Me and the Thousand Year Old Monk

Saint Anselm and JJ, eye to eye across a millennium.

There's nothing new under the sun. For a long time, people have experienced the "weight" of the Infinite Mystery who transcends everything and to whom we belong in the depths of our being. In Jesus, Christians know that the Mystery becomes our companion, but if we are paying attention we realize that there are no cheap answers in this companionship.

About a thousand years ago, Saint Anselm wrote down his prayers and his searching for God. He was a monk more than a philosopher, and he knew his own poverty. He knew that the road of staying with Jesus was full of an intensity of searching and sorrow, pain and longing, begging, and burning desire.

So not long after the previous post, I came across a selection from a prayer by Saint Anselm. It gave me some new words from a great pilgrim who has gone before me on the same road, long ago.

O my God

teach my heart where and how to seek You,
where and how to find You.
You are my God and You are my All

and I have never seen You.
You have made me and remade me,
You have bestowed on me

all the good things I possess,
Still I do not know You.
I have not yet done that for which I was made.
Teach me to seek You.
I cannot seek You unless You teach me
or find You unless You show Yourself to me.
Let me seek You in my desire,

let me desire You in my seeking.
Let me find You by loving You,

let me love You when I find You.

Pleading With the "Unknown God"

Thank you, Edith Stein. You are a true friend.

"I have given you my advice: Become like a child and lay your life with all the searching and ruminating into the Father's hand. If that cannot yet be achieved, then plead; plead with the unknown and doubted God for help in reaching it."

My "on-this-day" feature revealed that I posted this quotation by Saint Teresa Benedicta of the Cross (Edith Stein) two years ago. It's from one of her letters. I don't have the citation, but it was clearly addressed personally to a friend and perhaps a colleague.

I feel like these words were addressed directly to me.

In fact, I have the first sentence of it printed and posted at my bedside. How very often -- when I am praying or searching or ruminating (or some combination of the three) -- these words remind me of who I really am and where I must place my hope:

"Become like a child, and lay your life with all the searching and ruminating into the Father's hand."

But I had forgotten about the second sentence. Right now, when I am feeling old and tired and proud and selfish, here is Edith Stein speaking to me again:

"If that cannot yet be achieved, then plead; plead with the unknown and doubted God for help in reaching it."

She encourages me to plead for help to "the unknown and doubted God." My "doubts" are not intellectual; rather this word signifies for me the struggle to trust in a Mystery that seems so immense and so incomprehensible.

All my years of searching and ruminating seem like playing games. All my words are just not enough.... The great question: "Why?" It is only more urgent and more poignant, more like a wound, vulnerable and broken and aching. This is a longing that runs through me and all the earth, and it exposes my total weakness.

I believe, I hope, I love, I trust in Jesus. I pray. But as Msgr. Giussani always reminds us, Jesus does not take away the Mystery. Rather, in Him the Mystery draws close to the heart of our lives.

Lord, I don't understand. I am overwhelmed! Help me! I am still trying to begin, still looking for the first step, still pleading and begging.

Nine Years of Josefina!

We have come to the end of the beginning of "the Josefina nine year old Birthday celebration." Elsewhere, I have told the story of the seven month odyssey in the NICU and PICU that began on this day in the year 2006 (see, for example, Chapter 22 in this BOOK).

This little girl didn't see the outside of a hospital until the middle of May 2007. Even though she still weighs only 38.5 pounds, Josefina has grown in so many ways. Here is one obvious way to see it:

I thought it would be fun to post a big collage of photos from Jojo's life (most of which have been posted before). In the first two rows we see her from birth and first surgery on to homecoming and first year. The next two rows cover Jojo from ages 2-4, and then the following two rows from ages 5-7 and the final row from age 8.

Thank you Lord, for her life and for all our children. Bring them all to the fulfillment of their vocations in this world, and may we all be happy forever with You and with one another in eternal life.

Maple Leaves and Cheeky Monkies

Autumn finally comes to the maples in the front yard!

Meanwhile, I found a fun and fine-tasting beer at the Apple House Deli, perfect for an autumn afternoon. It's called Cheeky Monkey.

Had lunch with another "Cheeky Monkey"!

Crushed in a World of Inner Poverty

We live in a world of poverty.

We can see the desperation of the materially poor. But we do not see the immense inner poverty that afflicts so many of us who live in what are supposed to be the "rich nations" of the world.

We live under so much ruthless pressure. The relentless demand to obtain "results," the constant changes and the resulting ruptures of place, routine, employment, and relationships, the enormous, unprecedented power that enables us to construct the material world but also to escape problems and isolate ourselves: an environment so intense, so stressful, so overwhelming has never existed before in the history of the human race.

And we wonder why so many people suffer from mental illness?

Some people succeed in managing all the power and possibilities placed in their hands, or they fail and get up and try again and again. But they sustain wounds and sometimes they try to hide them or ignore them. Being wounded and vulnerable are obstacles to success.

But many people are simply crushed.

Perhaps they can't be "fixed" by any of our techniques. But they still deserve to be loved. Indeed they, especially, remind us that every human person deserves to be loved simply because they are a human person.

When I say "Never Give Up," I mean never give up on the human person. And never give up on God, on Jesus.

Love people. Start with this love and maintain this love. In an environment of love we will be able to appreciate the real possibilities of a person. In this way our love can become many different kinds of "help" without becoming conditional or just another project measured by the criteria of power.

But people who are beyond any of this "help" -- people who have been crushed -- can still love, even if their love doesn't "produce" anything we can see, even if their love is hidden deep inside their brokenness.

Love awakens the possibility for love in others, but this is not something we can keep tabs on. We don't know the "success rate" for "producing love" because we don't produce it. We have to just throw away our measure, and replace it with hope and trust in the God who is Love.

Saint John Paul II: Remembering What Was Given to Us

"Be not afraid." Happy Feast Day of Saint John Paul II!

Thirty seven years ago today, the world changed.

What was given to us, what began on that day, has not disappeared just because it's not in the headlines right now. It remains and bears fruit, and will continue to bear fruit for decades, centuries, until the end.

We must remember and continue to live in patience and hope according to that extraordinary witness in all its richness.

Let us remember when our hearts awoke for the first time, when we realized: "I am a person. Every human being is a person, worthy of love. I have been loved and I am loved. Loved beyond all measure."

Let us remember the giant of a man who nourished this awareness in us, and who remains with us as a companion on this journey.

And whatever trials may come, whatever difficulties, whatever the confusion or obscurity of our present circumstances, let us remember the words of October 22, 1978: "Be not afraid!"

October's Early Evenings

Josefina has her own story, linked together with all of us.

The memories of days and weeks in October and early November pour over me. They are memories of life and death and a promise of resurrection. There is a taste of redemption in sorrow, but I don't know how to speak of it.

So I go for a walk. And Eileen says she'll come with me. I bring my camera to catch something of the early evening that is still light in October. The girls are studying.

Well, not all of them.

"Can I come too, can I come too??!!" It's the piccolo voice that, like everything about her, is small but full of volume and energy. She is very much a part of the story of October, and in a few days we will all remember her.

"Of course you can come!"

So Josefina comes with us. We walk toward the old manor and the horse fields near Happy Creek. I may not have words, but I do have pictures of the evening, and I will share them here.

Waxing Harvest Moon

Janaro House: green leaves will change quickly and then disappear in a few weeks. Still feels like summer, but it's only 6:30.

Mommy let me take her picture with her "preemie baby" of almost nine years ago.

Fields and manor and the sunlight beyond. Still thick green trees except for one going bald. It has been a warm season.

It will be like fire when it finally comes.

The sun disappears behind the hills by 7:00 PM. The sky certainly has some color.

Blessed Are Those Who Mourn....

This blog would not exist if I did not believe in the power of words. I have used many words to express what I have learned and what the Christian tradition has communicated about the meaning of life and death and hope.

I know and I believe that all these words come down to one word, a name, the name of a Person. Jesus. The name that is more than sound or signs. The name that expresses His Person. I believe in Him.

I know He brings healing and peace, that He has conquered death, and that He draws especially close to us through our own pain.

Ten years ago, on October 17, 2005, my friend died. Really, he was more like a brother than a friend. He died by his own hand. But he had been so terribly sick with mental illness that I don't believe he was able to understand or judge what he was doing. And I can entrust him with firm hope to the unfathomable and inexhaustible mercy of God.

So why won't I stop grieving?

Why can't I stop grieving? Why is there still so much dark pain, so many lacerations in the heart after so long? They're covered over and bandaged and dulled. But why do they still bleed?

I have no words to answer these questions. I have no words. Not now.

Jesus promises that we shall be consoled, but a large part of that may have to wait until we are all together, finally, with Him.

Until then, we won't stop bleeding. And we won't stop fighting this monster that they call "Depression." We won't stop speaking out, opening up about our own sufferings, and putting ourselves on the line for other people's lives.

We Hope in His Immeasurable Goodness

The collects (i.e. "opening prayer") for the past two weeks (from 10/4 and 10/11) have been powerful and hopeful expressions of confidence in the all-encompassing and limitless power of God's mercy and grace. His mercy is poured out in a generosity beyond our asking, and His grace goes before us and follows after us, giving us the freedom to do good.

In these days I want especially to remember that God is good beyond all our imaginings.

Almighty ever-living God,

who in the abundance of your kindness

surpass the merits and the desires of those who entreat you,

pour out your mercy upon us
to pardon what conscience dreads

and to give what prayer does not dare to ask.
Through our Lord Jesus Christ, your Son,

who lives and reigns with you in the unity of the Holy Spirit,

one God, for ever and ever.

May your grace, O Lord, we pray,
at all times go before us and follow after
and make us always determined
to carry out good works.
Through our Lord Jesus Christ, your Son,
who lives and reigns with you in the unity of the Holy Spirit,
one God, for ever and ever.

Stay in Front of Jesus

Last Sunday we read the Gospel of Mark 10:17-27, the encounter between Jesus and the "rich young man." Mark's account is the only one of the three Synoptics that includes the detail that Jesus, "looking on him, loved him" (10:21). There is some speculation (fueled by other New Testament references which I won't go into here) that the "rich young man" was in fact Mark himself, the future evangelist.

Saint Mark, as we know, later became one of the first Christians and the companion of Saint Peter. Many of the details of his Gospel originate with Peter's testimony, but here he may have supplied one from his own experience.

I have been rereading an interesting BOOK (and I finally got the KINDLE EDITION downloaded on my own gadgets) that has some other things to say about this Gospel story. Here it is:

~from Never Give Up: My Life and God's Mercy

by John Janaro (also available in Kindle)

Finally, the Colors Begin to Come Out

Up in Shenandoah National Park we have finally started to see evidence of the Fall season. The leaves are changing in the recent sunny and more seasonable weather.

Living With Depression

I'm trying my best to be "cheerful." And, though it takes some energy, I have been succeeding. Sort of....

This is the thing: I am doing "fine" on a certain level. It has been a busy and fun weekend. It's good to be involved with different activities and see people. Really, I enjoy it. I don't need to put on some great act of deception.

Still, this is coping. This is "getting along." Sometimes we do this to hide from ourselves the fact that we need help. That's not good. Often, however, we find ways to "get along" because this is the best we can do in a situation.

This is coping. It does not mean that Depression has gone away. It means we are living with it. 

How strange it is to be a human being. We can stay on the surface of our own psychological awareness. We can even choose to do this, and sometimes we have to in order to survive... in order to live.

Living with Depression.

When you see us, we may be "fine," but we are "walking on the surface" and the surface is an eggshell already full of cracks and always in danger of breaking under our feet. We have developed our survival skills, however, so that we have our eyes on the nearest secure spots and we have learned how to jump to them before the next crack sucks us down.

You don't see any of this.

Often we're not conscious of it ourselves, especially if we've gotten good at it from years of practice. We notice it only in the "in-between times" when the fatigue comes and we try to rest (or sleep) but we feel like ghosts in a world of ghosts. Everything we've been doing with so much exhausting effort shrinks and dissolves. All the words are just noise that fades.

We look at the present moment and our loved ones and the tasks of the day, and everything is evanescent, beyond our reach, lacking solidity. Or perhaps we are the ones who are fading? In my book I described it as "like watching a video of the place where I used to be alive."

Standing sharp, cutting us, however, are all the memories of the things we've screwed up. We fear that this is what defines us. But this is not the same thing as a temptation in the moral sphere. It is more like the overwhelming nature of physical pain. It doesn't present itself as an option of free choice, but as a suffering to be endured.

It is possible, in Depression, to know--objectively--that the distortion of perception and emotion do not represent reality. They are a suffering caused by a complex disease, exacerbated by factors that are beyond our control. It is a great benefit to know this. But it doesn't make Depression go away.

Depression is not a sin. It is not our fault. Let us be clear: Depression, in itself, does not belong to the category of ethics; or perhaps I should say it is essentially no more of an ethical problem than heart disease or kidney disease or Parkinson's.

It is a problem of suffering.

Suffering, of course, presents moral challenges. It is inevitably accompanied by various temptations to discouragement, self-pity, resentment, denial, envy, and despair.

Depression appears to provide a conducive environment to moral temptations to choose discouragement, to choose to give up. The tempter, as we know, takes advantage of available opportunities, as do the inclinations of our broken humanity. Our freedom, however diminished our responsibility may be, does not always do well in the midst of these storms. But freedom, especially through the mysterious working of grace, can choose well, or rise up through sorrow and try again. We can choose to live for truth, goodness, and beauty in reality, to trust in God, to move foward in our journey, even when we are suffering from Depression.

But we cannot cure Depression or make it go away through an act of free choice. Let me repeat that: We cannot cure Depression or make it go away through an act of free choice.

It is not a freely chosen condition, nor is it the consequence of evil choices. It is an affliction. It is an impairment that we have not chosen. That means that we can choose well, even in the darkness, even seemingly against the pain.

It is possible to endure this affliction of darkness and remember that we have value, that we matter. It is possible to grow with understanding and solidarity, to cope through medication and therapy, and even to find healing (or some measure of healing) and to thrive through a mysterious patience and an enlarged compassion.

There is hope. Never give up.

Beyond All Reckoning

If we could count all the worlds
of faces veiled
in once-soft, long since stretched,
withered sun-worn skins,
strained by the pain
of flesh from flesh torn away
and taken,
vanishing distant, down,
underground,

We would find beyond all reckoning
the rounded drops that weep
from eyes open watching wounds,
watching wanting all,
drops of flood falling
and rising into vapor
out of hollowed hard earth's cracked thirst.

Office

My office area at the new John XXIII Center "campus" -- It's not cluttered but... just give me some time!

Make Me a Channel of Your Peace... And Give Me Stuff Too?

Let me love. Even though I ask to be loved.
Let me understand. Even though I ask to be understood.
Let me console. Even though I ask to be consoled.
Something inside me prays, "Let me give myself away." But then I don't want to let go.

I ask to be a channel of His Peace.
I ask to be an instrument of His Mercy.

But all I find inside of myself is poverty.
And I don't mean the Holy Poverty of St. Francis.

It is the emptiness of someone who loves his own life too much. Who loves himself too much. Who loves his own satisfaction too much. Who loves his own comfort too much. Who loves his own reputation too much. Who loves his own illusions too much. Who loves his own laziness too much. Who loves his own opinion too much. Who loves his own will too much.

I love my own will too much.
I would rather do things my own way.
I would rather rationalize.
I want God's will and my will.
I want to serve two Masters and love them both.

I am a divided man.
I am not St. Francis.

So what is it within me that prays, nonetheless, to be His instrument, His love, His mercy in the lives of others, and especially in the lives of those who have been entrusted to me? In spite of all my foolishness, I call myself a teacher and a mentor and a father, and yet I do not think that I am a complete hypocrite. Why is this? Is it all, then, a delusion?

No! I know something that I must share.

I have been loved, and understood, and consoled.

And the beauty of this fact has wounded my heart. So I throw myself into a confused and troubled and complicated effort to communicate this fact, that I have been loved, that we all have been loved. And somewhere I am convinced that this Love is worthy of all my trust even as I struggle in so many ways to offer myself.

So here it is, Lord, the whole mess that is me.
It is far from a perfect offering.
But You can do the impossible, so make of me what You will.
Give me the will to change.
Change what needs changing in me.
Make me a channel of Your Peace.

Let others hear these words,
these words that express my struggle with You and Your changing of me,
Let them hear these words and see my wounded soul
and wonder at Your Mercy.

The Nationals Go Home

When I saw this cover in March on Sports Illustrated's baseball season preview issue, I knew we were doomed.

I'm not superstitious. There are no "baseball gods." But if there were baseball gods, this would have been a sure sign that the Washington Nationals were going to lose their favor.

Ironically, Max Scherzer and Bryce Harper (the guys in the picture) both had spectacular seasons. Unfortunately, nobody else did.

I haven't said much about the Nationals this year. It was an eventful summer for the Janaros. We didn't even get to go to an actual game, though we tuned in to all or part of most of them on television during the season.

I also haven't said much because I've decided that if I can't say anything nice about my team, then I won't say anything at all.

<crickets>

Haha, but really, the baseball season is a strange thing. In April you think that this a great team "on paper." But things don't play out as expected on the field. You start out slow. There are some injuries. You hang around first place, then lose some key games in August, another team gets hot while you stay lukewarm and then... it's the end of September.

I don't want to get down on anybody. These guys are under a lot of pressure for six months -- much more pressure than I could handle. I'm not going to rip on anybody.

The Mets deserve credit along with several other surprise winners heading to the playoffs.

For us it has been a long, melancholy season.

But it won't stop us from coming back fresh and full of dreams next Spring.

God's Helpers: Thanks!

I want to give a shout out to my own Superhero, my celestial homeboy, my Guardian Angel and his frequently employed Backup Crew. 

Thank you for accepting the difficult assignment of trying to keep me out of trouble. Thanks for lifting me up so often, for inspiring me, for prompting me to remember love, and for pointing again and again to the Face of Love.

Thank you!

Detail of Ethiopian icon of the Risen Jesus with angels.

The "Sheer Suffering" of Therese

October begins with Saint Therese, who died of tuberculosis on September 30, 1897. She was only 24 years old. In her final days, several of her sisters recorded her words.

She once said, "Take heart, Jesus hears even the last echo of our pain."

The Risk of Being Vulnerable

So I have presented in two parts the text of Young JJ's "State of the World Address" from September 1990. I have reflected a bit on how Old JJ might talk about the "State of Now" September 2015. It seems a bit overwhelming at this point in my life to issue manifestos like this.

The theme of power, however, is one that I return to often enough in my own reflections. "Power and responsibility" is perhaps one of the defining challenges of the emerging epoch. There is much to say about it, but let me see if I can make a start:

"How can we shape the use of our vast technological power so that it serves the good of the human person, families, communities, society, the environment entrusted to us? I see this question everywhere. Of course we need Jesus, but He will not give us cheap answers. He deepens the question in us, because in Him human persons and all of creation become more dear to us, and we become more "vulnerable" to their suffering. He calls us to live in that vulnerability -- to take the risks of loving those entrusted to us in our lives, those whose needs and anguish cry out to us. He even calls us to seek them out, accompany them, suffer with them, while placing all our hope in Him."

. . . . 

Wait. Stop. Hold it!

That sounds good in words. But honestly, I don't understand what I'm talking about. Or perhaps there is a very small, very fragile place inside me that has begun to understand a little bit. A really, really tiny little bit.

But who am I kidding? I don't really "live love." I live an aesthetic appreciation of the idea of love. Okay, maybe there is a little love in me, but it's nearly always mixed together with self-admiration and fakery. Ah yes, "the ambivalence" of human beings. "Man is an insoluble dilemma to himself," says Young JJ.

Twenty five years later, Old JJ says, "I am ambivalent. I am an insoluble dilemma to myself!"

Am I willing to become more vulnerable, more tender toward others, more honest (really), more willing to "take the risks of loving...?" Risks? Seriously, me take risks? RUN! HIDE!

Dear friends, I am terrified of taking risks. I am afraid to love.

Yes, friends, I am afraid of you.

And so I'm always hiding from you: hiding behind my intelligence, hiding behind humor, hiding behind my illnesses, hiding behind a thousand fibs, hiding behind sentimentality, hiding behind my reputation, hiding behind my writing, hiding and protecting places in myself even as I try to have real empathy and share my life with you.

I'm so sorry. I wish so much to be more, to be courageous, to be honest. I wish with an aching desire but I remain in this bottle of fear. I'm so sorry, friends. I'm struggling and trying, I think, but sometimes it comes out so awkwardly. Forgive me.

Eileen, kids, Mom, Dad, Walter... I'm afraid.... I'm sorry. Forgive me. I'm a poor human being. Poor in love.

So what, then, is this "very small, very fragile place," this "really, really tiny little bit" of understanding and desire in me?

Theologian JJ would like to intervene here and say, "That is God's work in you; the work of His grace. That is the hope that is beginning to transform you, the place from which you pray, the light of His love that leads you and in which you see the faces of others."

But Old JJ replies, "Why, then, is it so small?" Why, O God, is it so small?

And no one has any more words. There are already far too many words.

What I have is silence. And solitude. Sometimes it feels like loneliness, but underneath all of that there is the solitude. And there is the wanting that burns and burns and burns, and bursts through beyond all that I know.

The World of 25 Years Ago, Part II

Before the month comes to a close I should finish posting the "Statement" that young John Janaro wrote in September of 1990 as he began a journal that would cover the next two years of his life and times. (See HERE for the first part.)

I began by speaking of how we human beings, even as we developed our power for accomplishing great good, always seemed to find ourselves using that power for greater evils. The tension at the heart of the profound ambiguity of human existence was growing greater.

Twenty five years later, that tension has pushed even further. It has grown exponentially, and in many ways that we could not have imagined in 1990.

If I were writing such a broad survey of the times today, however, I would do it differently. I would write more from the perspective of my own suffering and also my own gratitude. I would place my own weakness and my need for healing more in the center. I would write perhaps in a less sophisticated way.

In any case, this is what I wrote a quarter of a century ago. It is a recognizable theme that I still ponder: the problem of human beings living without God. But I believe now (more than I did before) that God still draws us on His mysterious paths by the often-hidden workings of His grace -- even in our ignorance and incoherence and failure and in the apparent insignificance of our lives.

Even if we try to live without God, He still dwells with us. He has made His dwelling among us and He is not going away.

God wants to empower us to build up the good in this world, but first and above all, He wants us. He made us not only for this world, but also to share His eternal life.

And He is Love.

He knows our weakness and our selfishness, and that we play with our own spectacular (and often dangerous) toys without even thinking about the reason why we exist. He sees our poverty and loneliness in the midst of all our riches, and it cannot be any other way because He has placed His signature on each or our hearts. Our hearts will always be greater than our power, and so "it's never enough" and yet we don't know where to go.

God knows we are a mess. But He hasn't given up on us, and He wants to meet us with His compassion.

I still see the problems of human existence but my perspective has grown, and what are "my words" below have become more my life and my suffering. In strength and in weakness, I am more aware that what matters is fidelity to the Mystery of God and His opening-up of my life to my brothers and sisters, in love.

For the record, then, let us listen to the Young Janaro of September 1990. Maybe he was smarter than I am today. He was learning and thinking about many things, and then -- as now -- he was so much in need of mercy.

Brain Disorders and Brain Health

In my book Never Give Up I talk about a range of illnesses which are beginning to be classified as neurobiological disorders--these are "mental illnesses" that are rooted (in at least some respect) in chemical imbalances in the brain or the failure of the brain to carry out properly its delicate and complex operations.

We know that neurological disorders can cause people to have chronic "tics" or muscle spasms. Well, it appears that on a more subtle and "invisible" level the same kind of disturbances in brain functioning can cause "mental spasms"--quirks, repetitions, or distortions in the imaging, impressive, and expressive activity of the brain that accompanies our thinking.

Thinking is fundamentally spiritual, but in the human being who is a mysterious union of soul and body it is something that is done in conjunction with (and is therefore affected by) physiological processes. We all know that drinking alcoholic beverages affects the brain and thereby inclines us to perceive things differently and even to "think" differently. Surely it is possible that all kinds of circumstances that we do not yet understand may affect (and afflict) the brain in more subtle ways. These circumstances may even be rooted in genetic factors, which seems to be the case in more obvious, visible disorders.

Certainly all this has become something of a fad in some sectors of the psychiatric field. These kind of problems are overdiagnosed. They are also overmedicated, or many of the medicines made for them are clumsy and ineffective. Having said that, it must be admitted that the great achievement of modern clinical psychiatric medicine has been the discovery of the neurological aspect of many mental illnesses.

Moreover, advanced brain imaging technology is confirming the clinical evidence. We are just beginning to learn the need for careful and attentive medical care for the most important and mysterious organ in our body, the brain.

We have learned that the brain can't be ignored. Psychological therapy has many values, but it won't help a person's liver or kidneys to heal. The brain is also an organic reality. It too requires physiological attention and assistance when necessary.

"Talk treatment" cannot cure a person with Tourette's Syndrome. Now we also know that it won't cure the underlying condition of a person with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. The same thing can be said for many (though not all) types of depression, anxiety disorders, and that increasingly expanding category of complex conditions called "bi-polar" disorder.

Psychotherapy has its place in facilitating healing in the realm of human experience. It is not irrelevant by any means to neurobiological disorders. It can help build habits of "brain hygiene," help construct and maintain a healthy environment for brain functioning, and address the life damage that comes as a consequence of these complex brain disorders. Certain types of therapy may even help stimulate healing processes within the brain itself. But what we know for certain is that in these situations the brain, as a physiological entity, also needs medical help.

At the same time, we are learning that the brain can't simply be nuked with medications that are designed to counteract artificially its chemical or functional imbalances. "Brain medicine" is a delicate art of integrative health care, and here it is especially clear that it is impossible to be effective without treating the patient as a whole, i.e. as a human person.

It is also worth mentioning here the advances being made in the treatment of brain injuries, e.g. "concussions." If anything good has come out of the recent wars (though, tragically, not good for those who have had to endure them), it is the advancement in the understanding of brain injuries, how they can occur, what permanent damage they may cause, and how they may be related to conditions such as Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Having suffered and recovered from a major concussion in a car accident in 2005, my personal hunch is that "minor" brain injuries--perhaps even on the internal level--probably happen much more frequently than any of us realize.

The brain is, truly, a remarkable, resilient and durable instrument, for all its complexity and delicacy. I believe there are vast possibilities for healing the brain and supporting the overall health of the brain. We are only beginning to discover them.

Mercy Beyond Our Sight

Georges Rouault, Crown of Thorns

Mental illness is so complicated and so difficult for people to perceive even within themselves, because it afflicts the organic components that are involved with the great human capacities of knowledge, judgment, and freedom. These afflictions touch upon the way we regard ourselves and present ourselves to others.

For this reason, they can be especially destructive. I know this only too well. I know how much my own life has been drawn back from the edge, how often my survival has been a "close call."

I also know -- and still weep for -- people I have loved who didn't survive, whose lives were shattered beyond our sight and beyond this world. Their loss leaves a wound in me, and in others, that will last as long as our journey through this present age.

These wounds will remain open, but their affliction is ultimately made of love, and of a raw hope that the mercy of God really is beyond anything we can imagine or conceive.

This Strange Loneliness: How am I Called to Respond?

The world can look dim and dark and fading. Why?

We live in a world of unimaginable suffering of body, mind, and soul. So much suffering and desperation.

We are all united, all called to a common destiny, all objects of His ineffable but utterly faithful love and mercy. God is faithful, even though so many know only a darkness. So many are broken and shattered and alone, lost, confused, unaware of their own dignity as persons created by God and for God.

So many are weakened and wounded by sicknesses of all kinds.

Affliction spreads by the crushing weight of material poverty. It also spreads by the relentless, unforgiving, monstrous lust for power that drives our "rich" society, that pressures people to "succeed" by manipulating instruments of power and casts aside those who can't hang on.

Cast aside.

If you live in this culture and have a genetic predisposition for depression or some other mental illness, it's probably going to be triggered.

Because ours is a society of trauma and interior wounds that fester and weaken and cripple human beings.

I know these people are suffering. I hear their cries inside of my own suffering. I hear their desperation and their sense of being lost and worthless. Of being alone.

I know that I'm not alone. How blessed I am!

Sometimes I am wounded by loneliness nevertheless. It's part of the disease. It's pain. But that is not all, because I am still a person.

Do I not still have freedom in front of this pain? How am I called to respond? I know that in this strange loneliness I am linked, somehow, to the loneliness of all these other human beings, my brothers and sisters.

I hear their overwhelming cries. So much loneliness!

I can't bear that any person should be alone in this way.

But I'm afraid of my brothers and sisters in anguish. I am a weak human being. Weak because of affliction, yes, but also weak in freedom, weak in love. I'm a selfish man. Selfish! But this pain, our pain, keeps cutting my heart.

I don't know what to do. I offer, I pray, I believe and trust and hope for them and for myself.

They suffer in darkness.

I don't know how to reach them in this darkness, to help us all to find healing for our wounds.

More than thirty years of studying theology. It has given me many things. I don't regret it. It has enabled me to help people, and to teach and write about certain things. It has humbled me, because after all of it I know so little....

I do not know how I, myself, here and now, can reach out to the brokenhearted and accompany them in their search for healing. Their experiences will teach me more about myself, and I am afraid of what I might learn.

How are we all to discover that we are loved by God? Not in a sentimental way, not as a comforting phrase, not as just theology or a pastoral program... but really.

How are we to know that we are really loved by God? Now! In a way that is greater than our pains and that carries a promise....

Dear God, we need this. I need this. Jesus.

Break down the walls of fear.

Mister Francis Goes to Washington

Pope Francis addresses a joint session of the United States Congress. It was a historic moment, and he rose to the occasion with his challenging address. In the corridors of power, he spoke to the heart.

"Pope and Emperor," twenty first century style. The Pope came to remind the Emperor of his responsibilities as a leader of human beings. Did the Emperor listen? Let us never underestimate the grace of God.

"Java Tonic"

Today was the first day of Autumn 2015.

We have been greeted by foggy mornings, and I have had the brains to go with them. But my go-to medicine for brain freeze can take care of that.

Well, most of it.... Enough for me to design and generate a silly graphic. There's nothing like the revitalizing wonders of "Java Tonic"!

Pilgrimage of Love

Pope Francis is in the United States of America from September 22-27.

Welcome to the USA, Holy Father! Thank you for coming to our country. Our love and our prayers are with you!

Pope Francis gives remarks in English on the White House lawn:

Always a Gift

The older I get, the more I'm learning not only to survive and to cope, but actually to find some incomprehensible, entirely peculiar physical and psychological "balance" where I can really live within the limits of my health condition and its consequences.

I'm blessed by so much. There is so much to see, so much that is positive and good and worth living for right now.

Hindrances do give us the chance to focus with greater attention on what is in front of us. I'm starting to see that.

Not that I'm looking for any further hindrances, obstacles, or chances to suffer. I'm not ready for anything like martyrdom, or the concentration camp, or even broken air conditioning!

But I'm beginning (always, every day, beginning... again) to trust in God that there is a way to "handle" and live constructively what I'm called to face here and now.

Reality is always a gift.

It takes time to see that, however, so I need to be patient and pray and trust (even when I'm physically and mentally freaking out). Then the way begins to open up, enough to take the next step.