Put on the Armor of the Holy Trinity

In his letter to the Ephesians, Saint Paul told us to put on the armor of God (6:10-20).  Saint Patrick, whose feast we celebrate today, sublimated beneath the celebration of Passion Week (on the old Roman rite calendar), gave us a beautiful prayer called his Lorica, the Latin word for breastplate.  His prayer is indeed a fitting spiritual breastplate, for it is putting on the power of God.  There is no greater power than Christ.  Let us place Him today then upon us, praying with Saint Patrick through an invocation of the Holy Trinity.

Seven years ago, I shared a bit of that prayer through the version in my hymnal and reflected upon how this prayer was written in imitation of the invocations of the druids: In Honor of Saint Patrick.  Today I want to share with you all the verses to the best of my ability, sung for you as a prayer for His protection upon you.

The Weight of a Decade

Nearly a third of my life ago it was.  My mind orbits much around the singular event of that epic pilgrimage and therefore you, my dear readers, must bear with me as I indulge myself once more in reflection upon it.

Ten years ago today I set out with my companion, my heart uplifted in joy of abandoning everything to God's Providence.  I felt in that moment that I was free—that I was who I had been created to be.

The feelings did not last long.  They never do.

Today it is gratitude that fills me: gratitude to my past self for having the courage to undertake something so crazy as a three-hundred-odd-mile pilgrimage relying entirely on God to provide; gratitude to my friend for being crazy enough to go with me; and gratitude to God not only for bringing us through the joys and trials and loneliness of it, but for teaching me so much through it.  Now I have gratitude even for those darker moments.

It is gratitude that has begun to unpack the rich gifts of that experience—gifts that continue to unfold in my daily life without my even realizing it.  That is how it seems to be with those defining experiences of our lives no matter how great or how trivial they may appear.

How strange is the wandering course which we mortals follow.  Somehow a steady routine of tutoring, studying psychology, and handling the minutiae of daily life seems as far as possible from what I imagined for my path as I stepped forth on the first few miles of that pilgrimage.  I was young and dreamed of adventure and daring deeds in witness to the Faith as we journeyed.  I expected that God would do amazing things if we gave ourselves up to be entirely at His disposal.  Perhaps these thoughts were not fully conscious, but still I thought that marvel after marvel would unfold.

There were certainly marvels here and there.  Mainly, however, there was the steady routine of walking, reciting the rosary to keep our spirits up amidst the tiredness and discouragement and inner assaults against our hope.  Perhaps it was not so very different from my life now after all.  Perhaps it was not so very different from your own path.

For we are all pilgrims.  Day by day we walk, moment by moment we step forward, following the narrow path toward the Eternal City.

It is very much an inner pilgrimage—a pilgrimage of heart and mind and soul.  The marvels are not the miracles we expect, but rather those poignant moments when we crave our own security and our own comfort and want to shut out a God who demands we give up everything and follow Him, and yet we choose to invite Him in to our suffering.  Our deeds of daring are enacted in the quiet corners of our hearts.  Hope flames up a little brighter each time we abandon everything to the God who holds everything in existence.  Joy ignites every time we listen to His still small voice within.

Coraggio, dear pilgrim, courage!

The "Little" Way

It always leaves me a little miffed when I find some reference to the little way of Saint Therese that suggests that she left us this easy way that we can all become saints.  My response is somewhat similar to the writing in many modern spiritual books meant to be relatable that sound to me rather flippant.

In my opinion, these things cheapen the reality.  They seem fake.

I was reflecting upon this matter yesterday as we celebrated Saint Therese's feast day.  Despite my reaction to those who would uphold her as a model—and consequently despite my reaction to the saint herself—she has consistently been working her way into my friendship.  In one way or another I keep bumping into her, one might say, as if she is trying to be my friend.  Most recently it was through a novena called "Joy in Suffering" that drew me deeper.

My favorite story, though, in her reaching out to me involves my family's kitten, Bella.  One day, Bella decided to play on my bookshelves and so she jumped up on top of the books and, as if intending to do so, kicked one out upon the floor.  It turned out to be the letters between Saint Therese and Brother Maurice which gave me deeper insight into our dear saint's life.

Now, before I give the wrong impression, I am not arguing against Saint Therese's model of the little way for all of us.  We are certainly called to follow her in sanctifying each moment of our lives.

My quarrel is with those who try to pawn off this path as easy.  "Stuff and nonsense!" I say to anyone who would try to propose that.  It is not in the least easy.  It would be far easier to allow oneself to be martyred in one fell swoop than to constantly choose what one does not want for the sake of God.  Even simply accepting with joy all the suffering that is our lot in this life can often prove quite the contrary to easy.

(Of course if any of you reading my words here truly believe it is easy, then by all means tell me your secret.)

Yet we are not called to the easy life.  Despite what our modern society (and our own concupiscence) would have us believe, we are called to the battle and not to lie at ease in our homes and stuff ourselves with comforts.  We are called to become warriors, to don our spiritual armor and fight for our Captain who leads us to the Cross.

That is the path that Saint Therese followed.  We can look to her not just as an inspiring example, but also as a friend who can aid us in the fight, for she has promised to help us:

"I will spend my heaven by doing good on earth.” 

Our guardian angels also shall aid us, day by day, in the battle, for they can see far more clearly than we ever could.

A Lament of Hope

A friend pointed out that in my last post I did not talk about the victims of the current crisis within the hierarchy of the Church.  I noted it myself as I wrote it.

Yet what is there to say?

I know someone personally affected by some of these wolves in sheep's clothing.  He shared with me some of the impact it has had on his life, but I know that I have caught only a glimpse into the searing pain of it on his heart and soul.

Doubtless it is the same for the other victims.  For many, it is worse—much, much worse.  For my friend has his faith in God still and others have had theirs shaken.

In the face of this evil, there is only one thing I can say, even though I doubt whether I could speak it directly to any of those wounded by their sinful shepherds, for it takes a strong, strong faith to accept it.  In the end, though, there really is only one thing to say: God is greater.

We, with our finite minds, get caught up in the evils of the present age.  We see even our beloved Church being torn to shreds.  We see people leaving the Church, people losing faith in the priesthood, people aching with the pain of abuse and betrayal.  Then we begin to believe the lies of the enemy that these evils are irredeemable, that there is nothing we can do.  Subtly, our hearts become calloused and bitter.

Across the vast landscape of these evils, however, the Cross rises undeniable.  The Cross stands not for the condemnation it ought to represent, but for a sign of resurrection.

For there is no resurrection without death first.  There is no glory without passing through the valley of tears.

It is easy to say to others when we are experiencing prosperity that God will turn everything to good; it is much harder when we ourselves suffer.  Yet even then we barely give it lip service despite the promise of Scripture:

And we know that to them that love God, all things work together unto good, to such as, according to His purpose, are called to be saints. (Romans 8:28)

Do we believe that?  Do we really believe that God is all-knowing, all-powerful, and all-loving?  In short, do we really believe He is God?

If God is really who we believe He is, then He will fulfill that promise.  He will bring good out of the worst evil, as He brought our salvation out of the evil of being betrayed, condemned to death, abandoned by His friends, and dying the most horrific, painful death possible.

It is difficult to believe that those called to lead their flocks could so far lead them astray.  It is enough to make any question.

The worst of the current situation perhaps is that the victims are innocent.  Yet Christ too was innocent.

Only if we choose to believe that God really is the Lord of the universe can we find true solace in the midst of such incredible depravity.  Only if we accept His lordship over the world can we truly have hope that out of such corruption can be brought a greater good.  And how could an all-loving God allow such evil unless He could achieve through it a good beyond our imagining?

That is the hope we must choose to have.

"And where sin abounded..."

"...grace did more abound." (Romans 5:20)

My heart grieves the scandals that have recently come to light within the Church, but also for some of the responses that reveal a similar issue.  If the bishops have been remiss in not bringing sin to light and have tried to cover it up for the sake of what the world may think, the faithful may also care too much for the world's opinion and therefore attack vociferously those who stand in the place of Christ who have failed us.

We too fail.  We too are sinners.

It is easy to stand outside and say what must be done.  It is easy to believe that we would act rightly in their situation.  But would we?

There but for the grace of God go I.

How do we know until we have faced the pressures that have worn them down and twisted them into believing they did what they must?  For rarely do people act wrongly for reasons that they do not themselves perceive as good in some way, even if only by the twisting lies of the enemy.

He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone. (John 8:7)

By all means, let us call for an end of silence, but let it be without condemnation.  Our bishops are already under so much attack for their positions from within and without.  If the devil tries to come after us and turn us away from serving our Lord, how much more do you think he goes after those who shepherd so many souls?

Let us not forget in our outrage against the unthinkable evils committed that these were done by part of the Body of Christ.  I think of the words of Father John Corapi that touched my heart so deeply before he too wandered off the path: "Never abandon a fallen comrade." These men are our fallen comrades. They are our brothers. Let us never abandon them. Let us rather pray and sacrifice for them until they repent of their sins and turn back to God.

And when we call upon the Church's hierarchy to take a strong position against those who have committed these grave sins, let us not stand outside as an angry mob or treat them as merely worldly leaders who must fulfil administrative responsibilities.  Let us remember that this is a spiritual battle.  Let us assure them that we will stand with them in the brink.

For our wrestling is not against flesh and blood; but against principalities and powers, against the rulers of the world of this darkness, against the spirits of wickedness in the high places. (Ephesians 6:12)

We must therefore fight with more than earthly means.  We must take to our side all the spiritual resources at our disposal and beg our Lord for the grace He wishes to bestow upon us.  Then we shall be more than conquerors, for:

...in all these things we overcome, because of Him that hath loved us.  For I am sure that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor might, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord. (Romans 8:37-39)

Come Hell or High Water

Of course we don't usually have such a clear conversation with God about what He is doing in our lives (or not doing), partly because everything is obscured by the mist of lies, and partly because the conversation happens rather in our actions than our words.  However, a writer must needs put into words such experiences, as for example when we face great trials and tribulations in our lives.  Also, it can help to illumine further truths about our journey by looking at reality bluntly expressed in the words of an ordinary conversation:

---

Me: I'm going to do it come hell or high water.

Jesus: All right, if that's really what you want.

(He lets there be a little hell or high water, proverbially speaking:)

Me: Oh, Lord, take it away! I can't go on like this!

Jesus (gently): That's not what you said in the beginning. You could have said: "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me."

Me: Isn't that what I meant?

Jesus: Is it?

Me: Well...

Jesus: Or did you mean: "I've got this under control and I want to win the victory all by myself."

Me: ...

Jesus: I am with you always, but I will never force Myself on you.

The Ring of Power

"All we ever wanted was the illusion of control. But we have none, not really. And neither do the people around us who seem so intimidating in all their radiant perfection. Ultimately, we can all take comfort in the understanding that they're not actually perfect, and that none of us ever will be. We're not, as we've been promised, 'as gods.' On the contrary, we're animals but we think we're not animals. We're products of the mud."
 ~Will Storr, Selfie: How We Became So Self-Obsessed and What It's Doing to Us 

Now I would like to just leave those words there without further comment, as I think in many ways he has hit the proverbial nail on the head. However, since in doing so, he has bent the nail a bit sideways I feel it necessary not to remain silent and thereby express my consent.

We are not products of the mud. After all, if you multiply mud times mud I am quite sure you only get mud.  (Or maybe a mud square.)

Aside from the math jokes, we are in some sense from the mud: Dust thou art and unto dust thou shalt return. However, we are more than animals. We may not yet be like gods—or at least we may not feel like gods—but we do have immortal souls and therefore are far more than animals. Yet we are still animals, influenced very much by our fleshly existence and our genetics and sometimes so much so that it seems like we have no free will at all.

Despite whether we think we believe in free will or not, we constantly act out our belief in it on a daily basis. We try to seize control of our situations whether by understanding why we feel a certain way, trying to keep our houses clean, or starting businesses or ministries to change the world.

It is as if the Ring of Power lies before us and we strive with all our might to seize it.  We are ignorant of its true meaning: that if we do indeed place it upon our finger, we shall then be bound in slavery to our greatest enemy who wants only our destruction.

 

We want to be like God. We want that power, that control, that ability to make something out of nothing.

At the same time, however, we do know our weakness and brokenness. We know we have no real control, but somehow we seek it anyway. Somehow we are not yet willing to surrender it all to the One who loves us more than we love ourselves and who knows all that was and is and ever will be. We prefer to seize power for ourselves, even knowing that it will never satisfy, and that it is in the end no more than a mirage.  This is enough for us:

"All we ever wanted was the illusion of control. But we have none, not really. And neither do the people around us who seem so intimidating in all their radiant perfection."

There is much comfort in realizing that and in knowing that we are not perfect and never will be so long as we walk this earth. In some sense, it lets us off the proverbial hook, at least if we will let ourselves off of it instead of clinging yet again to another illusionary idea of control. For a desire for perfection can itself be a desire for power and therefore a two-edged sword that will turn against us.

That is why we must let go even of that last vestige of illusion if we want to seek reality. Yet we do not always prefer the truth. We choose instead the darkness:

And this is the judgment: because the light is come into the world, and men loved darkness rather than the light: for their works were evil. (John 3:19)

Here it is we face the crux of our choice: we can will to descend into the darkness and surrender to the kingdom of evil or we can nail our will to the Cross, letting in the light and the Kingdom of God. Our will then is what matters and not our feelings of brokenness and inadequacy and hopelessness, for these are only feelings. Why they weigh us down, none can say, save the One who holds the universe in His hand and who stirs our hearts with longing for His presence, which alone can satisfy the deepest longings within us.

The Prayer Battle

Do you ever struggle to pray?  It is far easier not to pray, to do the thousands upon thousands of things, duties and otherwise, that demand our attention.  We might even justify it as fulfilling the duty of the moment.

Prayer seems like such a simple action.  Yet somehow it demands more of us than anything else in our lives.

Lately, prayer and its various manifestations has been very much on my mind, but more on the subconscious level.  Scripture tells us to pray always.  In times of consolation that seems easy and prayer seems to flow as naturally as breath.  Yet in times of desolation it seems impossible to pray at all.

It is not only in the modern world that we experience the battle of prayer, however.  It is not because of the distractions of the computer and other technologies (although of course these don't help).  It really is part of the fundamental nature of the spiritual life that is so much a battle.  This fact came clear to me when I ran across a saying from the desert fathers that illuminates the reasons behind the battle of prayer that has gone on for centuries:

"The brethren asked him [Agathon] "Amongst all good works, which is the virtue which requires the greatest effort?"  He answered, "Forgive me, but I think there is no labor greater than that of prayer to God.  For every time a man wants to pray, his enemies, the demons, want to prevent him, for they know that it is only by turning him from prayer that they can hinder his journey.  Whatever good work a man undertakes, if he perseveres in it, he will attain rest.  But prayer is warfare to the last breath."  

The Sayings of the Desert Fathers

Clearly little has changed in regard to the struggles for prayer.  Perhaps the only change lies in the softness of our wills: we are little used to battle in these days of enlightenment and innovation.

We want what is easy and what feels good.  We imbibe from our culture the sense that what is right really does depend to a large extent upon what soothes our appetites.  We build up all these subtle machinations within ourselves to justify what we want to believe and to forget that we must deny ourselves, take up our cross daily, and follow Him.

But prayer is warfare to the last breath.

Maybe You Would Do It?

There's always something more you want, isn't there?

Thus the mortal coil.

There's always something we want—something we need—for ourselves or for those we love.  Sometimes we can pray desperately for that thing, whatever it is, convinced that if only God would grant us that then everything would be okay—not perfect still, but good.

That's a lie of course.  As soon as He granted that one thing there would always be something else we needed to make us happy or holy or whatever adjective reared its masked head.

I can hardly help but marvel at how universally true that seems to be.  Whether I am in the midst of trials, struggling along by force of stubborn will, and think if only I had some bit of clarity, I could bear the suffering; or whether I have had a most amazing weekend full of good connections and bits of spiritual insight and think there is this one thing that would be awesome if God would do: that something is there, impossible to forget, and as changeable as our fickle emotions.

In one such recent moment, there came to my mind a delightful analogy, which I would like to share with you.  I shall embellish it for you in dramatic form, as a playwright must, even though the imagery my mind conjured up was much better than these few paltry words woven more for comic effect than realism:

ME: I know You probably aren't going to do this thing, and I don't really need it, but it would be so amazing and I know You could do it if You wanted to.

GOD: Why would you want that? Because you want to be a puddle for the devil to come and drink up? I want you to be a warrior in armor when he comes to attack you.

ME: Well, no, I don't want the devil to drink me up like I'm a bunch of liquid, but—

GOD: That's what you're asking for.  If you're saying please give me whatever I want so all I have to do is sit here and bask in the light reflecting off me, then in essence you are saying don't give me all of these opportunities to train myself and become strong enough to carry the armor that will withstand the enemy's straw.

ME: I thought I'd have to worry about more than a straw in the enemy's attack.

GOD: Only if you have armor.

ME: Then what will he come against me with?  A toothpick?

GOD: Probably more like a vacuum cleaner.

ME: So my armor has to be heavy enough that I can't be sucked up?

GOD: Now you've got the right idea.

ME: What if I had heavy armor?

GOD: You don't need to worry about that when you're still at the try-not-to-be-a-puddle stage.

A Prayer for the Weary

I want to share with you a beautiful prayer I ran across somewhere in my research for my latest theatrical project.  As I find myself awash now in the weariness following the intensity of preparing for said project, these words credited to the great Saint Augustine lift my heart a little.  May they lift yours also in your journey, especially if feel your steps dragging with reluctance as you go forward in the great battle of life.  Here is his prayer:

"God of our life, there are days when the burdens we carry chafe our shoulders and weigh us down; when the road seems dreary and endless, the skies gray and threatening; when our lives have no music in them, and our hearts are lonely, and our souls have lost their courage. Flood the path with light, run our eyes to where the skies are full of promise; tune our hearts to brave music; give us the sense of comradeship with heroes and saints of every age; and so quicken our spirits that we may be able to encourage the souls of all who journey with us on the road of life, to your honor and glory."

And may Saint Nicholas of Myra intercede for us upon his feastday today!

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!

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.

Your Choice

How will you suffer?

In essence that is the question that we face each day of our lives.  We all will suffer.  It is not as if by choosing the way of individual freedom and pleasure we could ever choose not to suffer.  For suffering truly is part of the human condition.

Nor by choosing Christ will we have no more suffering.  Sometimes people think that all we need to do is follow Him and then we will never suffer again but will always be filled with joy and love for all the world.  Unfortunately that is not the case.  I have had to learn that lesson myself.  To be perfectly honest, that is a lesson I must continually re-learn.  My head of course knows the reality, but when my Lord bestows joys upon me as I seek to do His will my heart begins to expect that serving Him will be an easy and joyful thing and then I face trials and my heart wavers.

It was the priest's homily at Mass this morning that inspired my reflection today.  He spoke so simply and clearly to the heart of this matter, asking this question: will you suffer on your own or will you suffer with Christ?

In all our suffering we have the choice of suffering in union with Christ or trying to face it all on our own strength.  Suffering with Him will not take away the suffering.  It will not make it easier to bear.  Yet it will give us the strength to bear it, the reason to bear it, and the hope that through that suffering we will attain a greater good for ourselves or others.

My Garden Prayer

Fear binds my trembling blinded soul.

“Father, take this cup away!”

I long for Thee with all I am.

Yet doubt invades, consumes,

Keeps me far from Thee. Why

Must I hate Thy cross? Why seek

What is not Thee, to passing

Pleasures cling? I want them not,

But only Thee, who art

Forever.  That agony reigns

As I come before Thy throne.

I fall exhausted at Thy feet.

“Father, let Thy will be done!”