It is the story of a God who is not distant, not indifferent, not doing anything in half-measures, but who is here, now.
In God’s house, we are surrounded by the prayers and the songs of the ancients. Angel choruses accompany these and speak to us in the language of God, in heavenly symbols, and in mythic truths. It is in the church, this deep blood-spilled communion, that we can encounter the words of St. Maximilian Kolbe: “The most deadly poison of our time is indifference.”
This isn’t a cold rebuke, but the voice of an old storyteller, a guardian of the mysteries, one who witnessed the ebb and flow, and the annihilation of countless human lives. They are not uttered to scold, but to awaken us, to breathe life back into the gloomy embers of our hearts that have been tamped by the dull hum of our modern lives.
Indifference creeps into our hearts like a mist, a soft gray fog that dampens Pentecostal fire. We are busy people, entangled in the webs of our own making—families to care for, work that demands our energy, the incessant drumbeat of a world that never pauses, never rests. And in this relentless pace, we begin to lose the plot of the story we were born into, the sacred tale poured out on us in the cradle that will wash away our final breath.
But Kolbe’s words, if we allow them, are not merely a mirror reflection of our failure. They are a window we can climb out of so that we may return to the path we have strayed from. He does not leave us with the fear of indifference but points us to its antidote, the ancient remedy that has always been within our reach: “…the praise of God should know no limits,” he writes, “Let us strive, therefore, to praise Him to the greatest extent of our powers.”
Praise is not just a word, not just a command. It is a turgid, untamed river coursing through the wilderness. And yet, what have we done to it? We have tried to contain it and channel it into neat, manageable streams: hollowed-out prayers, acts of devotion done in fear or a sense of obligation, and bone-nub worship. And why? We’ve become indifferent to faithfulness, charity, and hope. We are indifferent to the will of God and to the needs of even our brothers and sisters in this church. We are indifferent to the needs of our churches, our pastors, their families, and their homes.
And in doing things this way or by doing nothing, we have shown that we’ve forgotten that this river was never meant to be tamed. It is meant to roar, to crash, to sweep us off our feet and carry us into the depths of divine mystery. It is the River of Life, and only Jesus can command its obedience.
Think of the great storytellers, preachers, saints, and prophets of old, those who knew how to sing the praises of God with every fiber of their being. They were not content with half-measures or with passivity. They did not settle for a life of checked boxes and measured devotions. They dove in, gladly being swept away by the full flow of the river. It shaped them, changed them, and carved new paths through the landscape of their lives.
And now, here we are, standing on the banks of that same river, hesitating, wondering if we dare to step in, even though we’ve been told to stay in the water since we were baptized. We are busy, yes. We have responsibilities, yes. But the river does not care for our excuses. The waters speak to us, and the voice is that of Jesus. He calls to us relentlessly and insistently because he knows that he made us for more than this, for more than doing the bare minimum. He knows he’s created in us a capacity for praise that has no limits, a life that is not merely busy but brimming with the glory of God.
So what will we do? Will we remain on the shore, dipping our toes in the water now and then when it suits us, or will we plunge in, fully, recklessly, trusting that this river will carry us where we need to go? That is what true praise is—it is a surrender, a letting go of our need to control, to manage, to predict. It is a wild rumpus, a leap into the unknown, a cry that travels through forests and over fields, shakes the very earth beneath our feet, and rattles the gates of Paradise.
In this kind of praise, we will find that indifference has no place, not in our churches, not in our communion, not in our life, not anywhere in God’s creation. Indifference cannot survive in the rushing waters of a soul that is fully alive, fully attuned to the presence of the Christ-Savior.
In the depths of this river, we are carried by the currents of the great story we are a part of, the story which began long before us and will continue long after we are gone. It is the story of a God who is not distant, not indifferent, not doing anything in half-measures, but who is here, now, in the midst of his chosen people, calling us to wake up, to remember, to receive grace upon grace, to shower charity upon others, to praise with all our might.
Κύριε, ἐλέησον.
Χριστέ, ἐλέησον.
Κύριε, ἐλέησον.
Christ, have mercy.
Lord, have mercy.
