The Crux of the Matter

"It is true, and even tautological,
to say that the cross
is the crux of the whole matter." ~G.K. Chesterton

So it is as we walk through this weary vale of tears: the Cross stands ever before us.  No matter how we flee it, dashing through the numberless pleasures that society advertises and thrusts upon us, no matter how we turn our backs and pretend we can live without it, no matter how we pursue the right course and seek the perfect solution to every problem, we cannot ever escape it.

Our failure to wipe it from our vision is as simple as its existence is omnipresent.  We may think we can close our eyes to the tortured body of Love upon it.

Yet we cannot escape its form.  So many times I catch myself half-consciously tracing its form in patterns on the floor or on a wall while my mind wanders elsewhere.  Wherever we look, it stares back at us, for it is the very basis of architectural structures that we take so much for granted.

Whenever we stare through old windows, it greets us, framing the landscape with inescapable significance: life is suffering—life is bound by the Cross.

We cannot escape its reality any more than we can escape death and taxes.  Whether we flee or turn to face it in the great trials or petty annoyances of our lives, whether we carry it willingly or drag it like a chain behind us, whether we are crushed beneath it or let it lift us up to the heavens, we will feel the weight of its rough wood.

What matters then is how we will face it.  When we come to the end of our lives will we be able to say that we have let it mark our steps with love and courage?

We have the choice before us in every moment of every day.  We may not be called to give our lives in military service (as the above graves attest) or die as martyrs, but of course we can die to ourselves in little ways at every moment of every day.  We can give up making sacrifices to our idols and turn instead to the God of love whose Cross lies in the very form of our bodies.

When you see the Cross like a dragon rear its ugly head before you, what will you do?  Will you let it remain only the means of your cruel execution or will you be transformed by it into a beautiful new creation?

It is your choice and your choice alone.

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

Speak, Lord, Your Servant Is Listening

Thus said Samuel according the advice of the priest Eli: "Speak, Lord, Your servant is listening."

It is such a simple and powerful prayer.  It is also a prayer of vulnerability.

We mortal creatures don't like vulnerability.  We flee it like the proverbial plague.  Of course we say we want to hear the voice of the Lord, but we rarely allow ourselves to wait in silence and darkness to truly hear what He might say.

The story of Samuel has great comic potential.  It follows the formula for a comedic routine: he hears someone calling his name and immediately hops up to go ask Eli why he called him, but Eli tells him he must be imagining it and sends him back to bed.  The same exact thing happens the second time.  There you have your context set up.  The third time when it happens, it starts out the same way, but all of a sudden Eli realizes that God is calling Samuel.  If it weren't such a serious matter (and we hadn't heard the story a few too many times), we would laugh uproariously at this sudden upturning of our expectations.

It is easy to laugh at Samuel for not knowing that God was calling him because of course it is obvious to us.  Somehow, though, it doesn't seem that obvious in our everyday lives.

Perhaps we don't follow the Rule of Three in our lives, but I daresay there is enough material for humor there nonetheless.  We say we want to hear God's voice and so we start telling Him everything we need Him to do for us and how He ought to answer us and what our requirements and needs are and so on.  Then, before we have bothered to so much as ask Him what He thinks of all that, we hurry on to our duties and responsibilities and get all weighed down by what He isn't making clear for us.

Do you see the comic potential?

Never Give Up!

"The greater the struggle,
the more glorious the triumph!"

-Mr. Mendez

Have you ever felt like giving up?  No matter what your struggle, no matter what your pain, I hope these words will inspire you to rise above the petty circumstances of your daily monotony or the anguish that weighs you down.  I pray that you will learn to soar like a butterfly above all that wearies you.

Of course doubts and difficulties will never cease to trouble you entirely, but neither need they prevent you from being the shining light you were made to be.  Light a candle in this dark world!

If you do not recognize the above quotation from Mr. Mendez, then you must see the short film, Butterfly Circus.  One of the most inspiring and encouraging pieces of art I have ever encountered, it speaks powerfully against the lies of the enemy that seek to bring us down and make us hide our light under the proverbial bushel basket.

Let it speak to your heart also....

You Are Necessary For His Purpose

Somehow I am necessary for His purposes...

I have a part in this great work;

I am a link in a chain,

a bond of connection between persons.

These words come from the beautiful meditation by Blessed John Henry Newman whose feastday we celebrate today.  If you would like to read the full meditation, you can find it here.

Do you ever think of yourself as being necessary to God?  It is a strange thought to ponder: that the eternal God who is Being Itself should deign to need us for His great work of salvation.  Yet so He does out of love.  He wants us to work with Him, to be one with Him.  He desires it so much that He gives us a part in His cross that we may carry it with Him in order to free ourselves and others from the meaningless chains to which we bind ourselves by our sins.

We may not understand what lies behind each small piece of the puzzle, but He does.  He allows nothing that He cannot bring to its perfect end, like a director of a play who takes the contributions of all the actors and designers and tech team and weaves it all together into one beautiful work of art.

Therefore I will trust Him.

Whatever, wherever I am,
I can never be thrown away...
My sickness, or perplexity, or sorrow may be
necessary causes of some great end,
which is quite beyond us.

The more we trust, the more we allow Him to work.  It is where we doubt or try to force things to meet our expectations that we stand in His way.

Therefore, we may in trust surrender all to our Lord who loves us so dearly:

Let me be Thy blind instrument. I ask not to see—
I ask not to know—I ask simply to be used.

Blessed John Henry Newman, pray for us!

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....

The Battle Is Not Yours

Conflict.  Pain.  Hurt.  Heartbreak.  Betrayal.

These tear us from within, gripping us in endless knots, shattering our self-wrought pretensions of security and confidence.  They challenge our perception that all is well and all will be well.

Sometimes it is worse when these things happen to those we love.  When we suffer we are so busy grappling with the raw emotions that we have little time to think or reflect.  In those moments, we struggle for control of ourselves or the situation, our desperation aimed toward some hoped-for goal.

If we see others in pain, we have no control.  We have no choices.  We are even more powerless than when we suffer.

That is why it is so hard to see those we love hurt.  In some ways, it strikes deeper to see wounds struck that we can never hope to heal, to see decisions made in anger, to see misunderstandings and pain erupt into a chasm of broken relationships that we cannot bridge.  We see the evils and we want to take them away, to soothe the burning heat, to wave away the stain of sins past that tinges every fresh choice and every perceived affront.  But we can do nothing.

Still we search desperately for some way that we can become the savior of the situation.  We encourage those who feel alone to rely upon us, we seek solutions to illness, we advise counseling or medication, we pray continuously for healing and conversion, we try to make others see the light because if only they could then all would be well, and on and on and on....

We do not want to admit that we can do nothing.

Yet it is not about us and what we can do.  If we are to achieve true sanity, we must let go of our need to fix things.

When we admit that we can do nothing, we set ourselves free from guilt and expectations—expectations, which so often swamp our small vessels—and allow God to be God.  He allows nothing evil out of which He cannot bring a greater good.  Where we cannot save, He can.  He is our Savior.  Many times we need only step out of His way and allow Him to do what He alone knows how to do: to heal the broken heart.

That means we stand ourselves broken and powerless.  We feel the pain that signals to us that something must be done and we simply acknowledge its presence.  We choose not to fill that hole we cannot fill.  We embrace our weakness.

For in weakness is the power of Christ made perfect, as Saint Paul said.

Somehow that paradox is true, but only because of Christ.  Our inability to do anything surrendered to Him allows Him to work.

The path of life does not follow a barter system: we do not give x to get y.  If we do, we will regret giving x and resent others who have y.  Sometimes we must hit rock bottom before we recognize this truth.  Yet when we come to the crux of it all and feel our powerlessness, we know it is true.

Even our prayers and sacrifices when performed only as a manipulation of God to make Him give us what we want—however good that for which we ask may be—are vain.  That is not love, but only self-interest disguised.

If we can let go of what we hope to gain and simply give, we can find joy even in the depths of pain.  It is the joy that rejoices in the darkness because we trust in the Ruler of all.  That trust—that surrender—allows our Lord to transform deeds once done as manipulation into gifts of love, freely given.

And there is nothing greater than love.