"He that is proud eats up himself..." ~Shakespeare

Yesterday I began reading, in honor of the feast of Saint Thomas Becket, the epic verse drama by T.S. Eliot known as Murder in the Cathedral.  As I read, reflecting upon how deeply Eliot captured the struggle of the human heart, one question struck me in particular:

THOMAS

Is there no way in my soul's sickness,

Does not lead to damnation in pride?

Is not that the question of our lives?  Pride—that first sin, that greatest sin, that sin that makes good evil—plagues our pilgrim paths.  At the very moment when we think to achieve victory for God, we find ourselves working for our own glory and not His, surrendered to ourselves and not after all to Him.

I have heard that once one manages to conquer all the sins in the flesh—gluttony, anger, envy, lust, sloth, covetousness, and even pride—that one must then face these on a spiritual level.  The deeper one goes into God, the more the devil tries to bring him down.

What greater tool of destruction could there be than pride?  For if holiness is the presence of God within and union with Him, then the sin that chooses to exalt self on the altar of one's heart must of necessity shrivel holiness.  Yet how subtly it works!  It sneaks in so silently that we do not realize how much we have begun to rely upon ourselves, to glorify our own work rather than the will of God.

Especially when one like Saint Thomas Becket must choose to serve God rather than men, the temptation of pride comes.  The devil likes to turn back upon us all the good that we would do.  He wants us to act for God only out of our need to be great and at the same time to believe that we only act from our own pride and therefore are worth nothing before God.  What contradiction there!  Yet how many times have you found yourself caught up in similarly contradictory thoughts prompted by the evil one?

Sometimes it seems that wherever we turn, we see pride rear its ugly head.  It seems folly to resist and therefore can even bring us to the edge of the chasm of despair.

One time in prayer as I wrestled with that despair of freeing myself from pride, my Lord brought to my heart a beautiful and humbling thought: rather than fight pride by trying to destroy it, I must instead turn to Him, for pride will always be there.  In fighting it, we make it grow stronger.  Yet if we choose the good—and choose to turn to God—we will find that the dragon of pride begins to lose its power because we let God fight the battle and He always wins the victory.

Beato Jacopone da Todi, prega per noi!

Todi, Italy

Today I celebrate—I say I for the mere fact that most people remain unaware of today's significance other than as Christmas Eve Eve Eve and therefore nigh to Christmas—the feast of Blessed Jacopone da Todi who has become my dear patron.  I first discovered him quite by accident in a way.  Of course all earthly accidents—coincidences one might say—are merely manifestations of the hidden power of God at work, but from an earthly standpoint it was an accident, as I was searching for a Saint Jack whom I expected did not exist.  That search led me to Blessed Jacopone.

Street in Todi

When I discovered that Blessed Jacopone was credited with writing the Stabat Mater everything began to come together in my mind.  I realized how long ago my Lord had prepared me for this discovery of his existence, for one of my earliest memories of being at church is of praying the Stations of the Cross and singing the Stabat Mater whose haunting melody and words have ever tugged at my heart.  How could I help but rejoice in friendship with the author of that hymn?

By the tomb of Blessed Jacopone

An amazing poet, Blessed Jacopone captures the struggle at the heart of our lives in much of his poetry: he writes of the burning desire for God and yet the pain of that encounter and even the rebellion that rises in our hearts against the Sea of Love.  He reminds me of Jacob who wrestled with God.  (And indeed the name Jacopone is derived also from the name Jacob.)

In memory of Blessed Jacopone

I was blessed to be able to visit Todi and the Church of San Fortunato where the tomb of Blessed Jacopone resides in the crypt.  The curator must have thought me odd as I sat or knelt on the cold stone in prayer or the writing of poetry.  There was such peace in being there, however, beside the final resting place of my dear patron.

San Fortunato in Todi

In honor of his feast today (sometimes alternately listed on Christmas Day), I would like to share with you one of his poems that speaks so powerfully of love:

The Soul's Over-Ardent Love

Love, that art Charity,

Why has Thou hurt me so?

My heart is smote in two,

And burns with ardent love,

Glowing and flaming; refuge finding none,

My heart is fettered fast, it cannot flee;

It is consumed, like wax set in the sun;

Living, yet dying, swooning passionately,

It prays for strength a little way to run,

Yet in this furnace must it bide and be:

Where am I led, ah me!

I once could speak, but now my lips are dumb;

My eyes are blind, although I once could see:

In this abyss my soul is stark and numb,

Silent I speak; cling, yet am held by Thee:

Falling, I rise; I go, and yet I come;

Pursue, and am pursued; I am bound yet free;

O Love that whelmeth me!

Maddened I cry:

'Why must I die,

They fiery strength to prove?'

Love, Love, of naught but Love my tongue can sing,

Thy wounded Hand hath pierced my heart so deep:

Love, Love, with Thee made one, to Thee I cling,

Upon Thy breast, let me sleep;

Love, Love, with Love my heart is perishing;

Love, like an Eagle snatching me Thy sleep,

For Thee I swoon, I weep,

Love, let me be,

By courtesy,

Thine own in death. . .

Also, I have only just now discovered one more amazing fact about Blessed Jacopone that makes him even more fitting as my patron (if Wikipedia may be believed, as I have not time to do further research at present): "He was an early pioneer in Italian theatre, being one of the earliest scholars who dramatised Gospel subjects."

Oh Jacopone, I look forward to meeting you in heaven one day!

True Love

[Caveat emptor: if you are not a fan of The Princess Bride, you may not appreciate fully what follows.]

Have you accepted Jesus as your personal Lord and Savior?

All right, so that is the stereotypical mainstream evangelical question that—to put it quite bluntly—leaves out two whole persons of the Trinity.  I have no intention of making a theological statement on that point (at least not right now), but the reason I bring up this question is because it serves as a means to point to one particular word in relation to God: personal.

As I look back on my growing relationship with my Lord, I see that it is becoming more and more personal.  It is less about abstract ideas of perfectionism disguised as sanctity and more about opening myself up amidst the mess of reality and letting God enter in so I can have a real relationship with Him.

Let me illustrate my point: the other day I was so ill I did not feel like eating and for one who typically has to eat every three hours or so that is a clear indication of being sick.  I had also come mighty near passing out, along with having other typical flu symptoms.  Yet despite my illness I had to work and somehow—by the grace of God—I got through setting up for the show and had time to rest.  So I used that precious time to nap.  When I woke, I did not want to rise from my bed even though I knew I had to.  As I lay there, urging myself with duty and finding duty insufficient motivation, I asked myself what could possibly be enough to make me rise from the bed.

All of a sudden it came to me: true love.

I knew at that moment that it was in truth the only thing that could compel me to rise.  So I said to my Lord: "But, then again...perhaps I have the strength after all," and rose slowly, feeling something as if I had been mostly dead all day.

I bet He laughed at our little joke.  After all, don't you think He had some part in inspiring that idea?

St. Nicholas' Eve

Eight years ago, on this eve of the feast of Saint Nicholas, my life as a pilgrim began to take shape, although it did not begin in earnest until the following autumn.  In a few seemingly-insignificant moments of eager exchange between study partners there arose the seed of an idea that marked my life forever.  In many ways I am still grappling with its effects as the pattern of ripples echoes through each moment.

If I had to sum up that experience in one word it would be this one: Providence.

What I learned through all the weary days of marching along, sustaining myself with the rhythm of repeated rosaries and the certainty that God willed it, was that He would provide.  He always did.  Sometimes He provided people who generously took us into their homes and insisted upon serving us and hearing all about our journey.  Sometimes He provided a place for our tent on a cold and freezing night.  Once He provided someone who rebuked us for not planning ahead better and took us to a women's shelter where we barely slept and learned something of modern poverty.  More than not, we had good weather—amazingly good weather I realize now.

I could go on about various details of what He provided, but the details do not matter, even if they are helpful to illustrate my point.  For the details all point back to the one clear and definite thing that is more certain even than death and taxes: that God will provide.

Each day I know that truth more clearly as I seek to abandon myself more fully to the working of Divine Providence in my life.  In good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, God always provides all that we need.  Deep down I know this truth even when the weight of it all grows too much for my shoulders to bear and I cry out to Him from the depths of my pain: my God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken me?

He wants us to cry out to Him in our joys as much as in our pains.  He wants to pour Himself out for us, as He does in each moment, for He is Love and the nature of love is to keep giving itself again and again, constantly, until it has nothing left to give.  It is only we who are so small that we cannot receive all that He would give.

Let us open ourselves ever more, fellow pilgrims, to the great sea of love!  Come, let us encourage each other, walking side by side when the path grows dark...