Weeds Are Flowers Too, Once You Get to Know Them

When I was around 13 years old I decided that my Confirmation Saint would be Luke. But if I’m being completely honest, I only chose him because I liked the name – and because my favorite New York Met at the time was first baseman Lucas Duda (who has since left the team and no longer holds the position of my favorite player after a crucial late inning error in the 2015 World Series which caused our loss, but I digress). My home parish growing up was named after St. Veronica, the woman who gave Jesus a cloth to wipe his face while he was carrying his cross, and receiving back the kerchief with a perfect imprint of his face. I went to a Jesuit university, so Saint Ignatius of Loyola was a prominent figure for those four years of my life. Despite being around these saints, I never really felt an attachment to any of them. I always felt that they were just holy figures that I could never truly be like, understand, or relate to.

But this year, for some unexplained reason, I felt a strong calling to Saint Peter. With the pandemic, lockdowns, difficulties of community living, and the inability to see anybody outside of that community life, I forced myself to learn more of the faith that I volunteered to help grow and spread in Ireland. I read a lot of books, even more Wikipedia articles, and started watching some videos and shows about the apostles and Saints – highly recommend The Chosen TV series if you haven’t seen it yet (it’s the best telling of the Gospels since John wrote his himself). And every story that I read or learned about somehow came back to Peter for me.

Peter is the man that everyone, no matter their beliefs or faith, can relate to and appreciate. He was a common man, who often struggled with his religion, occupation, and family. He was a good man, but a simple one – just a modest fisherman. When Jesus called him to follow he dropped everything and did, but constantly messed up. He was hotheaded, scared, confused. He doubted the things Jesus said, and inadvertently went against him and his teachings at times.

But the thing about Peter is that he always tried.

One of my favorite Peter stories is Matthew 14:22-33, where the apostles see a figure that they find out to be Jesus walking on water. Peter is the only one with the strength and courage to ask Jesus to allow him to walk to him, and the only one with the strength and courage to get out of the boat. He begins to walk on water along with Jesus, until he eventually falls into the storming sea, to be saved by his teacher and friend. Jesus tells Peter that he has such little faith. But was it Jesus that Peter lost faith in?

Or was it in Peter himself?

Because after this lockdown and pandemic filled year in House of Brigid, I think that him losing faith in his own self is much more likely. There were plenty of times this year that I was disappointed in the outcome. Upset at not being able to do what normal House of Brigid years would be able to do. Angry at feeling wronged despite it being absolutely no one’s fault, and that my life this past year has been significantly easier and better than many others. But looking back, most of my hardships over the past year did not come with losing faith in this program, this country, this world and beyond, but instead in myself. Do I belong here? Am I making a difference? Should I be somewhere else? Did I make a mistake coming here? Did I make a mistake choosing to come back another year to do it all over again in Wexford?

You see, I like to think that Peter didn’t lose his faith in Jesus. He was the only apostle who believed that it was Jesus on the water in the first place. He believed in Jesus, but not in himself. He didn’t believe in his own abilities and that’s what made him fall.

I’ve fallen this year at times. And that’s okay. I wish that I would’ve been able to do more, meet more people, and experience a traditional year in Dublin. I wish that I didn’t lose faith in myself at times. I wish that I was always able to confidently walk on the water.

But when I do end up falling in, I’m always lifted up. I remember the people that I did meet – few in quantity but vast in character. I remember all the good that my community members and I were able to do this year through livestreamed masses and services, enabling people to continue to pray together. I remember who I was when I came into the year, and who I am now that I am leaving it. And it makes me proud.

This past week when I was doing some dishes I looked out into our back garden. This yard which at one point was a mess of vines and overgrown shrubs and trees and garbage, now looks relatively clean albeit barren. I took a lot of pride in the yardwork that went into it, but I wish I had done more. I wish I had more time to make it a beautiful outdoor living space. I wish I had worked harder to make sure there were no weeds that have begun to grow back. I started to fall again, disappointed in myself, doubting if I even made an impact this year. And then, out of the weeds, I saw two red flowers that had sprouted. All of the loyal readers of my HoB blogs (aka my mom and the 9 other people who regularly like it on Facebook when I share it) know that every title of my past entries have been flower based. For this passage, instead of using a biblical or deeply theological quote, I’m going to leave my final HoB Dublin blog with a quote from the great Winnie the Pooh: “Weeds are flowers too, once you get to know them.” Despite thinking sometimes that I am simply a weed, not deserving to be here, not deserving to be walking on water, I am constantly being reminded that I, like all of you as well, truly are flowers.

We are all lilies in this vast valley we call the world.