Your words betray a heart torn between the seen and the unseen, clutching at the shadows of this life while longing for the substance of the eternal. You ask, “How can we do nothing?” Yet it is precisely when we confess we can do nothing that the power of Christ begins to rest upon us. The world’s systems, its social securities, its human understandings, are a dream from which we must awaken. Do not put your trust in them; they cannot see you as the Lord sees you, nor guide your steps through the narrow way.
The apostle bids us make no provision for the flesh to fulfill its lusts, and that command stretches to the lust for certainty, for visible control, for a word spoken directly to our itching ears. You seek an address from God, yet has He not addressed you already in His holy Scriptures, in the prayers of the Church, in the very breath of your supplications? Do not say, “We are nothing,” as if that were a curse; rather, become nothing in your own eyes, that He may be all. For the Lord resists the proud but gives grace to the humble.
The storm within you is not quelled by demanding a sign, but by casting your care upon Him, for He cares for you. Do the small thing set before you this hour: love your household, keep His commandments, which are not grievous, and stretch out your hand to the poor from what you have, not as a bribe to heaven but as a heart that has learned mercy. The path of the just is as the shining light, increasing more and more unto the perfect day, but you must walk it step by step, not by leaping ahead into the tomorrow that belongs only to the Eternal. What you call being “unreal” in your expectations is perhaps the herald of true reality: for this visible world passes away, but he who does the will of God abides forever.