Offer It Up

Have you ever been told to offer something up? Chances are, if you are like most Americans, your immediate response is resentment at being told what to do and a mental block against the idea—especially if it came from one of your parents.  It matters little whether you may have told others precisely the same thing when you had nothing to suffer.

Well, despite whatever emotional baggage you may carry regarding this idea of offering something up, it does have the power to transform your life. But the enemy will do his best to prevent your realizing it.

“Offer it up,” is such a vague thing to say anyway. We humans do not deal well in vagueness, even when it presents universal truth. We need the concrete specifics that turn that universal truth from something out there into something that penetrates to the deepest recesses of our hearts.

As I mentioned in my last post, sacrifice is a part of our baptismal priesthood. That means that we are called to offer sacrifice to the Father on behalf of others. Unlike the ministerial priest who offers the sacrifice of Christ upon the cross through His role in persona Christi, acting in the person of Christ, we have only the substance of our lives to offer in sacrifice. However, there is certainly enough substance there and it too may be transformed by Christ, if not transubstantiated.

In the sacrifice of the Mass, the priest has the tradition of centuries behind the weight of his words directed toward a specific offering. We need that same specificity in our lives. Although we can simply sacrifice in general for souls or for the world, unless we have a burning zeal like the great saints, we will soon grow lukewarm in our efforts.

We need specific intentions. We need to pray for particular people, for particular situations, for particular healings.  If I say in a moment of suffering that it is for my friend who is struggling, for my godmother, for someone who is going through surgery, or for anyone else for whom I have promised to pray, I have somewhere to direct my pain.  Instead of struggling within myself and wanting to escape, I have a means to bring fruit from my suffering because it is for another.

Even when the suffering seems impossible to offer up because it is too much to endure, we can make that effort of the will.  Then offering it up means transforming it into a prayer moment by moment. Instead of an obstacle to remove, it becomes a sacrifice of love as we lift up to the Lord the name of a loved one, repeating again and again that the suffering is for that one so dear to us.

The Power from on High

Today begins the original novena—the nine days of prayer leading up to the great feast of Pentecost.  As I join with so many others in praying this novena, I pray for an increased outpouring of the Holy Spirit upon all of you, upon all artists, upon the Church, and upon the whole world.

If you would like me to carry your intentions specifically, please send them to me.  I will lift them up to our Lord, carrying them in my heart during these days.

Please pray for me.

The Spirit is Willing but the Body's a Mess

“When I feel better, then I will be able to...”

Have you ever caught yourself saying something like that? Or perhaps you have repeated such phrases countless times without being aware of how foolish it sounds from an eternal perspective.

After all, if you gave a cursory glance across the list of canonized saints you might well believe that all it requires to become a saint is to get tuberculosis and die at a young age. You can bet your buttons none of them were going around planning for all the things they would do once they got better.

Although you may take my comments on the saints and tuberculosis merely as a joke (and I hope they at least make you smile), they contain an important truth as well: the reality of suffering in a life of sanctity. I think I can safely say that all of the saints suffered—some of them more than others certainly. Suffering, after all, is a part of the human condition. It is also a part of becoming holy.

So, as we put one foot in front of the other on the slow path to sanctity that we all follow, we pilgrims toward the Heavenly Jerusalem must learn to transform our perspective. Instead of seeing our pains and suffering as an obstacle to all the good that we might do, we must see them as the forging of our holiness. Pain gives us the opportunity to develop virtues such as patience. It is in suffering that we are tested like silver and have all our impurities burned away.

Yet this clear light of truth that shines upon the reality of suffering breaks apart into shadows and deception when it comes to the mind. It is one thing to endure pain of the body from some physical illness or even emotional pain such as the hurt of being misunderstood or rejected by others or any such suffering where your intellect functions as it was meant to do. However, when the body is such a mess that the mind is seriously affected—call it insanity, mental illness, or what you will—and it is no longer possible to reason acceptance of suffering against the sea of dark and self-condemnatory thoughts, what is one to do? How can any good fruit come of enduring an inability to love oneself or others?

I must maintain that in that dark place God remains. That is all I know.

What mysteries He works within those shadows and labyrinths of deception I cannot fathom, but I must believe that He does. For if He is all good and makes all things work together for good, then His power must be enough to transform these seeming evils into bright gems that one day will reflect the light.

Still, how are we poor mortals struggling along to handle those moments when the body is such a mess that the mind and will no longer strive for good?

It seems callous to say offer it up or that we must abandon ourselves to it as part of God's Providence. Yet what else is there to say? If suffering truly matters and if we are to sacrifice our lives according to the nature of our baptismal priesthood, then why should we shy away when it becomes difficult or even when it seems impossible?

Christ on the road to Calvary fell many times in His weakness. His body must have been the worst mess ever. We can only imagine how that must have affected His mind and will. Yet He got up and went on.

So we also can do even when the body is a mess and the brain feels like a refuse pit. If rising in the morning seems an insurmountable obstacle and it takes ninety-nine attempts before achieving success, or if it requires three hours to draw up the energy necessary to look someone in the face, there is merit there. If prayer becomes impossible and all external acts of charity and virtue cease to exist, God is still working.

Those little things that so many of us take for granted may be someone else's battleground. It is there in that epic tussle with the minutiae of daily life that some of us will achieve that ultimate union with God. Although the dragons may seem to gain the victory with their lies and oppression, their dominion will not last forever: all that is not of God will cease to exist. Then His light will shine fully upon His faithful warriors, revealing all their wounds and scars that tell of countless battles fought for love of Him—battles that may have been lost in order to win the war.

Reaching Out

So often fear binds us in our interactions with others. We find ways to shield ourselves: alcohol or virtual communications or certain attitudes and ways of presenting ourselves to the world that hide our true selves.

Of what are we so afraid?

We are afraid of rejection certainly. We are afraid of misunderstandings. Yet perhaps we are even more afraid of vulnerability.

What if we are more afraid that others will see us for who we really are instead of seeing the facade we present to the world? Do we fear more that they shall see the face behind the mask and the heart aching for love when we want to pretend that we are indomitable?

There is fear too of forcing others to respond out of politeness. Do we dare reach out to another who may feel himself bound to answer even when he does not wish to? If we make the initial effort, we never know if the other cares to deepen our relationship. So sometimes we wait, hoping that the other will make the first move. Yet what if we then wait forever?

Deep down we are all afraid. It is not fear that matters, but our response to it.

Day by day we form ourselves as cowards or as great warriors. It is not fear that distinguishes the two; it is action. The cowardly soul denies himself the will to act because of his fear while the courageous soul steps into the breach in the face of fear.

Verso l'alto!

Converting Loneliness into Solitude

These words of Henri Nouwen's are so powerful of themselves that I think they need no commentary of mine:

In discussing [solitude and the need for it], three words are important: aloneness, loneliness, and solitude.  You and I and all people are alone.  Aloneness is a natural fact.  No one else in the world is like me: I am unique.  No one else feels and experiences the world the way I do: I am alone.

Now, how do I deal with my aloneness?  Many people deal with it through loneliness.  That means you experience your aloneness as a wound, as something that hurts you, makes you miserable.  It makes you cry out, "Is there anyone who can help me?"  Loneliness is one of the greatest sources of suffering today.  It is the disease of our time.

But, as Christians, we are called to convert our loneliness into solitude.  We are called to experience our aloneness not as a wound but as a gift—as God's gift—so that in our aloneness we might discover how deeply we are loved by God.

It is precisely where we are most alone, most unique, most ourselves, that God is closest to us.  That is where we experience God as the divine, loving Father, who knows us better than we know ourselves.

Solitude is the way in which we grow into the realization that where we are most alone, we are most loved by God.  It is a quality of heart, an inner quality that helps us to accept our aloneness lovingly, as a gift from God.

In that place our activities become activities done for the other.  If we accept our aloneness as a gift from God, and convert it into deep solitude, then out of that solitude we can reach out to other people.  We can come together in community, because we don't cling to one another out of loneliness.  We don't use or manipulate one another.  Rather, we bow to one another's solitude.  We recognize one another as people who are called by the same God.

If I find God in my solitude, and you find God in your solitude, then the same God calls us together, and we can become friends.  We can form a community, we can sustain a marriage, we can be together without destroying each other by clinging to each other.

-from "A Quality of Heart"

Unless Ye Become Like a Little Child....

The other day at Mass I heard the voices of three young children rising in song behind me. The oldest of the three–a girl who could have been no more than seven–sung out with all her heart, her voice rising above the entire congregation.

It did not matter to her that she sang with more gusto than perfect tune. She did not care whether others thought she sang too loud or not well enough.

It is only we who grow older who lose that innocence of singing with all that is within us. We think more of fitting in, of not standing out, of not drawing attention to ourselves, of being who we ought to be and singing in perfect pitch and tone than of praising the Lord in all simplicity.

If only we could shed those perceptions and go back to that innocent childhood. Then we would find again that complete trust, which seems like utter folly to us, but which is a precious gift to our Lord, who waits only for us to give ourselves to Him without holding anything back. For then He can pour out His Providence in ways beyond our understanding or belief.

Again and again I find my inner doubts holding me back though I long to sing out in praise of my Lord's goodness. Perhaps one day you and I will open myself to that child's courage once more....

'Til Death Do Us Part

“Because our expression is imperfect
we need friendship to fill up the imperfections.”
~G.K. Chesterton (Illustrated London News, June 6, 1931)

Friendship remains one of the deepest longings of our hearts.  Shallow permutations thereof seem to arise more and more with the rapid advances of virtual technology, but none of these can satisfy that deep longing.

In this virtual world, I find myself pondering my old-fashioned views of friendship.  Those views I might summarize in one simple expression: 'Til death do us part.  Although that phrase comes directly from the marriage vow, it can reflect a similar truth for platonic friendships.  Those of us with an absolute sense of loyalty believe that once we give our hearts in friendship, it truly is until death.

I think of a homily I heard a while back where the priest spoke about this very idea of friendship, expressing so beautifully my own perspective on it.  In that context, he mentioned the three musketeers and their motto: All for one and one for all.  How beautiful a description of faithful friendship that is, not to mention the delightful imagery of swords drawn in defense of one another....

The priest also spoke of another phrase I had never heard before: Friends to the altar of God.  One might take this in several ways.  For instance, it might describe the division that arises from differing beliefs, as it does seem nearly impossible to be close friends with one whose heart does not adore at the same altar.  That is a sad and painful reality that we may have to face.  Yet even if we cannot be true heart-friends because of differing beliefs, it does not mean that we cannot still accompany one another in friendship through our lives; nor does it mean that we should allow our differences to drive us apart, as our nation becomes more and more divided on this score.

The other way to look at that phrase would be to consider it in light of the purpose of friendship: to lead our friends to the altar of God.  Just as the Greek word for "until" implies nothing about what happens afterward, so too it does not mean that our friendship ceases at the altar of God.

Indeed, there we find true friendship.  For where we will one another's good we become truer friends through the power of grace.

There also we find a God who has stepped down to earth because He longs so much to be our friend.  There we find the One who never ceases to give Himself in love, whose loyalty surpasses even my own ideals, whose desire transcends all that I can imagine.  Each moment He waits for us to come to Him, to speak to Him in deepest confidence, and to open our hearts to a love He can scarcely contain.

"Greater love than this no man hath,
that a man lay down his life for his friends." 
~John 15:13

Missionary of Divine Providence

Somehow I find myself speaking more and more boldly and freely of late about abandoning oneself to Divine Providence and, as I do so, I find my own belief in it strengthened.  It is like a gift that I have the more I give it to others.  I find myself compelled from within to become a missionary of abandonment to Divine Providence.

It seems fitting to write of this idea today upon the feast of Saint Joseph the Worker, for he was ever abandoned to the Providence of God throughout his life.  In his work, in his silence, in his love, in his tender care for the Blessed Virgin Mary and for Christ, and in his humility, we see a tremendous example of one committed to living for the Lord.  He did not question, he did not shirk his duties, he did not flee from suffering.  Instead, he gave himself wholly to God's will in ways that we may never know upon this earth.

Saint Joseph seems to keep presenting himself in little ways in my life.  Some months ago now, I was blessed to visit the miraculous staircase he built at the Loretto Chapel in Santa Fe, New Mexico.  I think of that experience now as I lift up my life to him, asking his intercession, that he may build of my life also something miraculous as a gift for my Lord and for the world.

He is a powerful spiritual father.  I look up to him as I continue my earthly pilgrimage and speak—I hope—by both words and actions of abandonment to Divine Providence.  I pray that you may do the same.

May it ever be for His glory and not our own!