If Jesus Came in the Days of Covid-19....

N.B.: The following passages represent re-imagined moments from Scripture to speak to our present situation living with the repercussions of covid-19 and are meant primarily for the sake of humor.  No irreverence is intended.  The same cannot be said, however, for satire.

Jesus healed a woman who had been infirm for eighteen years and was criticized for it by the authorities who were afraid because He challenged the authority of their medical practice.  He then said to them:

"To what shall I compare the kingdom of God?  It is like to a coronavirus, which men took and released into the world, and it grew and spread through all the world and none could wipe it out, and wherever people went there were remembrances of it and it was the thought on everyone's mind and the first topic of every conversation." (cf. Luke 13:18-19)

Another time, Jesus was speaking to His disciples, instructing them that they must be prepared for scandals to come, but urging them not to scandalize anyone and to forgive everyone even should someone repeat the same sin seven times a day against them.  The disciples, not liking the hard work of virtue this would require, pretended to accept its reality and said to Him:

"Increase our faith."

He, however, recognizing how His words would lead to an explosion of virtue signaling as all began to speak of how they would forgive anyone without touching the forgiveness they indeed needed to offer, spoke again to bring their minds back to the true realities:

"If you had faith the size of a coronavirus, you might say to this skyscraper: 'Be lifted up and be transported into the desert,' and so it would happen." (cf. Luke 17:6)

Then as Jesus gathered for His last party with His disciples before He would suffer and be put to death and after giving them His body and blood under the form of bread and wine, He gave them instructions on how to live so they would not need to turn to self-help manuals.  He urged them not to seek positions of power and elected offices, but rather to be of no more regard than the homeless on the street, serving others and not thinking of themselves.

Seeing Simon Peter bursting with ideas for social reform and protests in favor of justice, Jesus said to him:

"Simon, Simon, behold Satan desires to have you that he may sift you all as with the testing for covid-19.  But I have prayed for you that your faith should not turn to fear of what may happen in this world and you, when you have been converted, must turn and strengthen your brethren." (Luke 22: 31-32)

Why I Like Dr. Jordan Peterson

 "Why do people like Jordan Peterson?"

I did not have a ready answer in response to that question, but it led me to ponder more deeply why I like him so I could at least respond in that way.  Of course it is nearly impossible to answer why we like things, for our preferences seem to arise without any conscious effort, grounded in who we are and what we have experienced.  Still, however, it is possible to speak somewhat to our conscious appreciation.

So let me try to say why I like Dr. Jordan Peterson.  Perhaps I can best put it this way: he has given me hope.

I have always found it so easy to grow discouraged when I fail to see the results I want.  I have looked about me and seen others apparently more confident and skilled than I am and felt insignificant and inferior.  I have felt like people only wanted to spend time with me if no one more interesting was available.  I have felt like a burden.  I could go on about all the ways I have felt like I did not belong and did not matter and so on.  Add to that the fruitlessness of my efforts to answer the needs of the world or even just the needs of those about me and you have an excellent recipe for hopelessness.  In short, sometimes it has felt as if life is not worth the suffering.

Enter Dr. Jordan Peterson.  There is one video in particular I listened to many times when I was in a dark place and it never failed to remind me of important truths.  If I bluntly summarized those words I would put it this way: of course you're a wreck and the world is a catastrophe and you're going to be terrible at anything you attempt to do and you're going to suffer, but that is the very groundwork of humility that is the rock foundation for becoming a hero and making yourself and the world a better place.

Here is that video, titled, fittingly, "Stumble Toward the Light":

So I guess in the end what I am saying is that what I like about Peterson is that he is a prophet: speaking the word of God to me.  I like him for a similar reason to why I like Catholicism.  For both remind me that the fact that I am a sinner is not a matter for condemnation, but rather the ashes from which the phoenix rises, to speak metaphorically.

"O happy fault!"  "O necessary sin of Adam!"

It is so easy for a perfectionist like myself to condemn myself for failures or to look for things to blame for my brokenness or to otherwise try to escape the human condition.  It is so easy to feel guilty if I do not act perfectly.  Yet what I need to do is to quit fleeing from myself and to accept that I am my own cross to carry and that through being crucified to myself in love, Christ will bring me to resurrection.  I am called not to look at myself and my sins so much as to look at the Light, to stumble toward that Light, letting myself be transformed in Love.

Dr. Peterson has spoken those words to my heart.  For that I am grateful.

There are others, too, of course who have done so and have helped the seeds of hope to burst up and bloom within me so that now I also can speak words of hope to others.  Because I have received these words that have helped me to accept myself as I am, I can help others learn to accept themselves as they are and to let themselves receive love that they may also give it.

Receive the Blessed Sacrament

In his homily at Mass this morning, Pope Francis spoke of Saint Joseph as a just man, a man of faith, a man who recognized that he was not in control.  He lauded Joseph for his ability to enter into mystery.  At the same time, he warned that if the Church forgets how to live in mystery, She forgets how to adore.

Our life most particularly as Christians is to enter into mystery that we may adore the Lord by our daily lives.  That is what it means to belong to the Mystical Body of Christ.

In these days of social isolation and the cancellation of public Masses, we are called to a deeper recognition of that truth.  We no longer have the distraction, if you will, of the sensory elements of our faith that make visible the invisible.  Instead we have only the living reality of our own union with Christ through the gift of His grace made possible by the great mystery of the Incarnation which we will celebrate in only a few days.

Although most of us cannot receive Christ physically in the Eucharist, we can still receive Him.  Thanks to the benefits of modern technology we can still assist at Mass and we can make spiritual communions not just then but throughout our day.

Even more, however, we can receive Christ in every moment of every day.  Father Jean-Pierre de Caussade calls this reality the Sacrament of the Present Moment.  He traces this idea from the life of the Blessed Virgin and of Saint Joseph in his book Abandonment to Divine Providence:

"There are remarkably few extraordinary characteristics in the outward events of the life of the most holy Virgin, at least there are none recorded in holy Scripture. Her exterior life is represented as very ordinary and simple. She did and suffered the same things that anyone in a similar state of life might do or suffer. She goes to visit her cousin Elizabeth as her other relatives did. She took shelter in a stable in consequence of her poverty. She returned to Nazareth from whence she had been driven by the persecution of Herod, and lived there with Jesus and Joseph, supporting themselves by the work of their hands. It was in this way that the holy family gained their daily bread. But what a divine nourishment Mary and Joseph received from this daily bread for the strengthening of their faith! It is like a sacrament to sanctify all their moments. What treasures of grace lie concealed in these moments filled, apparently, by the most ordinary events. That which is visible might happen to anyone, but the invisible, discerned by faith, is no less than God operating very great things. O Bread of Angels! heavenly manna! pearl of the Gospel! Sacrament of the present moment! thou givest God under as lowly a form as the manger, the hay, or the straw. And to whom dost thou give Him? “Esurientes implevit bonis” (Luke i, 53). God reveals Himself to the humble under the most lowly forms, but the proud, attaching themselves entirely to that which is extrinsic, do not discover Him hidden beneath, and are sent empty away."

In these days there shall certainly be few extraordinary characteristics in our lives.  Our exterior life becomes simpler and simpler.  We suffer the same things as do others across the world.  We are called to reach out to those around us and to live supporting ourselves by the work of our hands.  Yet in all these things we likewise can receive treasures of grace.

If we are humble enough to accept what the Lord wants to do within us, it may be a powerful time of sanctification for us.  We must shed the false mask of pride, however, that seeks to control—that believes it can be in control—and recognize that to God alone belongs that power.

Our role is rather one of receptivity as both our Lady and Saint Joseph model for us so well.  The words of Father de Caussade on this point resonate well with our current situation:

"The passive part of sanctity is still more easy since it only consists in accepting that which we very often have no power to prevent, and in suffering lovingly, that is to say with sweetness and consolation, those things that too often cause weariness and disgust. Once more I repeat, in this consists sanctity. This is the grain of mustard seed which is the smallest of all the seeds, the fruits of which can neither be recognised nor gathered. It is the drachma of the Gospel, the treasure that none discover because they suppose it to be too far away to be sought. Do not ask me how this treasure can be found. It is no secret. The treasure is everywhere, it is offered to us at all times and wherever we may be. All creatures, both friends and enemies pour it out with prodigality, and it flows like a fountain through every faculty of body and soul even to the very centre of our hearts. If we open our mouths they will be filled. The divine activity permeates the whole universe, it pervades every creature; wherever they are it is there; it goes before them, with them, and it follows them; all they have to do is to let the waves bear them on."

Today, as always, that great treasure awaits you wherever you look: in your prayer and in your work, in your frustration and isolation, in any little joys that come across your path, in your gratitude for what you have, in your fears for the future, in your sorrow for those who are sick....

In all things, Christ is there, giving Himself to you in as true a fashion as through the Holy Eucharist.  He cannot help but give Himself, for He is love, and it is the nature of love to give itself until it has nothing left to give.  That love pours itself out into our hearts to the measure that we open them to receive it:

"Divine love then, is to those who give themselves up to it without reserve, the principle of all good. To acquire this inestimable treasure the only thing necessary is greatly to desire it. Yes, God only asks for love, and if you seek this treasure, this kingdom in which God reigns alone, you will find it. If your heart is entirely devoted to God, it is itself, for that very reason, the treasure and the kingdom that you seek and desire. From the time that one desires God and His holy will, one enjoys God and His will, and this enjoyment corresponds to the ardour of the desire."

Let us seek within ourselves for that desire and when we have found it, no matter how small its flickering flame, let us feed it that it may grow more and more.  The more we desire to receive God's love, the more we become receptive to it.  What we have received we can then in turn pour out in love of the Father's will manifest in every moment of our lives and in every face who turns to seek God in us.

That is the path to enter into mystery—into the mystery of relationship with the Creator of the universe who is Existence Itself—whose infinite nature must transcend our finite understanding.  As we live in that mystery, let us enter also into adoration: let us adore God in the Sacrament of the Present Moment.

Let Us Become Like Palms and Olive Branches

Chanting the Liturgy of the Hours must be the most beautiful way to enter into Holy Week.  I am much grateful for that gift Luke is sharing with our parish.  Because of it, I found myself reflecting on the second reading in today's Office of Readings which comes from a sermon by Saint Andrew of Crete.  Its words struck deeply into my heart, reflecting there some thoughts stirring there of late.  I want to share some of them with you:

"Let us go together to meet Christ on the Mount of Olives.  Today He returns from Bethany and proceeds of His own free will toward His holy and blessed passion, to consummate the mystery of our salvation."

What a beautiful phrase: to consummate the mystery of our salvation of His own free will.  Yes, His own free will.

Sometimes perhaps we forget—or merely do not understand—how willingly He goes into the suffering of His passion. It is easier to think that He did it because He had to do it. For who could possibly choose to suffer so much pain by His own free will? Who would choose to embrace the Cross? Surely only the One who loves more deeply than we can understand—who loves more deeply than we can bear.

How then do we respond?

"Let us run to accompany Him as He hastens toward Jerusalem, and imitate those who met Him then, not by covering His path with garments, olive branches or palms, but by doing all we can to prostrate ourselves before Him by being humble and by trying to live as He would wish.  Then we shall be able to receive the Word at His coming, and God, whom no limits can contain, will be within us.

"In His humility Christ entered the dark regions of our fallen world and He is glad that He became so humble for our sake...."

Humility.

It is the foundation of all the virtues, the foundation of freedom, and the foundation of joy.  Yet somehow it is the most difficult of the virtues to embrace in more than mind's intellectual assent.

Why?

I think it is because we fear our own vulnerability—our own woundedness.  We try in every way possible to shore ourselves up lest we fall crashing to the ground, lest we become a hopeless mess, lest we do what we would never wish....

Vulnerability.  It is a word that has haunted me whatever path I have taken: it drew me to theatre, to charismatic prayer, to friendship, to psychology, and again to prayer....

Yet still the word looms like an insurmountable tower, its gates impregnable against my weak-willed assault.  I gaze at it like a puzzle, wondering how to unlock it.  Yet in truth I am made ungainly by my own weighty mail with all its interwoven rings of steel, my own walls of protection stacked stone upon stone over the years, and cannot grasp with my armored claws something so soft and simple and small.

Of course we need our gates and walls to keep out the evils of the world.  The problem is mainly that we forget to let down the drawbridge when the King comes knocking, especially because He comes without fine array, riding on a donkey.

"So let us spread before His feet not garments or soulless olive branches, which delight the eye for a few hours and then wither, but ourselves, clothed in His grace, or rather, clothed completely in Him.  We who have been baptized into Christ must ourselves be the garments that we spread before Him."

When we admit our own vulnerability—that we are naked before Him—then we know that we must be clothed in His grace and in His very self.  That humility allows us to throw ourselves before Him to tread upon as He enters the heavenly Jerusalem in glory where one day—after our own journey to Calvary—He will raise us up to reign with Him and to enjoy our own resurrection.

Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord!  Hosanna in the highest!

Mirror of the Soul

In honor of a certain obscure Franciscan dear to my heart whose feastday happens to fall today, my patron Blessed Jacopone da Todi (to learn the story there read the post from two years ago here and for last year's post go here), I want to share with you a few stanzas from one of his poems:

HOW THE LIFE OF JESUS IS THE MIRROR OF THE SOUL
(Lauda xxxix)

Life of Jesus Christ!
Mirror of Verity!
Mine own deformity
I see in that clear Light.

Somewhat, methought, I was;
Somewhat, methought, I seemed;
The Self of which I dreamed
I gladly did survey.
But gazing on that Glass,
The light thenceforth that streamed
On my true nature gleamed:—
Down in the depths it lay!
Needs must I weep and pray;
For, far as earth from skies,
Seeing from Being lies—
Distant as day from night.
…

O false esteem of self!
How couldst thou dare to bring,
As offerings to thy King,
These worthless works of thine?
Thy nature, all deformed,—
Ah, what an evil thing
To urge it, tottering,
Before that Light Divine!
These errors that are mine,
Must loose me from their sway;
Disorder must away,
Ere God with man unite.

...

I cannot be re-born
Till mine own self be dead;
My life out-poured, out-shed,
Sheer essence to renew: 
On glorious Nothingness
He only can be fed,
Whom God Himself hath led;—
Here man hath naught to do.
O glorious state and true!
In Nothingness to cease.
Desire and mind at peace
In calmness infinite.

May that light of Christ be mirrored in your own soul as you prepare for the celebration of His coming only a few days from now!

X. Jesus is Stripped of His Garments

V. We adore Thee, O Christ, and we bless Thee.
R. Because by Thy holy Cross, Thou hast redeemed the world.

Finally Christ reached the place of execution and there He was stripped of His last possessions: the clothing His Mother had made for Him.  There He stood, naked, with nothing to call His own but His blood streaming over His body.

We are ashamed when we have nothing.  We cannot bear our own poverty.

Yet He stood without humiliation because He placed His trust not in things of this world, but in doing the will of the Father, which He did so perfectly.  He knew that, although stripped of all worldly possessions, He possessed the treasures of the Kingdom of Heaven as promised by His Father.

If only we trusted in nothing bound to pass away with this world.  If only we could have for ourselves nothing but the blood of Christ shed for us.

If we ask Him, certainly He will strip us of our attachment to things of this earth.  He loves to draw us near to Him, wanting us to live with Him eternally.  Although He knows that we must suffer, just as He did, to prepare us for such glory, He is ever gentle with us.

My innocent Jesus, by the merits of the torment Thou hast felt, help me to strip myself of all affection to things of earth, in order that I may place all my love in Thee, who art so worthy of my love. I love Thee, O Jesus, with my whole heart; I repent of having offended Thee. Never permit me to offend Thee again. Grant that I may love Thee always; and then do with me what Thou wilt. (From the Stations of the Cross according to Saint Alphonsus Liguori.)

VII. Jesus Falls the Second Time

V. We adore Thee, O Christ, and we bless Thee.
R. Because by Thy holy cross, Thou hast redeemed the world.

It is harder the second time that you fall.  The first time it is easier to get up and go on, thinking that you will not fall again.  The second time you may not be able to bear the thought of the pain that you know will ensue when you fall again and the more you fall the more likely you will begin to think with trepidation about the likelihood of falling again.

Christ's second fall must have caused Him so much pain, shaking His entire body with excruciating agony, crushing Him to the ground.  He must have known that He would fall again in His weakened state.  Yet for love of us He got up again and went on.

We must do the same.  When we confess our sins, we might like to think that we will not fall again, but we know also that we are weak.  Our crosses weigh us down so much that we cannot always stand strong beneath them.  No matter how we struggle onward, we fall again.  In those falls we can find humiliation, but then also we can find humility.  We can separate our image of ourselves from our falls and remember that we are children of God, that we belong to Him and that our sins can never mar His image in us so long as we keep turning back to Him.

My most gentle, Jesus, how many times Thou hast pardoned me, and how many times have I fallen again, and begun again to offend Thee!  Oh, by the merits of this new fall, give me the necessary help to persevere in Thy grace until death.  Grant that in all temptations which assail me I may always commend myself to Thee.  I love Thee, Jesus, my love; I repent of having offended Thee.  Never permit me to offend Thee again.  Grant that I may love Thee always; and then do with me what Thou wilt.  (From the Stations of the Cross according to Saint Alphonsus Liguori.)

Beyond Our Hopes

"...our works never attain the scope of our desires."

Pedro Calderón de la Barca

When I ran across this quotation again the other day, I began to reflect upon how vastly differently I understood it in light of all the experiences that have come after that discovery of a frustrated college student studying theatre and failing to achieve desired perfection.  For then I understood it only as poetic expression of another failed perfectionist.  There was a certain encouragement in these words of dissatisfaction coming from one who has become a noted figure in Spanish theatre and certainly a significant playwright.

Now, however, although I still see that meaning I originally understood, I see another one as well.  Perhaps there may even be more meanings I have yet to comprehend.

My new understanding arises from an experience with my latest theatrical venture.  It was meant to be simple: I would get together a group of artists of various sorts and see what I could help them put together as a meditation on beauty for Advent.

At our first meeting I said I wouldn't write a script.  There were other things later I said I wouldn't do: act and direct, for instance, or dance.  When working for the Lord one must be careful about saying one won't do something it seems, for as the weeks progressed, I gradually took on more and more until I was doing everything I had said I wouldn't do, as if He intended to prove me wrong on every score....

The joy of it was that the reason I had intended not to do all of these things was partly humility.  Those who humble themselves will be exalted....

I certainly had a taste of that.  I felt as if the Holy Spirit were guiding the entire way: He was directing and I merely following.  I found myself doing things I never would have imagined I could.  Together with the wonderful talent and dedication of my fellow artists and musicians (and the support of our tech crew of one), I created a work of art that did not attain the scope of my desires simply because it surpassed it.  Give something to God and He will do amazing things with it: that is what I learned once more.  I also learned that I can set my expectations smaller than what He intends.

That is a beautiful thought to ponder in this season of Advent.  For do we not often set the scope of our desires too low in our spiritual journey?

Advent is a time of sacrifice, of preparation, and of waiting.  It is a time for growth.  We are to prepare our hearts to receive the King of Kings and Lord of Lords in the coming celebration of Christmas.

What better way than to humble ourselves before Him and give everything to Him?  Weak creatures that we are, we find a greater joy and confidence in our surrender when we know that good fruit will come from it.  And it will.  Because He has the power to transform even the smallest action into a salvific work.  For He is God and we are not, He is all-powerful and we merely mortals stumbling along in this dark vale of tears....

Eight Years Ago Today

It is rather surreal to think that eight years have passed since that feast of Saint Francis when I set out with only one comrade upon a pilgrimage of about two months and three hundred miles.  I marvel at the faith and daring I had then.  I wonder if I would still have that much courage and trust were I to feel the call pull at my heart now.

Many thoughts and feelings still surface as I reflect upon that time.  I am sure it was a time of much grace, but it was also full of so much difficulty and darkness—full of the cross.

For a long time afterward I found it painful to think of the pilgrimage despite the moments of beauty.  Yet time and grace have healed the wounds of things not turning out as I expected and the suffering caused by less-than-pure intentions, bringing me face to face with the mercy and providence of God.

Many times I wondered whether I had chosen wrongly.  It is so easy to think of our efforts being soiled by our pride, selfishness, vainglory, or other sins, and to therefore turn away from action.  That is true especially for those of us inclined toward perfectionism.  We see that we have acted for ourselves and not for God alone and consequently begin to imagine that we can never do anything good or that all our efforts are in vain, but there the enemy trips us up in the age-old lie of pride disguised so falsely as humility.

Peace comes when we unmask that lie.  We can rest serene in the arms of Providence when we know that we are not in control—that He is God and we are not.

We try to love in order to receive the results we desire or to help people to make ourselves feel better.  We try to witness to our faith or support some political agenda in order to strengthen our self-esteem.  So many things we do right for the wrong reasons. Yet whatever our flaws, whatever our sins, He is stronger.

If God can bring good out of something so horrible as the crucifixion, why should we doubt His power to bring good out of our good actions done with flawed intentions?  He does all the time.  We only have to surrender yet again, falling humbly on our knees before Him and letting Him work.

So I try to do now as I continue forward, step by step, day by day, going on into eternity, carrying the burden of my cross forged of my own sins.

I do not remember only the darkness or only the sinfulness.  I remember also the joys, the trust, the abandonment to Divine Providence.  I remember how He provided for us all along the way, often with overwhelming and delightful surprises.

Much has changed since then and much remains the same.  So it ever seems to be.

On pilgrimage 2009

On pilgrimage 2017

I am on a different pilgrimage now.  It is interior more than external, but it is a pilgrimage all the same.  With each passing day, I feel the power and weight of that immense decision made that day that feels so long ago.  I continue on buoyed by faith as I carry you and your intentions in my heart....

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!

Good Friday

I continue with the aforementioned character's meditation for Good Friday:

A sacrifice that goes beyond life—beyond death. Who of us can fathom such an absolute self-giving, a gift of love that holds nothing back, that suffers all for love, even the gibes and scorns heaped upon His head. They called Him a lamb because they thought He did nothing, suffering Himself to be led wherever they desired, and yet there was nothing passive in this, for it was a most active gift of self from the Lord who rules the universe.

With His death the world as we know it was rent asunder—is still rent asunder—because the veil that hides the mystery was torn away. We can no longer pass our lives outside the temple, awed at the mystery, gazing toward things beyond us as if they meant nothing to our lives, marveling at a God who reigns over us, ruling from the heavens above.

Nay, now we find ourselves face to face with Him, our Lord and Brother. We see His face, bruised and bleeding, disfigured almost beyond our recognition, a criminal. How oft we turn away! For who could bear to gaze long on that much love concealed in blood and grime? Who could recognize the King of the Universe in a man condemned to die?

And so it is, we turn away, seeking a God who better fits our mind, whom we can bind within the chains of our expectations. And so it is we find ourselves hiding from His face, ignoring the love with which He gazes gently upon us and speaks our name, calling us to Himself. And so it is we find ourselves taking charge more and more, forcing all circumstances to conform themselves to our will, and in the end trying to become God unto ourselves, not only to rule our own destinies, but also that of all the world.

Yet somehow His love will never bear that we escape Him for ever. Somehow whispers come to us, so gently it is easy to ignore them, to forget, but never to escape forever the gentle touch upon our hearts.

In the end we have to face Him. Something comes to bring us to Him and we can no longer avoid the searching judgment of our lives. At that moment we are taken into His death. It is then that we must humble ourselves and unite our pain to His or else spit upon His face and turn away, knowing that His gaze of love follows us still and if we will allow it, converts our hearts and brings us back to Him at last.

Coincidence

It never ceases to amaze me how coincidences happen constantly, demonstrating the Providence of our great Father in heaven.  It has become my practice to treat spiritual reading as an opportunity for that encounter, so I open to a random place in a spiritual book and read, taking from those pages whatever my Lord wishes to speak to my heart.  Today the page to which I opened in Lui et Moi, the book I mentioned before of our Lord's words to Gabrielle Bossis, happened to have today's date and also to have taken place in a year when that date fell within Passion week:

April 11th

Have faith.  Everything becomes simple then.  It will be simple to love Me, simple to serve Me, simple to be happy to suffer for Me.  Believing is almost the same as seeing.  To see Me!...  What progress, what riches to exploit, when you speak to Me, when you tell Me that you love Me.

The proof of your love for God is the affectionate care you take of your neighbor.  Be sure that you see Me in him, that you charm Me when you charm him.  This will keep you humble beside him.  Always be the smallest.  Think of the size of the Host.  Begin today to do your best to speak to Me when you speak to your neighbor.  I expect this of you this afternoon when you get together with your friends.  You would not want to refuse Me anything this week of My passion, would you?

May these words inspire your own journey this week as we enter into the commemoration of our Lord's passion and death!  I pray that all of us may have the humility to be small, to accept our weaknesses, and thereby to open the way for our Lord who is so great to descend into our nothingness and transform us by His presence.

I will leave you again with that last haunting question.  Think of it as our Lord speaking so gently and tenderly to your heart, for He longs more desperately for your love than you long for anything:

You would not want to refuse Me anything this week of My passion, would you?

Santa Chiara, prega per noi!

Since I am staying tonight at a convent of Franciscan sisters in the guest apartment in a room named after Saint Clare, it seemed fitting to reflect on some of her words.  These were the ones God provided:

"We become what we love and who we love shapes what we become.  If we love things, we become a thing.  If we love nothing, we become nothing.  Imitation is not a literal mimicking of Christ, rather it means becoming the image of the beloved, an image disclosed through transformation.  This means we are to become vessels of God's compassionate love for others."

All I can think of tonight is how impossible her words seem—how impossible it seems to ever become a vessel of God's love for others.  For always the time comes when the forces of daily life grind us down and the enemy's subtle whispers drag us into the depths of our own murky pond.  In those moments any good seems impossible.

Exhaustion is bound to come upon us all sooner or later.  Frustration, failure, and regret for the past will have their way also.

Yet despite all these things, we still can become that image of Christ, not by our own power, but by His.  No matter our weakness, no matter our sinfulness, if only we turn to Him in humility, He will raise us up from the dust.

Lord, Fire!

One more piece from Madonna House's Restoration newspaper on prayer comes to my heart to share with you:

There is another story about St. Cuthbert, an English saint from the holy isle of Lindisfarne.

One day he looked down the coast and saw great flames where a castle was located. He turned towards the blaze, held out his hands and cried: “Lord, fire!” The fire ceased immediately.

What a simple prayer! All he needed to do for the Lord to answer his prayer was to speak of it in one word. So when we do not know how to pray, we can remember this story and know that it is not how many words we use or how eloquently we beseech Him. Even one word can gain His answer swiftly.

When we lift up those we love, we need not know precisely what to ask for.  We need not pour out many words.  It is enough to call upon our Lord and speak to him the names of those we love.

Our Lord loves the simplicity of our prayer.  If we know not what to pray, we need only speak to Him in that simple trust of a child, calling out to Him with a name or word.  If it is a prayer from our hearts and is in accord with His will, then He will surely grant whatever we ask—even if we know not fully what that is.

Prayer for Mercy

In Your gentle mercy, Lord, guide our wayward hearts, for we know that left to ourselves we cannot do Your will.

That prayer comes from Lauds this morning. It is a beautiful prayer of humility in which we place ourselves completely at the mercy of God, knowing that we cannot do His will of our own strength or power.

We like to be self-sufficient. We want to believe that we can do anything we set our minds upon. We can thank the philosophers of the Enlightenment for increasing our belief in the capacity of man to become god unto himself. Yet, as I have mentioned before, this philosophy has born little fruit other than increasing mental illness.

In humility we find the counterweight to insanity. By admitting that we cannot do the will of God on our own and that our wayward hearts are not within our control, we discover what we can do through the power of Christ who strengthens us.

In Your gentle mercy, Lord, guide our wayward hearts, for we know that left to ourselves we cannot do Your will.

Green-Eyed Monster

Iago: O, beware, my lord, of jealousy;
It is the green-ey'd monster, which doth mock
The meat it feeds on. That cuckold lives in bliss,
Who, certain of his fate, loves not his wronger:
But O, what damnèd minutes tells he o'er
Who dotes, yet doubts, suspects, yet strongly loves!

Othello: O misery!

~

Shakespeare was a brilliant man.  One need only feel the tearing effect of jealousy to know at once how truthfully his characters speak and how perfectly they enact the results of jealousy.

Throughout my life, I have found myself wanting to do everything—or at least everything that I perceive as good.  It matters little how many wonderful things I have done or how much I have accomplished, but as soon as I hear of someone else's amazing project I must be jealous.  I begin to wonder why others get to do all these spectacular things while I muddle along where I am.

Someone reminded me recently of how we all make up what is lacking in each other.  If I could do everything myself there would be no need of anyone else.  Yet because I cannot do everything—because after all I am not God—and because I am but one small part of the world's community, I must allow others to be good also.

Their goodness does not take away from mine.  Somehow jealousy twists us up inside so that we believe the opposite, but others' abilities can never lessen ours.

It is folly of course to draw our self-image from our accomplishments anyway, but of course we fallen creatures must persist in that folly.  Then we find ourselves crushed because someone else has done what we wished to do or is better at something than we are.  Yet there will always be someone we will perceive as better than we are at doing something we wish to do.  In such a populated world the statistics of that being true are incredibly likely.

However, that does not take away from our individual contribution.  No matter whether someone else may be better in a particular area, or even in all areas, we still have a part to play that no other can.  We may not know it, but the reality remains.

When we begin to know that reality with our hearts, then we can appreciate others' gifts and talents without jealousy.  That takes much humility.

Blessed John Henry Newman spoke beautifully of our personal vocations.  By reminding ourselves constantly that we are not our own, that we do not live for ourselves but for God, we shall gain greater confidence in accepting what we can and cannot do.  If I live to achieve something great for God, in the end it becomes about me and what I have done instead of what God has done.  Yet if I can truly live for Him, then naught else matters.

I will leave you with Newman's words:

God has created me to do Him some definite service. He has committed some work to me which He has not committed to another. I have my mission.
I may never know it in this life, but I shall be told it in the next.
I am a link in a chain, a bond of connection between persons.

He has not created me for naught. I shall do good; I shall do His work.

I shall be an angel of peace, a preacher of truth in my own place,
while not intending it if I do but keep His commandments.

Therefore, I will trust Him, whatever I am, I can never be thrown away.
If I am in sickness, my sickness may serve Him,
in perplexity, my perplexity may serve Him.
If I am in sorrow, my sorrow may serve Him.
He does nothing in vain. He knows what He is about.
He may take away my friends. He may throw me among strangers.
He may make me feel desolate, make my spirits sink, hide my future from me. Still, He knows what He is about.

The Heart's Deep Unknown

More tortuous than all else is the human heart,
beyond remedy; who can understand it?

Those words from Jeremiah caught my attention particularly today.  So many times I remember trying to understand the human heart and yet it seems impossible.  I like to think that my analytical capabilities suffice to explain it through the use of common sense and various psychological methods of analysis, but deep within I know they never can.  Somehow there remains something mysterious and unknown about our hearts.

As Chesterton put it: "The self is more distant than any star."

We never truly know ourselves.  Throughout life, as we learn to purify our motives and identify our desires, we come to know more and more of who we are.  Others help to cast light upon our true nature.  Yet something remains beyond our reach.

Jeremiah the prophet beautifully expressed that impossibility.  In an age of science and reason, it seems unthinkable that there should be anything we cannot know.  Yet in that lack of knowledge, there is a recognition of a deeper truth, if only we are humble enough to allow ourselves to see it.  If we do not blind ourselves, we know as Jeremiah went on, that there is only one who knows us intimately with all our flaws and imperfections and who yet sees us in the loving light of a father:

I, the LORD, alone probe the mind
and test the heart,
To reward everyone according to his ways, according to the merit of his deeds.

Walk Humbly with Your God

We have been told again and again that the Infinite God wishes to inhabit our lives and dwell in our hearts. He became Man, being born as a little helpless babe, that He might come to know us in a deeply personal manner. Then He gave us His very flesh to eat under the form of bread that we might take Him into ourselves and be subsumed into Him. As if this were not enough, He seeks constantly to speak through us—to make of us His instruments that we may bring His love to others.

Sometimes we have the benefit of catching a glimpse of how He works. We may see how reaching out to those struggling breathes hope back into their eyes or we may find that He gives us the words to speak directly to another's heart.

However it happens, I always find myself awed by this happening. So well aware of my flaws and sinfulness, I can hardly believe that my Lord deigns to work through me.

There is a deep spiritual joy in that experience: a well of life that springs up in a shower of grace, cascading over the soul as it confirms the truth that we are children of God, that we are made great by communion with Him.  For He has called us His friends rather than the slaves we deserve to be for our sinfulness.

When I see my Lord speaking to others through my words, written or spoken, I feel incredibly humbled.  Not only do I feel as if I am the humble servant of the Holy Spirit, but I also feel fully alive, as if I am becoming who I am meant to be, as if I am most deeply who I am.

“The glory of God is man fully alive.” ~Saint Irenaeus

The experience of being fully alive makes me want to give myself wholly in that way, to sacrifice my pride and selfish will for the glory of God and the good of others. For there I taste freedom, which my heart desires above all else.