Buried Gold

There is so much to bury these days:
Old friends, old loves, dreams, the lamp
At the end of the lane, petals soft and damp
From sweaty hands, voice so loved, so dear,
Expectations of what may be, and fear
Of what may not, the pursuit of happiness
Spent in toil and grasping, fingers that hold
Riches that turn to dirt and grime and mold...

Mound it all up in the dust, pack it down,
Stamp the ground with your boots,
Water it with your tears. Somewhere roots
Will grow. Somehow the seed that dies
Will sprout forth—somehow warmth will rise
To touch the dead hard soil—wither lies
That a bud may blossom and keep tryst
For all that is buried in the heart of Christ.

The Way to the Heart

Today I find myself with few words, but I found a reflection I had recorded from a book I ran across somewhere by Henri Nouwen.  It offers a beautiful perspective on the little things of life that are so important even when they seem so trivial:

Small signs of friendliness can create much joy, and small disturbances between people much sadness, while the "great events" of the day often do not touch us so deeply.  An unexpected note from a friend or the passing remark from a neighbor can make or break my day emotionally, while inflation and recession, war and oppression do not touch my emotions directly.  A distant catastrophe has less effect than a nearby mishap, and an interpersonal tiff raises more hackles than a world-wide calamity....

But how little do we use this knowledge?  What is easier than writing a thank-you note, than sending a card "just to say hello," or to give a call "just to see how things have been."  But how seldom do I do this?  Still, I realize that every time someone says, "I liked your talk" or "I appreciated your remark" or "Your note really helped" or "You really seem to feel at home here"--I feel my inner life being lifted up and the day seems brighter, the grass greener, and the snow whiter than before.  Indeed, the great mystery is that a small, often quite immaterial gesture can change my heart so much.  The way to the heart always seems to be a quiet, gentle way.

-Mornings with Henri J.M. Nouwen: Readings and Reflections

Come Holy Spirit!

Joining friends in prayer for the Pentecost vigil stirred up for me so many thoughts and feelings about this pilgrimage that is the spiritual life.  It is amazing to me how powerful and yet how intangible is that interior battle.

"The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh weak." - Matthew 26:41

Sometimes it seems incredibly tempting to turn away from the battle and follow the easier path of doing my own will since I seem to keep trying to do that anyway even when I disguise it as trying to surrender to God's will.  I hear that those who choose to follow that path do not have to face temptations.  After all, if they are already doing what the enemy wants, why would he bother with them?

I used to think that once one followed the path of holiness, it would become easier to choose the right.  Yet the opposite seems true: those who choose to face that battle find it grow harder day by day.

As my grandma has reminded me, the closer we go to the light, the deeper are the shadows.

Although the battle grows harder day by day and the shadows deeper, there is no surrender, however dearly-bought, that does not allow the Lord to work.  Opening one's heart in surrender and trying to empty out the desire for anything but Him alone may allow the enemy to attack with all manner of doubts and the heart to rise up in rebellion, but grace remains.

"For the flesh has desires against the Spirit, and the Spirit against the flesh; these are opposed to each other, so that you may not do what you want." - Galatians 5:17

Saint Paul was a man of great wisdom, as is my friend who gave me this scripture verse in answer to my questioning about this interior battle and the heart's rebellion.  I tend to think that any sin—or even resistance to God—spoils the good that I wish to do.  Yet I must realize that is the attitude of pride: it comes from the self who wishes to be perfect and to do great things for its own glory.

The sword of truth cuts deep.  It must, for it must pierce between our illusions and the reality of God.

So long as we form our own ideas of God and what it means to please Him and belong to Him, we rush toward a fearsome precipice.  This is to build our own idols in the place of God.  We may find ourselves creating schemes of grandeur for our service in His sight also that we may find our worth, but our true value lies in belonging to Him alone.

We are already His.  We need to prove nothing to become the children of God.  For He has already purchased us with the price of His blood.  All we need to do is learn to accept that reality and open our hearts to being His in all our apparent weakness and uselessness.

Otherwise, we risk losing our very selves.  In the words of Father Thomas Merton (shared providentially today by another good friend):

"Every one of us is shadowed by an illusory person: a false self.

"This is the man that I want myself to be but who cannot exist, because God does not know anything about him. And to be unknown of God is altogether too much privacy.

"My false and private self is the one who wants to exist outside the reach of God's will and God's love - outside of reality and outside of life. And such a self cannot help but be an illusion.

"We are not very good at recognizing illusions, least of all the ones we cherish about ourselves - the ones we are born with and which feed the roots of sin. For most of the people of the world, there is no great subjective reality than this false self of theirs, which cannot exist. A life devoted to the cult of this shadow is what is called a life of sin.

"All sin starts from the assumption that my false self, the self that exists only in my own egocentric desires, is the fundamental reality of life to which everything else in the universe is ordered. Thus I use up my life in the desire for pleasures and the thirst for experiences, for power, honor, knowledge, and love, to clothe this false self and construct its nothingness into something objectively real. And I wind experiences around myself and cover myself with pleasures and glory like bandages in order to make myself perceptible to myself and to the world, as if I were an invisible body that could only become visible when something visible covered its surface.

"But there is no substance under the things with which I am clothed. I am hollow, and my structure of pleasures and ambitions has no foundation. I am objectified in them. But they are all destined by their very contingency to be destroyed. And when they are gone there will be nothing left of me but my own nakedness and emptiness and hollowness, to tell me that I am my own mistake."

In that void—when we are emptied of all our illusions—we come to the feet of our Lord and Master.  There we begin to receive true love: the love that counters all the deceits of the enemy and reveals how irreplaceable we are in the eyes of Christ, who longs for our friendship more than we can ever imagine.  When we allow that love to fill us, then our emptiness becomes transformed into something beautiful.

May the Holy Spirit bring us to that emptiness, and to the shores of mercy, by our own consent!

Veni Sancte Spiritus!

'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

That Secret, Lonely Place

A life without a lonely place, that is, a life without a quiet center, easily becomes destructive.  When we cling to the results of our actions as our only way of self-identification, then we become possessive and defensive and tend to look at our fellow human beings more as enemies to be kept at a distance than as friends with whom we share the gifts of life.

In solitude we can slowly unmask the illusion of our possessiveness and discover in the center of our own self that we are not what we can conquer, but what is given to us.  In solitude we can listen to the voice of the One who spoke to us before we could speak a word, who healed us before we could make any gesture to help, who set us free long before we could free others, and who loved us long before we could give love to anyone.  It is in solitude that we discover that being is more important than having, and that we are worth more than the results of our efforts.  In solitude we discover that our life is not a possession to be defended, but a gift to be shared.  It's there we recognize that the healing words we speak are not just our own, but are given to us; that the love we can express is part of a greater love; and that the new life we bring forth is not a property to cling to, but a gift to be received.

-Out of Solitude, by Henri Nouwen

~

Nouwen's words on prayer are so powerful and I find his reflections on loneliness as it relates to prayer all the more piercing.  For truly loneliness does divide us, making us feel as if the whole world is against us, as if we must fight against a tide that never turns, and as if there is no loyal friend to stand beside us.

Yet instead of clinging to that feeling of loneliness, if we can turn it instead into solitude, we will encounter the healing love of God.  We then can learn to love ourselves that we may in turn love others.

In that solitude, in that radiant peace of God filling the depths of our being, we can slowly learn to trust Him, for only when we trust Him can we begin to abandon ourselves to Him and His working within us, just as only when we trust others do we open our hearts to them.  When we know that He is God and loves us more than we love ourselves, then not only shall we be able to trust Him wholly, but we shall rejoice in that love.  We shall know that we are made great because He has become small and come to us.

Storm the Heavens!

When a dear friend writes and asks me to pray and I promise to storm the heavens, I feel a little foolish. After all, how can I storm the heavens when I scarcely even know how to pray? How can I truly intercede for others?

Scarcely do I begin to question when I pick up a copy of Restoration, the newspaper from Madonna House.  It was the January issue which I had not yet had a chance to read. The theme for the month was prayer and the title of the first article was Prayer that Pierces the Clouds. How fitting that I should have mislaid this issue of Restoration until it should speak even deeper to my heart!

Although this issue of Restoration, like every issue, held many beautiful thoughts and stories, it was the section known as The Pope's Corner that I would like to quote:

But we need to pray from our hearts. A courageous prayer that struggles for that miracle. Not like those prayers of courtesy: Ah, I will pray for you! Followed by one Our Father, a Hail Mary and then I forget.

No! It takes a brave prayer like that of Abraham who was struggling with the Lord to save the city, like that of Moses who prayed, his hands held high when he grew weary.

Prayer works miracles, but we must believe it.

What I learn from these words of Pope Francis is that in order to storm the heavens, in order to intercede for another, we cannot treat this interchange with our Lord as a matter of manners where we ask nicely and make sure to say please. No, rather we must implore Him like the widow persisting in beseeching the judge to hear her. We must not throw out a simple gesture of prayer, but stand up bravely like Horatius at the bridge, defending the entire city alone. We must wrestle in prayer like Jacob who found out he had wrestled with God.

Duc in Altum

As I walk beside my friends on this path of life, I see more and more of them choosing to make leaps of faith, whether because circumstances impel them or for some other reason.  From the outside it is easier to see their choices as leaps of faith.  They may still be too caught up in the dreads and anxieties of being forced to choose between goods—or of worrying what might come to pass from their decisions—to see clearly the hand of Providence.

Yet as I see the pattern of Providence spread across these varied lives and places, I find my heart quicken within me.  It encourages me—excites me—to see the working of God in them.

It gives me courage for my own leap of faith as I prepare to launch myself into a new ministry.  However, it also sheds light even upon the little things, reminding me of His working even in my own daily grind.

Certainly it is easier to think of Providence and leaps of faith in reference to some great act or some weighty decision, but even in the lesser things it is possible to leap boldly with faith into the darkness of uncertainty.  For in that darkness we find the One who holds us in His hand.  The deeper we go, the more we discover of the loving gaze in which we may rest.

So let us put out into the deep and there find the great catch of fish awaiting us.  Duc in altum!

Choosing Your Friends

The other day I happened to hear a homily focusing almost entirely on friendship, coinciding with my own thinking thereupon.  In these coming days my reflections may draw from many of the priest's words, which reflected so closely my own life experience.

At this moment, I want to speak to a comment he made about how his friends were those who had chosen him rather than those he had chosen.  My experience has been much the same.  I wonder whether this experience differs according to introversion and extraversion. Regardless of that fact, however, there perhaps is a truth that we all experience: how others seem to find in us something that draws them to us and makes them desire our friendship even when we do not think ourselves worthwhile.

It is amazing how that act of choosing friends can draw us up out of ourselves—whether because we are choosing to seek out friends or because we are the ones being chosen.  It gives us confidence.  It sheds light upon our many good qualities often hidden beneath the shadow of our weaknesses and failings from our own perspective.

I will not now call you servants: for the servant knoweth not what his lord doth. But I have called you friends: because all things whatsoever I have heard of My Father, I have made known to you. You have not chosen Me: but I have chosen you; and have appointed you, that you should go, and should bring forth fruit; and your fruit should remain: that whatsoever you shall ask of the Father in My name, He may give it you. These things I command you, that you love one another.

These words from John 15:15 speak to that idea of choosing.  In our relationship with Christ, it is He who chooses us.  How much it means to be thus chosen!