Cast Into the Cistern

No matter our trials or the obstacles in our path, we can always rely on God to come to our aid. Today, Cait Gardiner reflects on God’s unwavering support and reminds us that often, the simplest prayers can help us through the most difficult times.

August 17, 2025: Twentieth Sunday in Ordinary Time, Year C
Jeremiah 38:–6, 8–10
Psalm 40:2–4, 18
Hebrews 12:1–4
Luke 12:49–53

Cast Into the Cistern

A reflection by Cait Gardiner

Earlier this month, I had the privilege of serving as a volunteer during the Jubilee of Youth. It was something I’d been looking forward to since I learned of the experience in January, but the week quickly forced me to rely on God to carry me through some truly dreadful moments. At every turn, I felt like Jeremiah: cast into the cistern, sinking in the mud, slowly starving. And yet, like Jeremiah, simple reliance on God pulled me through it.

When I arrived in Rome, my first trial was being hopelessly lost. I followed the directions to a train station near our housing, and as soon as I stepped out with five weeks' worth of luggage, I lost all confidence in my ability to navigate. I said the simple prayer in this week's psalm (Lord, come to my aid!) and a moment later, I saw another woman struggling with Google Maps. I asked if she was a volunteer for the Jubilee, and she said yes! She asked if I knew where we were going, and I said, "I have no clue, but I know that it's a lot easier when you can walk with someone." When we arrived at the park where the volunteer coordinators would be, we realized the pavilions didn't go in numerical order, and felt even more lost than we did at the station. Every time I felt like the situation was hopeless, we collected another volunteer who felt the same way. By the time we found Pavilion 10, our group had grown to almost 20 people, with volunteers from Mexico, Austria, Texas, Poland, Italy, Venezuela, and Argentina, all with one goal and the shared belief that it was better to walk together than alone.

Halfway through my week of service, I was assigned to assist with confession at the Circus Maximus. An estimated 28,000 people came for confession throughout the day, and it was up to the volunteers to help keep everyone hydrated, check in priests as they arrived, and direct everyone to lines for the 200 different confessionals in various languages. I soon found myself assisting with the line for confessions in English, which sounded straightforward enough, until I realized the line next to it that I would also assist with was for French, Portuguese, and Polish. This was a Herculean task, especially because, as I quickly learned, the French pilgrims did not like waiting in line, especially not one that snakes around multiple times with an estimated hour-plus wait. This disdain was only exacerbated by the incredibly short line for English right next to them, where people could walk directly to the confessional of their choice and only wait behind one or two others.

Once again, I found myself saying that simple prayer: Lord, come to my aid! I told a volunteer coordinator I felt overwhelmed, especially because I only speak English (and, when asked, un poco Español). He told me, "The Holy Spirit will give you enough and help them understand," and as I continued through the day, I realized how true that was. I quickly picked up just enough that I could easily communicate instructions with pilgrims in French and Portuguese, and was able to seamlessly help others using English and gestures, including pilgrims from Poland, China, Belarus, and many other countries.

By the time I got back, I had a new appreciation for Jesus washing his disciples' feet, because mine were absolutely caked in dust everywhere that hadn’t been covered by the straps of my Chacos. I was beyond grateful for the running water in our dorms, and for all the ways the Holy Spirit aided us volunteers throughout the day.

Unfortunately, my struggles in Rome continued to escalate throughout the week in ways that made me fear for my health and safety and that of other volunteers. Some of the stories are not mine to share, and others are still troubling enough that I am not ready to put them into words. My continued prayer of "Lord, come to my aid!" was growing more desperate, especially because I was slated to be in Europe for four more weeks. I hadn't told my mom the extent of what was happening, but I opened WhatsApp to this message: "Should you decide you don't want to do tons more weeks of this, I can help with airfare cost. Not encouraging you to leave, just letting you know you're not trapped."

That evening, as I sat in an Airbnb in Naples and prayed for guidance on what to do, a cockroach as long as my middle finger crawled out of the bathroom. My roommate and I both shrieked, and I knew that was my final straw. I called my mom to change my flight home, but continued to struggle with various issues: from ITA Airways claiming I was on standby to not having any gluten-free food. I kept repeating that same prayer, more desperately each time, and finally arrived at JFK...without my checked bag. When I finally got on the train, I told the woman next to me I had never been so grateful for New York City's public transportation, and she responded, "My word, where are you coming from??" As I recalled my tale, I shared a laugh with someone else for the first time in almost 24 hours of travel, and knew that everything would be okay.

Even when you feel like you've been cast into a cistern and are up to your waist in the mud, God provides. It's certainly on God's schedule, not ours, but in everything, we can know that God will come to our aid, providing community, understanding, and comfort even in the messiest adventures.

‍

Cait Gardiner (they/them) is a queer non-binary person who is passionate about uplifting the voices of marginalized communities and making civics education accessible. They want to be a light to others navigating the difficult experience of reconciling their sexual orientation with their faith.