagined some voice would’ve replied, “we missed having you here.”
I know church isn’t a place you go to only when you’re in search for answers, but that weekend, I guess that’s what I did. You see, I was on the verge of a major life decision, and that day I was reminded of a rule of thumb when making these decisions. It’s to ask ourselves, “what is the more loving thing to do?” and to do that. Simple in theory.
When we ask this question to ourselves, the first instinct might be to contextualize it in the face of others. What’s the more loving thing to do for others? For my family? For my friends? For society? For the world? This is because the act of loving implies an outward manifestation of the expression. Although these are all undoubtedly noble concerns, another side of the question is often missed.
We sometimes fail to remember that the loving option necessarily works inwards as well. And to this question, only we know the real answer to, which, at least in my book, makes it just as noble a concern, if not nobler: “what’s the more loving choice for our own selves?”