“I’m a failure.”
I know, this is a pathological thing with me. It’s time for some mental exercises. In fact, it’s time for some physical exercise: a good walk around the neighborhood in the breezy late afternoon with Teresa. Time to think of my blessings, time to love my wife and my children, time to do the work that has been given to me. Study. Reflect and make judgments. Write. Or just try to get better.
It’s time for some spiritual exercises. Listen to your spiritual director: this idea of failure does not come from God. Pray, “Jesus, I trust in You completely.” “Come Holy Spirit.” Take your mind off yourself. Up, up, up, eyes off yourself, look to God, look to others. Mary, dear Mary.
The failure monster still hovers around, like a heavy atmosphere pressing against me.
I miss the past. I miss my classroom. “You will be a great teacher,” said Msgr. Giussani. So I taught. I taught my heart out. The fact is, I often felt like a failure even as a teacher. What difference was I really making? I was never one of the “rock stars” at the college. I wasn’t a name that buzzed on students’ lips. There were a few, every year, who saw something–they appreciated my effort (our poor human frailty, alas, always likes to be appreciated)–but more importantly they “caught on,” they understood what I was seeing; sometimes they saw it even better than I did. This is the thing that a teacher really loves.
Too many, however, were just bored. I tried, I tried so hard for you kids. I wanted to shake you and say, "look at this, look at how beautiful it is!" If only you knew, dear students. I wanted you all to see it.
In any case, I did my job well. But my health broke down. And I felt like a failure.
“You will be a great teacher.” How? When?
When I can, I make good use of this long and strange sabbatical. I’ve written a book. I’m writing another. I study assiduously. I try to understand the world I live in, and God’s plan for it. I seek to communicate through new channels. But I’m not going to kid you: some days are just plain washouts. “It” just doesn’t get done. And if someone tells me I need to go exercise on a day like that I’m going to tell them to shut up....
“I feel like a failure.”
Give it all to God.
I think everyone feels like a failure in some aspect of their lives. Maybe God has brought me to this condition so as to awaken compassion in me for others. God still loves me in my failure. His love is deep and fundamental: He loves me, period. No conditions. But he also manifests this love in my life, in our family life. Without the failure of my teaching career, my wife never would have gotten her training and certification and become the wonderful Montessori teacher that she is today. She is a great teacher. And our family has grown closer. Perhaps more important than anything else is the fact that we are keenly aware that we are not the ones who are in control....
I know that the words, “God loves you” are not cheap. In these days I hear with compassion about people who lose their jobs. People who are sick. People who are struggling with all sorts of problems. People who just don’t think that what they do is worthwhile.
I think I can say this without being cheap: “Give it all to God. He loves you.”
Friday, May 13, 2011
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Offering, Abandonment, and Trust
I thought I would say a word or two about offering this evening.
I wrote a chapter in my book Never Give Up: My Life and God's Mercy (see ) entitled "Offering is Not Easy." It was about the difficulty, or more precisely my difficulty, of "offering up" sufferings to God. People who know me, or my book, or this blog, know that I suffer from Chronic Lyme disease as well as various psychiatric problems that may be associated with or exacerbated by it. I read a few things today that provoked me to recognize that--although I have learned a little about offering since I wrote the book--I still have a long road before me.
What have I learned? I think I am more aware of the degree to which trust and abandonment are at the center of offering our suffering to God in union with the Cross of Christ. These things are attitudes of the heart that are not always the focus of consciousness during the actual experience of suffering. They are habits to be cultivated, with dogged persistence, by perseverance in prayer, accountability to other trusted persons, and by the sacraments. These develop consistent dispositions of abandonment and trust, which are more important than any subjective spiritual experience of consolation or security.
One realizes this especially in mental suffering. Unlike physical suffering, which can be in some way "objectified" by the mind, psychological suffering cuts right through the mind, so that the person enduring it often is not consciously aware that their pain is "really" pain--there is the deluded perception of worthlessness, distorted sources of anxiety, and the powerful appearance that what is in one's mind is under one's control. The result is that one attributes the failure to have psychological control to one's own lack of character. It is easy to conclude that one has nothing worthy to offer to God in any of this, while one is going through it.
But abandonment and trust are real things. They grow by being lived, and (mysteriously) by enduring the stripping away of obstacles to them. There is one thing I know: living a life of abandonment to God and trust in God entails walking the path God has given us: prayer, the sacraments, the perspective of others through whom He shows us His mercy. Stay with these things. In mental sufferings, there is sometimes a hidden voice that whispers, "Don't try to be close to God, you hypocrite. Distance yourself from Him. You are not worthy." When you hear that voice, you pray the name of Jesus and you call on St. Michael.
I want to mention one "practice" in particular: the morning offering. It can take various forms, but its essence is to begin the day (as much as possible, "literally," i.e. when you first wake up) with a prayer in which you acknowledge and assent in freedom to the reality that Jesus Christ is the source, the "substance," and the fulfillment of everything that you do and everything that happens to you in the day.
Some twenty years ago, I was at one of those unforgettable gatherings with the great Msgr. Luigi Giussani, and the topic of discussion was something that sounds rather deep -- the "decision for existence." I asked Fr. Giussani how I could make the "decision for existence" in my daily life, and his response was not a philosophical discourse, but something surprisingly simple. He said, "when you wake up every morning, say the Angelus."
And so I have, for the past twenty years. The Angelus itself is a kind of "morning offering" (meditate on the prayer, or--in this season--on the Regina Coeli), although I usually follow it with the morning offering prayer to the Sacred Heart and a few other prayers. I wouldn't do any of this if I did not have at least the beginnings of trust in God, and the desire to be united to Him in Christ Crucified.
And through the years, it has worked its way into my awareness during the day, in moments of trial, and even in the midst of psychological turmoil.
Prayer. Absolutely essential. No matter how you feel.
When I say "Never Give Up" I mean this: Never Give Up on God!
I wrote a chapter in my book Never Give Up: My Life and God's Mercy (see ) entitled "Offering is Not Easy." It was about the difficulty, or more precisely my difficulty, of "offering up" sufferings to God. People who know me, or my book, or this blog, know that I suffer from Chronic Lyme disease as well as various psychiatric problems that may be associated with or exacerbated by it. I read a few things today that provoked me to recognize that--although I have learned a little about offering since I wrote the book--I still have a long road before me.
What have I learned? I think I am more aware of the degree to which trust and abandonment are at the center of offering our suffering to God in union with the Cross of Christ. These things are attitudes of the heart that are not always the focus of consciousness during the actual experience of suffering. They are habits to be cultivated, with dogged persistence, by perseverance in prayer, accountability to other trusted persons, and by the sacraments. These develop consistent dispositions of abandonment and trust, which are more important than any subjective spiritual experience of consolation or security.
One realizes this especially in mental suffering. Unlike physical suffering, which can be in some way "objectified" by the mind, psychological suffering cuts right through the mind, so that the person enduring it often is not consciously aware that their pain is "really" pain--there is the deluded perception of worthlessness, distorted sources of anxiety, and the powerful appearance that what is in one's mind is under one's control. The result is that one attributes the failure to have psychological control to one's own lack of character. It is easy to conclude that one has nothing worthy to offer to God in any of this, while one is going through it.
But abandonment and trust are real things. They grow by being lived, and (mysteriously) by enduring the stripping away of obstacles to them. There is one thing I know: living a life of abandonment to God and trust in God entails walking the path God has given us: prayer, the sacraments, the perspective of others through whom He shows us His mercy. Stay with these things. In mental sufferings, there is sometimes a hidden voice that whispers, "Don't try to be close to God, you hypocrite. Distance yourself from Him. You are not worthy." When you hear that voice, you pray the name of Jesus and you call on St. Michael.
I want to mention one "practice" in particular: the morning offering. It can take various forms, but its essence is to begin the day (as much as possible, "literally," i.e. when you first wake up) with a prayer in which you acknowledge and assent in freedom to the reality that Jesus Christ is the source, the "substance," and the fulfillment of everything that you do and everything that happens to you in the day.
Some twenty years ago, I was at one of those unforgettable gatherings with the great Msgr. Luigi Giussani, and the topic of discussion was something that sounds rather deep -- the "decision for existence." I asked Fr. Giussani how I could make the "decision for existence" in my daily life, and his response was not a philosophical discourse, but something surprisingly simple. He said, "when you wake up every morning, say the Angelus."
And so I have, for the past twenty years. The Angelus itself is a kind of "morning offering" (meditate on the prayer, or--in this season--on the Regina Coeli), although I usually follow it with the morning offering prayer to the Sacred Heart and a few other prayers. I wouldn't do any of this if I did not have at least the beginnings of trust in God, and the desire to be united to Him in Christ Crucified.
And through the years, it has worked its way into my awareness during the day, in moments of trial, and even in the midst of psychological turmoil.
Prayer. Absolutely essential. No matter how you feel.
When I say "Never Give Up" I mean this: Never Give Up on God!
Monday, May 9, 2011
Mothers Day
Mothers Day is a very happy day for many people. It is a day to celebrate family life, rejoice in its blessings, and be grateful to those who embrace its burdens with generous hearts.But for others it may be difficult. Some mothers and children are estranged from one another because of discord or misunderstanding. Some mothers have passed beyond this world, and are deeply missed. Some are reminded by this day of their desire to be mothers, and of the frustration of that desire by circumstances. Some are pained by the memory of children they lost, or of children never born because of the tragedy of miscarriage.
Nor can we forget mothers who have lost their spouses or children to the devastation of war, or the many disasters that we read about in the news or watch on TV or the internet with a certain dispassion. No one knows the fragility of life more intimately than a mother whose child's life has been cut off by the seemingly implacable forces of natural or human violence. Their grief appears inconsolable.
And then there are some who carry the awful burden of having chosen to end the life within them, of having chosen to deny their own motherhood. Whatever the world says, they know in their hearts that this desperate choice has left an open wound that cries out for healing and forgiveness. They too are mothers. Their bodies have nurtured human beings, persons loved by God, but some confusion or fear or selfishness drove them to end that nurturing relationship in the womb. This violence haunts their souls. Even if they have completely suppressed the memory of it, still it cannot fail to puncture their awareness in hidden moments. It cannot fail to bring moments of sadness that reveal the anguish that lies deep within.
These are the poorest and saddest mothers in the world.
They need forgiveness. And the good news is that there is forgiveness. Forgiveness has a name: Jesus. No poverty, no sadness is beyond His reach.
What alternative could there be? Begging to the Creator of all things for forgiveness, hoping that He who transcends all things might answer such a plea, and bring healing to an incurable wound? What else could a human being do, left to his or her own efforts? What else could I do?--I who presume to instruct others while my own heart is not free from the violence of denying or falsifying the realities of my daily life. After all, who am I? Another human being in need of forgiveness.
What a wonder, that Forgiveness has come into the world, that Forgiveness is present in a human way. There is a place in the world where He has promised, always, to remain. He is with us. He has risen from the dead. He has found that which was irretrievably lost; He can restore all that has been squandered by our guilt. Let us go to Him, whatever pain we may bear.
The forgiveness of God became a man, born of a woman, a mother. For all mothers, happy or sorrowful or burdened with regret, there is the tremendous sign and gift of this Mother. She knows the joys and the sorrows of every mother, and her heart is full of compassion for those who took the life of her Son. She is a vessel of forgiving love, pouring out healing on so many wounds.
Our hope becomes concrete in the recognition of that real Mother. Mary is a Mother. That means that salvation is not a dream; it is not an idea that people have invented to cope with evil and guilt and death. Salvation is a man, who entered our history because a woman said "yes" to motherhood.
This is the deep joy, and the unconquerable hope, of Mothers Day.
Saturday, May 7, 2011
We Are Christians
It does not mean that we are religious fanatics or intellectual slaves. It does not mean that we hate the physical world or refuse to be engaged with the realities of space and time. It does not mean that we consider ourselves God's "exclusive, private club" on earth. It does not define the language we speak, our cuisine, or our style of dress. It is not a racial or ethnic label. What does it mean to be a Christian?
It means that Jesus Christ is the center of our lives, and that we find Jesus through that remarkable gift of sharing our lives with other persons--the gift of the community of believers guided and nourished by Jesus through Word and sacrament, the gift which is the life of the Church.
We do not think that we are perfect; nor do we think that being Christians means that all of our opinions are correct or that the thoughts and experience of others are unworthy of attention and respect. Indeed we are willing to learn from any human being who seeks the truth in love, but we also have a great desire to share the wonderful gift that has been given to us in Jesus Christ. It is not our task to condemn any person, nor do we wish to force Jesus on any person. It is simply that our lives are shaped by the presence and the beauty and the love of Someone who we know is real, and who wants to give himself to every human person.
Thus, with open hearts and with recognition of our own weakness (and our need for forgiveness), we say to everyone, "Jesus loves you! Jesus is the way to the fullness of joy for every human being whom he has loved personally! Jesus brings new life! Jesus is Lord!"
Friday, May 6, 2011
You Scared Us, You Mischief Maker!
Josefina pulled a little stunt, that I have decided to write about in tonight's blog.
She has been having very loose stools for the past couple of days. That's not unusual. JoJo's digestion is still very sensitive. She gets irritated by various things and these kind of problems usually resolve themselves. Hopefully, as she grows her digestive tract will catch up with the rest of her development and she'll be fine.
But a couple of hours ago, Eileen suddenly yelled to me from the bathroom, in a panicked voice, "John, her hair is falling out. I went into the bathroom and there was a miserable JoJo on the potty and Mommy with a clump of hair.
Why would JoJo be losing her hair?
Josefina is basically a normal four year old. There are little things that remain that remind us of the trauma of the first year of her life. She is small for her age (which makes her cute more than anything else). She has the scar on her abdomen, and the little scars on various parts of her body where the tubes once were (it's still hard for me to look at them). She has mild asthma. Sometimes she doesn't hold down her food, for reasons that are not always clear. Other times she has loose stools. Perhaps she is easily prone to infections. Perhaps the intestines are still working through the consequences of the two major surgeries that pieced them together during the first five months of her life. The pediatrician is not concerned, and is satisfied that she is progressing well.
But several days of this yuckiness, and then HAIR LOSS?
All the old instincts suddenly kicked in. Gotta get her to the ER, now. "Maybe she is suffering from some mineral deficiency," Eileen thought. She is the calm one. I am the one with imagination. "Is there blood in the stool?" I wonder. They're going to admit her, of course. The hospital. The tubes. Waiting for the phone to ring. I felt myself locking into 2007 mode.
There must be a "subconscious"--or something like it. You think you have forgotten about all these experiences and then even a minor circumstance can suddenly reawaken a whole state of mind, a whole set of emotional attitudes, memories, and postures that you haven't thought about for a long time. I steeled myself. I was ready to go into crisis mode.
And then Agnese went into a corner between the chair and the book case (this is one of JoJo's little "play" corners, where she squirrels away all sorts of things that she finds around the house that might be useful--if something is missing, check JoJo's play corners). She said, "there's a bunch of hair over here!" And scissors? "Yes."
Josefina is allowed to do cut-outs with kid scissors. Someone is supposed to watch her when she does it. But she knows where the scissors are. There were at least a couple of kids in the house besides me, so we figured we had her covered. And she usually plays quietly and harmlessly at her activity area, or with her farm animals, or even--lately--looking at a book. I don't even remember taking my eye off her, but I guess I did and so did everyone else.
Josefina had given herself a significant haircut.
"Did you cut your hair?" Mommy asked. "Yes," said Josefina, a little whiney because she was still afraid of the imminent trip to the doctor. "Why did you do that?" Eileen asked, now noticing the significant cutting that she had done underneath the outer layers of her hair.
"Because I want it like Helena," whined JoJo. Helena is a classmate at the 3-6 Montessori school, with a short, bobby hairstyle.
Oh boy!
I'm expecting this kind of thing from, maybe, Agnese (although she has not yet shown many signs of being style-conscious). I wasn't expecting my four year old to want to look like someone else in class.
But at least we could let go of crisis mode.
I wonder about that upsurge of emotion in the face of a problem. Part of it, I suppose, is my own personal mental roller coaster that we are still working to flatten out. But part of it arises from my shallowness; from the smallness of my trust in God. There is this--again "subconscious"--ghostly image of a mysterious, capricious God who inflicts gratuitous suffering for the purposes of his own "mysterious will," and who doesn't really care about his creatures. I don't know where I developed this image, this fear-filled emotional "picture" of God (which is most emphatically not what I believe about Him). Why does this image still rise up and cause me anxiety? This is a matter that I must work through, on different levels, with spiritual direction and with therapy.
God loves us. God wants what's good for us.
It takes work and prayer to knead this conviction of faith into the dough of our humanity so that it penetrates everywhere, not only the will, but the whole person, all the affections and expectations and their hidden roots in that twilight world of the subconscious, or whatever that mysterious point of contact is in the human psyche where the sense appetites reach out and seek formation and participation in the spiritualizing energies of reason and love. It takes work and prayer...and I have a long way to go.
Josefina will get her haircut, short and bobby like Helena. We can't leave it the way it is.
But we are going to hide the scissors.
Thursday, May 5, 2011
On Being Merciful
It's much more difficult than it sounds. It means much more than being "nice." It means love, yes, but mercy is a special modality of love. To be merciful, one must shape one's actions according to the needs of others. Mercy seeks to serve the needs of others. It means to approach the other person with an awareness of his or her weaknesses and frailty, and be an instrument of help. Sometimes it means building up the person. Sometimes it means trying to help a person correct a problem. Sometimes it means comforting the person. Sometimes it means suffering with the person.
But mercy never dismisses the needs of the other. Mercy does not dismiss the sins of the other. A doctor would hardly be considered merciful if, finding a treatable tumor inside his patient, he were to ignore it out of fear of upsetting the patient.
At the same time, the doctor usually doesn't pull out a scalpel and immediately begin cutting the tumor out. He considers the best method of healing the patient, taking into account all of the patient's needs. He also does well to be sure that his diagnosis is correct. So it is with mercy. Mercy does not always make the other person feel good. But the focus and shape of a work of mercy is the other person's good, not my desire to feel proficient in wielding a moral scalpel. That applies to the whole realm of the works of mercy. Mercy does not consist in the pleasure I derive from building social or spiritual systems of providing for the needs of others.
Mercy means that I subordinate my actions, my talents, my mind, and my heart to real needs of the person in front of me. It is a kind of self-emptying, in imitation of God who "emptied Himself" and took the form that would touch our needs from within our history. It is an abandonment of self to the person in his or her need.
This is not easy. But it is beautiful. Because the person in front of me--my child, my wife, my friend, the person in the store, the person who just posted on Facebook--that person, in his or her concrete need, is Jesus.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Winning and Losing
Well, here we are during the intermission of the Eastern Conference Semifinals. The Capitals are down 3 games to none. Barring a miracle, we are going to lose the series.
Sports are a funny thing. Whether you are a fan or a player, you have to deal with the phenomenon of winning and losing. Hopefully, you get to win sometimes. But everyone, sooner or later, has to deal with losing.
It's a strange experience. You enter into the game and become completely engaged in the its dynamics. Your mind, your will, and your senses are all engaged in the task of doing what is necessary to win, or (in that bizarre state of being a "fan"--which is short for "fanatic") in rooting for your team to win.
So what happens if you win?
You make hi fives, you celebrate, maybe you have a party. Ticker tape parade. WooHoo! You feel great for a week. But eventually, you go back to work or wherever and, well, everything is the same. Except now you're a winner, which means you have something to live up to the next time around.
And what happens when you lose?
We may be about to experience the grim phenomenon of losing. Are you old enough to remember the old show, "ABC Wide World of Sports"? Long before your basic cable package had a half dozen 24/7 sports' stations, everything was compressed into one Saturday afternoon. There was the "thrill" of victory. But there was the agony of defeat.
Agony.
That deep pit in the stomach. Cloud in the brain. Frustration. You want to kick something or throw something. When I was a kid, I would throw my transistor radio across the room when my team lost (who remembers transistor radios?). It can sometimes last for a whole day. Or several days. Especially if your team gets knocked out of the playoffs and you still have to keep hearing about the STUPID SPORT.
The Capitals just lost. It's all over.
In the words of the immortal Charlie Brown, "Rats!"
What will we do now? No more Caps' season. It's over. All our hopes, since October, all dashed. No more gathering around the T.V.--me, Mommy, and John Paul--to watch the skating, the shooting, the scoring. Sure, there's baseball (which, of course, is the best game), but still, Mommy doesn't like baseball.... We're back to two again. Shucks.
So the gloom is there in the background. But it will fade gradually, or even quickly if there are other pressing concerns, as there often are in life. But losing is tough. It leaves a scar. And it's worse if you get beaten year after year.
They say that losing builds character. In that case, my son is going to be a saint. We are (broadly speaking) in the Washington D.C. metro area. The Capitals are our only winner, in any way, shape, or form. The Wizards are a joke, the Redskins are pathetic, but nothing beats the team we're stuck with in the only sport that really matters: Baseball. The Washington Nationals are amazingly awful. I have followed baseball since 1969 (that's nineteen sixty nine) and in the past few years they have fielded some of the worst teams that have ever disgraced a major league ballpark. Perhaps I exaggerate. But it's been a pretty sorry crowd.
I can't speak for this year yet. Maybe they will be better this year. It's always hard to tell in April. That's what I've said every year. But every year they find new and one almost feels like saying "creative" ways of losing. The Nationals have made bad baseball into a kind of art form. Seriously.
So we have a summer of losing to look forward to...punctuated by the occasional win. A "curly W" is always a nice surprise; one is never expecting it, so it comes like a burst of sunshine out of the clouds. O my, it seems we've bumbled our way into winning!
I hope I'm eating these words in September. I'm strange in that I rather enjoy rooting for a loser, and the Nationals provide constant opportunities to express my wit, my chiding, and to otherwise give perhaps too much free reign to my sense of humor. But I'd trade it all in for a winner. It's only a shadow of glory, but still, in the end, even when we play, we play to win.
It's a strange experience. You enter into the game and become completely engaged in the its dynamics. Your mind, your will, and your senses are all engaged in the task of doing what is necessary to win, or (in that bizarre state of being a "fan"--which is short for "fanatic") in rooting for your team to win.
So what happens if you win?
You make hi fives, you celebrate, maybe you have a party. Ticker tape parade. WooHoo! You feel great for a week. But eventually, you go back to work or wherever and, well, everything is the same. Except now you're a winner, which means you have something to live up to the next time around.
And what happens when you lose?
We may be about to experience the grim phenomenon of losing. Are you old enough to remember the old show, "ABC Wide World of Sports"? Long before your basic cable package had a half dozen 24/7 sports' stations, everything was compressed into one Saturday afternoon. There was the "thrill" of victory. But there was the agony of defeat.
Agony.
That deep pit in the stomach. Cloud in the brain. Frustration. You want to kick something or throw something. When I was a kid, I would throw my transistor radio across the room when my team lost (who remembers transistor radios?). It can sometimes last for a whole day. Or several days. Especially if your team gets knocked out of the playoffs and you still have to keep hearing about the STUPID SPORT.
The Capitals just lost. It's all over.
In the words of the immortal Charlie Brown, "Rats!"
What will we do now? No more Caps' season. It's over. All our hopes, since October, all dashed. No more gathering around the T.V.--me, Mommy, and John Paul--to watch the skating, the shooting, the scoring. Sure, there's baseball (which, of course, is the best game), but still, Mommy doesn't like baseball.... We're back to two again. Shucks.
So the gloom is there in the background. But it will fade gradually, or even quickly if there are other pressing concerns, as there often are in life. But losing is tough. It leaves a scar. And it's worse if you get beaten year after year.
They say that losing builds character. In that case, my son is going to be a saint. We are (broadly speaking) in the Washington D.C. metro area. The Capitals are our only winner, in any way, shape, or form. The Wizards are a joke, the Redskins are pathetic, but nothing beats the team we're stuck with in the only sport that really matters: Baseball. The Washington Nationals are amazingly awful. I have followed baseball since 1969 (that's nineteen sixty nine) and in the past few years they have fielded some of the worst teams that have ever disgraced a major league ballpark. Perhaps I exaggerate. But it's been a pretty sorry crowd.
I can't speak for this year yet. Maybe they will be better this year. It's always hard to tell in April. That's what I've said every year. But every year they find new and one almost feels like saying "creative" ways of losing. The Nationals have made bad baseball into a kind of art form. Seriously.
So we have a summer of losing to look forward to...punctuated by the occasional win. A "curly W" is always a nice surprise; one is never expecting it, so it comes like a burst of sunshine out of the clouds. O my, it seems we've bumbled our way into winning!
I hope I'm eating these words in September. I'm strange in that I rather enjoy rooting for a loser, and the Nationals provide constant opportunities to express my wit, my chiding, and to otherwise give perhaps too much free reign to my sense of humor. But I'd trade it all in for a winner. It's only a shadow of glory, but still, in the end, even when we play, we play to win.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
A Very Ordinary Day
We are back to our routines, after these last two great weeks.
Mommy and the kids go off to Montessori school and the house is quiet. Does that mean I can accomplish more during the day? Not really. I rather like having everyone around.
The Summer will come soon enough.
We have launched into May. Mothers' Day is coming. The following weekend is the college graduation. Then the weekend after is John Paul's Confirmation. Then two weeks or so after that is his birthday.
John Paul will be going into ninth grade in the Fall. We are still trying to decide what to do for his High School education. There are several options. He is a bright fellow, and we want him to be in an environment where he will have formation and freedom.
Now it is night. Children are sleeping. I shall stay up late, as I usually do. I have some reading, and I often do my best reading in these late hours.
There is little to say about this day. It was very ordinary. I prayed and I tried to give myself and to accept with love and patience and gratitude whatever the day offered. I also indulged my vanity, wasted time, and allowed myself to be distracted. A very ordinary day.
I still only see the surface of things. I do not see the possibilities for great love offered by the little things. And almost all of life is little things. The little things call for little virtues like humility and kindness. I am a large and complicated person. I still do not know how to approach small things.
It is, indeed, hard for a rich man to enter the Kingdom of God. "For man it is impossible, but nothing is impossible with God." And so, I live in hope.
Mommy and the kids go off to Montessori school and the house is quiet. Does that mean I can accomplish more during the day? Not really. I rather like having everyone around.
The Summer will come soon enough.
We have launched into May. Mothers' Day is coming. The following weekend is the college graduation. Then the weekend after is John Paul's Confirmation. Then two weeks or so after that is his birthday.
John Paul will be going into ninth grade in the Fall. We are still trying to decide what to do for his High School education. There are several options. He is a bright fellow, and we want him to be in an environment where he will have formation and freedom.
Now it is night. Children are sleeping. I shall stay up late, as I usually do. I have some reading, and I often do my best reading in these late hours.
There is little to say about this day. It was very ordinary. I prayed and I tried to give myself and to accept with love and patience and gratitude whatever the day offered. I also indulged my vanity, wasted time, and allowed myself to be distracted. A very ordinary day.
I still only see the surface of things. I do not see the possibilities for great love offered by the little things. And almost all of life is little things. The little things call for little virtues like humility and kindness. I am a large and complicated person. I still do not know how to approach small things.
It is, indeed, hard for a rich man to enter the Kingdom of God. "For man it is impossible, but nothing is impossible with God." And so, I live in hope.
Monday, May 2, 2011
Blessed John Paul II And Us
Yesterday was a tremendous affirmation of the mystery of the communion of saints. In the world, it seems that when a human being dies, he or she ceases to exist. It is the end. There is memory, legacy, and perhaps artifacts of the person's life. But the person ceases to be present. The possibility for a relationship with the person, it seems, ends with death.
But the Saints are alive.
It was clear, yesterday, that John Paul II is more alive today than he was when he walked the earth. What did one and a half million people come to Rome to see? What were millions more looking for as they watched on television or the internet?
Would so many millions convene in one place simply to remember a dead man?
No. They came to witness the living Church, in a solemn ceremony, acknowledge the conviction that this man lives, sharing in the glory of God, and that he remains united with us in love and in the power of prayer.
He was a man whose life was imbued with prayer, defined by prayer, and now--in glory--he is transformed into a continual prayer that implores the mercy of God upon the whole world, and upon all those who call on him and ask his intercession. We have a great-souled, powerful, and intimate friend who lives with God, in union with Jesus Christ. And he brings Christ closer to us; through him Christ reaches us in a more concrete, more particular way--especially those of us whose lives he changed forever by his teaching and witness.
When I was 23 years old, and deeply immersed in the mental suffering that I have since recognized to be a chronic illness, I picked up the writings of John Paul II. I had read him before, many times. But here I read him with a anguished, searching heart. And my heart recognized something in those words, and in the energy of the man who had written them. It was as if everything he said shined with an implicit but unmistakable truth: "God loves you. God loves every human person. God wants to draw particularly close to every human person in this time, in this age when so many have forgotten Him. God wants to glorify His mercy. Do not be afraid."
"Every person matters. Every person, absolutely every human person has been created by God and is loved by God. And that means that even you, John, are loved by God."And I felt that I was loved, personally, by the man who wrote the words that I was reading. I "met" him in a dialogue of mind and heart, and through him, I met Jesus Christ in a new way--a way that has remained fundamental to my identity and my way of looking at life. I discovered Jesus not just as a subject for theological study but as a Person who is really there "on the other side" of my prayers, who loves me, who is active in my life and who enables me to love Him.
Ever after, as I walked with Christ on the road that John Paul II had pointed out to me, I thought of the pope as my friend. And when God's providence brought me to the one who was to be the companion on the road of my life--my wife Eileen--He saw to it that the two of us, at the beginning of our journey together, would meet John Paul II and receive his blessing.
But there was a surprise in meeting him. He came toward us, and I remember experiencing the same thing that so many others have spoken of: his personal attention, as if we were the only people in the world at that moment. And yet we also felt something else: his great suffering, his vulnerability, his own need to be loved.
It was a privileged moment. We hugged him and held him and cried out, "We love you, we love you." He needed to experience Christ's love through us, and I know that in that moment we strengthened him. He said very emphatically in English, "Thank you." And then we asked him to bless our marriage, and he traced the sign of the cross on our foreheads. A bond was established between him and us, and the family that God has fashioned out of our married life.
After he died, I felt no hesitation in speaking to him, and in entrusting myself and my family to his prayers. He has been close to us through all our difficulties and joys.
And now our relationship grows in a new way. We join with the praying Church when we call upon him. Our friendship is rediscovered in the great companionship of the communion of saints, and we now joyfully invoke the prayers and the protection of our friend Blessed John Paul II.
He still says the same thing: "Be not afraid. Jesus loves you."
Sunday, May 1, 2011
Friday, April 29, 2011
Divine Mercy A-B-C
Christ is Risen, Alleluia! Easter Friday.
I got this from somewhere. I don't know whether it's common expression or if someone deserves credit for it. I expect they won't mind; this is just a blog, after all.
It's a summary of the Divine Mercy as understood by the great and humble St. Faustina. It's easy to commit to memory, as easy as "ABC":
A — Ask for His Mercy. God wants us to approach
Him in prayer constantly, repenting of our sins and
asking Him to pour His mercy out upon us and upon
the whole world.
B — Be merciful. God wants us to receive His mercy
and let it flow through us to others. He wants us to
extend love and forgiveness to others just as He does
to us.
C — Completely trust in Jesus. God wants us to know
that the graces of His mercy are dependent upon our
trust. The more we trust in Jesus, the more we will
receive.
I got this from somewhere. I don't know whether it's common expression or if someone deserves credit for it. I expect they won't mind; this is just a blog, after all.
It's a summary of the Divine Mercy as understood by the great and humble St. Faustina. It's easy to commit to memory, as easy as "ABC":
A — Ask for His Mercy. God wants us to approach
Him in prayer constantly, repenting of our sins and
asking Him to pour His mercy out upon us and upon
the whole world.
B — Be merciful. God wants us to receive His mercy
and let it flow through us to others. He wants us to
extend love and forgiveness to others just as He does
to us.
C — Completely trust in Jesus. God wants us to know
that the graces of His mercy are dependent upon our
trust. The more we trust in Jesus, the more we will
receive.
There is little that I need to add to this. Let's beg God to make us this way. Ask mercy, Be merciful, Completely trust...A, B, C. God loves us so much. We are afraid of suffering, because we don't understand that He is trying to open us up and enlarge us according to the measure of His love. We must trust. If we feel like we can't trust Him, then we must ask Him to enable us to trust Him. To ask Him for this is to begin, already, to trust. And the more we trust in Jesus, the more we will receive.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Peace and the Politics of Mercy
It is almost ten o'clock at night, and it is hardly the time to begin an essay on political philosophy. So I shall restrain myself.
I already know the answer to the question, "Will there ever be peace on earth?" A Christian knows that the answer is "no". Peace comes at the end of all things. It is the New Jerusalem. Evil will endure as long as the present age endures.
A historian knows this too. Jesus concisely summed up the history of the world when He said, "there will be wars and rumors of wars...." The history of the world is largely a history of war.
But can we not desire peace, work for peace, pray for peace--at least as much peace in as many places as frail human nature will bear? Certainly. "World Peace" is a dream and an abstraction. But peace among real people, in real circumstances, for a certain time (precious time), is within the reach of human efforts aided by the God of peace. Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called sons of God.
I have no solutions to offer for resolving any of the current conflicts that plague our world (I have opinions and frustrations, which I often express in other contexts, but at best they add nothing and at worst they contribute my own irascibility to the swirl of violence that surrounds these wars). There are other wars too, smaller ones that we don't hear about unless we really search through the news. And there are peoples who look upon each other across borders, and even within borders, as hated enemies.
What can I do to be a peacemaker in the world?
There is another beatitude that contains the key: Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy.
Mercy is the key to peace.
Peace with God, which is where it all begins. Peace within the family, in the parish, in the community, in work relationships, on the Internet...Peace in my world. Peace can radiate out from me, if I am a man of mercy, if I do the works of mercy.
What does this mean? It means a whole new way of looking at human weakness, human frailty, human failure, in myself and in those I encounter. The weakness of others, the faults of others, the capacity that others have to cause us pain by their failures and above all in their actions toward us--all of these things give birth to conflict, estrangement, and separations. They wound and break relationships. They divide us. They take root and establish the foundations of rivalry and the partisan spirit that so often afflicts our common endeavors.
Mercy changes everything. Mercy sees the weakness in others as a possibility to help, to give, to forgive, perhaps to endure through love. Mercy gives "space" to the other person for growth in love; mercy gives encouragement, extends empathy, seeks to build up--always--unity in truth and love. Sometimes, mercy must have the courage to fight, to break down resistance, to seek out those who have run away--but mercy never fights against the person; it always fights for the person, for their true good and against what hinders it.
Mercy seeks, especially in the face of human weakness and failure, for the constructive possibilities of love, of rebuilding what is human, of healing. Mercy is love's response to weakness, indifference, and even rejection. It does not take offense. It keeps on loving. It loves more.
But I cannot be merciful by my own power. I have received, and continue to receive, mercy from God. He is healing me, and it is only through Him that I can hope to be an instrument of mercy to others. It is only through Him that I will find the courage to suffer that weakness and failure in others and in myself that remains, for as long as it remains.
This is what builds peace: persons, families, communities, environments where mercy is given and received. This is the hope of peoples and nations: forgiving and moving forward, bearing one another's burdens, working together toward a common goal. Solidarity. Mercy. Even on the political level, the Christian proposal is the only reasonable and practical hope for human community: a "politics of mercy."
All mercy flows from the Cross, where Jesus responds to all our violence and all our resistance by enduring it in His own body and giving it back to us as a gift of love.
Let us begin by opening our hearts to receive this Gift. Jesus I trust in You.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
The Souls of Little Children
It's Wednesday of Easter Week.
Every Wednesday of Easter Week is special to me. In the Divine Mercy Novena, this day is dedicated to humble souls, and to the souls of little children.
Little children.
They send all of heaven into ecstasy, the prayer tells us. They are the Heavenly Father's favorites.
I wasn't thinking of this on Easter Wednesday, 2007. I simply broke down in tears over my tiny little daughter, in the hospital, so many months, with no end in sight, facing--possibly --more surgery.
"God, please save my little girl."
I didn't realize that it was her special day in the heart of God. I didn't reflect on the love Jesus has for the little children, on the special place they have in His suffering heart as He opens His arms on the Cross.
There is no way to explain the suffering of little children. And there are so many who suffer. The world groans with the suffering of little children.
God became man and suffered with them. This is a place where no words can be said. But we know by faith that God is present in this place, with His little children. He accompanies each of them; He shed every drop of His own blood to give His love to each one of them. This is not an explanation. This is a fact.
God was carrying the little girl he loved on that day. And He carried me--lost, powerless, and pleading for His help--He saw in me the little child that I have never ceased to be in His eyes.
Meanwhile, even as I shed tears of grief and exhaustion, the doctors were changing their minds. Josefina didn't need the surgery, they decided. It was time for her to go home.
Many children never go home. Many fathers shed tears that seem to be in vain. But God has seen and borne them all, not from some distant throne, but in a human heart that shed blood and water, that emptied itself so that it might encompass everything.
Since that day, I have grown four years younger, and Josefina has grown four years older. She is still a little child. And I am growing closer to being the child that God sees in me. This is my hope.
Every Wednesday of Easter Week is special to me. In the Divine Mercy Novena, this day is dedicated to humble souls, and to the souls of little children.
Little children.
They send all of heaven into ecstasy, the prayer tells us. They are the Heavenly Father's favorites.
I wasn't thinking of this on Easter Wednesday, 2007. I simply broke down in tears over my tiny little daughter, in the hospital, so many months, with no end in sight, facing--possibly --more surgery.
"God, please save my little girl."
I didn't realize that it was her special day in the heart of God. I didn't reflect on the love Jesus has for the little children, on the special place they have in His suffering heart as He opens His arms on the Cross.
There is no way to explain the suffering of little children. And there are so many who suffer. The world groans with the suffering of little children.
God became man and suffered with them. This is a place where no words can be said. But we know by faith that God is present in this place, with His little children. He accompanies each of them; He shed every drop of His own blood to give His love to each one of them. This is not an explanation. This is a fact.
God was carrying the little girl he loved on that day. And He carried me--lost, powerless, and pleading for His help--He saw in me the little child that I have never ceased to be in His eyes.
Meanwhile, even as I shed tears of grief and exhaustion, the doctors were changing their minds. Josefina didn't need the surgery, they decided. It was time for her to go home.
Many children never go home. Many fathers shed tears that seem to be in vain. But God has seen and borne them all, not from some distant throne, but in a human heart that shed blood and water, that emptied itself so that it might encompass everything.
Since that day, I have grown four years younger, and Josefina has grown four years older. She is still a little child. And I am growing closer to being the child that God sees in me. This is my hope.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Easter: God's Mercy Triumphs
It is still Easter. In the Christian tradition, Easter lasts for eight days. Today is Easter Tuesday. Every day this week is a high feast day. Every day, when we wake up, we can say with a special awareness, "This is the day the Lord has made. / Let us rejoice and be glad." And the week culminates in the Second Sunday, the Octave of Easter, Divine Mercy Sunday. Mercy: God's love manifested as His tender and faithful response to our helplessness.
God's mercy is always there. Perhaps you do not have feelings of cheerfulness and brightness this week. Trials, suffering, and pain don't necessarily observe the liturgical year. For some people, it may be a lonely week. Christ is risen, but you are still sick. You are still depressed. You are still afraid. Your spouse is still far away. You are still separated from those you love. You are still a messed up, struggling, confused human being.
But God's mercy is still real. It surrounds you. It upholds you. The Resurrection means this above all: that God's mercy triumphs. The risen body of Jesus bears the wounds of the Cross. Even the wounds are transformed.
Your wounds are not an obstacle to God. He only wants you to give them to Him. He wants to take your wounds inside of His. Whatever your pain is, give it especially to Him this week. He has promised you joy.
Trust in Him.
Monday, April 25, 2011
These People: The Sign and the Promise of Easter
Christ is Risen, Alleluia! He is Risen indeed, Alleluia! Alleluia!
I could write many things about Easter, and I will in the coming days. But on this Easter Monday I just want to look at the great, day to day sign of the miracle of Easter in my life: THESE PEOPLE. I ask the Lord for the grace to love every person He puts in my life in any way. But these are the people first of all, day after day, who make up the road of my life, who I must love and who I want to love so as to share in the glory of the Resurrection: the woman who is at my side, and whose unity with my life is manifested in the children that surround us and look to us for love.
I love you, dear Eileen, and I love you John Paul, Agnese, Lucia, Teresa, and Josefina. And I love all of you my dear friends and your families, who share our lives and struggles, who are our help and support, who take joy in our lives as we do in yours, the joy which is a foretaste of the Eternal Easter.
May the Risen Jesus bring all of us to the joy of sharing in His Glory together forever. And may He have mercy on the whole world, and make us instruments of His mercy to everyone we meet.
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Holy Saturday: From Glory to Glory
Christ is in the tomb, and we are with Him today in the mystery of His silence. We go about the day, with our routines and our business, preparing for tomorrow's Easter meal with family. Some of us watch a hockey playoff game. We live our lives on Holy Saturday, the time "between" the victory of Christ's glory on the Cross and the manifestation of the fullness of that victory in the Resurrection.
The glory is already manifest on the Cross. The Beauty that saves the world is radiant here, in this event, in the revelation of Jesus the Son embracing the depths of every sin and every horror and every violence against God and man, and doing so as an expression of His love for the Father. Jesus loving the Father in His final breath, gives up His Spirit--He sends forth the Spirit from the Cross into the world and inside the secret depths of every human person who ever lives. The event of the Cross is the great Icon of the mystery of the Trinity, an event which manifests and communicates the eternal love of the Father and the Son that breathes forth and is the Spirit, the mystery of Trinitarian communion, of Love, of the reality that "God is Love."
The Cross is the definitive revelation of Divine Love, and therefore the definitive unveiling of transcendent Truth, Goodness, and Beauty; the opening up of the mystery that is inscribed on every human heart. Jesus is glorified right there, in the moment of His total self-abandoning surrender to the Father in the Spirit unto death, encompassing and even going beyond--immeasurably beyond--every sin in the regenerating energy of His obedient love. Does not Jesus say it Himself in the Gospel of St. John: "Father, the hour has come! Glorify your Son, that your Son may glorify you" (John 17:1). The Glory of the Cross. Jesus dies for our sins, but He dies first and above all because He loves the Father. He dies to make present in history, to reveal, and to communicate the glory of God's love. God is Love. And for this reason He loves each one of us.
Baptism has given us a share in His redeeming death. The glory has already begun in us. Faith recognizes that our life is a Holy Saturday, in which we are sown deep in the earth with Christ, in which we give ourselves in love so as to break open in that earth and go beyond ourselves and bear fruit, coming forth from the ground, breaking beyond death through love--Christ's love in us--awaiting, anticipating, beginning even to taste the fruit: the coming Resurrection, the promise of Eternal Life.
God is Love. God loves us. God has made us out of love and for love. God had come to save us, so that we might be empowered to love, to love Him, to share in His love, to give His love to one another. Thus God's love is glorified, revealed and given in its radiance, its beauty.
We live our lives on Holy Saturday, aware of the glory of the Cross through faith and love, moving forward to the glory of the Resurrection in hope. Our daily life is vivified by the hope of Glory.
The glory is already manifest on the Cross. The Beauty that saves the world is radiant here, in this event, in the revelation of Jesus the Son embracing the depths of every sin and every horror and every violence against God and man, and doing so as an expression of His love for the Father. Jesus loving the Father in His final breath, gives up His Spirit--He sends forth the Spirit from the Cross into the world and inside the secret depths of every human person who ever lives. The event of the Cross is the great Icon of the mystery of the Trinity, an event which manifests and communicates the eternal love of the Father and the Son that breathes forth and is the Spirit, the mystery of Trinitarian communion, of Love, of the reality that "God is Love."
The Cross is the definitive revelation of Divine Love, and therefore the definitive unveiling of transcendent Truth, Goodness, and Beauty; the opening up of the mystery that is inscribed on every human heart. Jesus is glorified right there, in the moment of His total self-abandoning surrender to the Father in the Spirit unto death, encompassing and even going beyond--immeasurably beyond--every sin in the regenerating energy of His obedient love. Does not Jesus say it Himself in the Gospel of St. John: "Father, the hour has come! Glorify your Son, that your Son may glorify you" (John 17:1). The Glory of the Cross. Jesus dies for our sins, but He dies first and above all because He loves the Father. He dies to make present in history, to reveal, and to communicate the glory of God's love. God is Love. And for this reason He loves each one of us.
Baptism has given us a share in His redeeming death. The glory has already begun in us. Faith recognizes that our life is a Holy Saturday, in which we are sown deep in the earth with Christ, in which we give ourselves in love so as to break open in that earth and go beyond ourselves and bear fruit, coming forth from the ground, breaking beyond death through love--Christ's love in us--awaiting, anticipating, beginning even to taste the fruit: the coming Resurrection, the promise of Eternal Life.
God is Love. God loves us. God has made us out of love and for love. God had come to save us, so that we might be empowered to love, to love Him, to share in His love, to give His love to one another. Thus God's love is glorified, revealed and given in its radiance, its beauty.
We live our lives on Holy Saturday, aware of the glory of the Cross through faith and love, moving forward to the glory of the Resurrection in hope. Our daily life is vivified by the hope of Glory.
Friday, April 22, 2011
The Cry
Today I wish simply to post a poem I wrote a few years ago on Good Friday. May this holy day bring God's mercy once again on the world, and lead us to love Him and to love one another.
The Cry (Good Friday, 2006)
“and Jesus uttered a loud cry….”
In the quiet,
close
to the crowd
of ears made of dirt,
drawn of dull dusty ground,
shaped by tender hands,
deafened
by the dawning world’s ancient thunder;
opened to sound
by probing touch of healing fingers
pressing paralyzed, numb flesh.
Opened
to hear the sound of Your Voice.
You cry out
a word beyond all human speech.
And the clothing that concealed
us
in suffocation
is sundered by the vibration
of the last echo
of Your Voice—
suddenly silenced
under the hidden sun—
as Your Breath blows through
the living air.
The Cry (Good Friday, 2006)
“and Jesus uttered a loud cry….”
In the quiet,
close
to the crowd
of ears made of dirt,
drawn of dull dusty ground,
shaped by tender hands,
deafened
by the dawning world’s ancient thunder;
opened to sound
by probing touch of healing fingers
pressing paralyzed, numb flesh.
Opened
to hear the sound of Your Voice.
You cry out
a word beyond all human speech.
And the clothing that concealed
us
in suffocation
is sundered by the vibration
of the last echo
of Your Voice—
suddenly silenced
under the hidden sun—
as Your Breath blows through
the living air.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
He Wants My Love
A silence is spreading through the house. Jesus is in the Garden.
He is weeping. He is praying to the Father. He is carrying me and every one of us in His heart and working to open up the depths of our freedom to the miracle of conversion as He prays, "Not my will, but thine be done."
Our hearts are asleep, like the disciples, and Jesus comes searching for our love.
God wants our love. God the Son, in His humanity, in His human heart, "needs" our love. He goes out to the disciples. I am always struck by that. He goes out to them, seeking their companionship.
God, in Christ, "needs help." He who is Infinite Mercy, in this mysterious moment, "needs" mercy from us.
That need of the suffering Christ is not far from us. For in His heart, He has taken to Himself and made His own the suffering of every person. So every person in need is Christ. And who is the person in need? The person who is with you right now.
Every person is in need. They need love. They need understanding. They need companionship on the road to their destiny. In them Christ seeks us. And our hearts are sleeping.
He understands. We are weak. But that same Compassion burns with the desire to wake us: "Watch and pray that you do not enter into temptation"--Watch and pray, seek the love of God, that you may not be tempted by distraction and indifference to miss the mystery of God coming to you in your life, seeking your love and pouring out His mercy, coming to you in the ordinary events and circumstances and persons that present opportunities for love, for giving yourself away, for opening yourself up to the eternal.
God longs to give mercy to us, and He longs for us to give mercy to Him in one another, so that the whole universe might be born anew in the image and the radiance of the Eternal Love that He is, and was, and ever shall be.
Dear Jesus, I sleep. Then I run away. Then I follow at a distance. Then I deny You out of fear. And You forgive me in Your mercy. Jesus, You know that, at least, I want to love You.
Let me stay with You.
He is weeping. He is praying to the Father. He is carrying me and every one of us in His heart and working to open up the depths of our freedom to the miracle of conversion as He prays, "Not my will, but thine be done."
Our hearts are asleep, like the disciples, and Jesus comes searching for our love.
God wants our love. God the Son, in His humanity, in His human heart, "needs" our love. He goes out to the disciples. I am always struck by that. He goes out to them, seeking their companionship.
God, in Christ, "needs help." He who is Infinite Mercy, in this mysterious moment, "needs" mercy from us.
That need of the suffering Christ is not far from us. For in His heart, He has taken to Himself and made His own the suffering of every person. So every person in need is Christ. And who is the person in need? The person who is with you right now.
Every person is in need. They need love. They need understanding. They need companionship on the road to their destiny. In them Christ seeks us. And our hearts are sleeping.
He understands. We are weak. But that same Compassion burns with the desire to wake us: "Watch and pray that you do not enter into temptation"--Watch and pray, seek the love of God, that you may not be tempted by distraction and indifference to miss the mystery of God coming to you in your life, seeking your love and pouring out His mercy, coming to you in the ordinary events and circumstances and persons that present opportunities for love, for giving yourself away, for opening yourself up to the eternal.
God longs to give mercy to us, and He longs for us to give mercy to Him in one another, so that the whole universe might be born anew in the image and the radiance of the Eternal Love that He is, and was, and ever shall be.
Dear Jesus, I sleep. Then I run away. Then I follow at a distance. Then I deny You out of fear. And You forgive me in Your mercy. Jesus, You know that, at least, I want to love You.
Let me stay with You.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
My Trust is in Him
Lord, I am a troubled soul.
All my life, as far back as I can remember, I have searched for Truth, and I have longed to find certainty. I have also pursued comfort and the satisfaction of my own petty desires.
I am a divided man.
All my life, I have wrestled with doubt. Not doubt about You, O Lord, but doubt about myself. I believe in Your promises, Your power, Your love for me. But do I want You, O Lord? Do I really want You more than anything else? Do I really love the Truth more than myself? I know that You deserve my confidence. I know that You are trustworthy. But I do not trust myself. How can I trust the whimsical thing that I am?
I cannot trust myself.
Where am I to go? For most of my life, and through most of my days, I have wasted my energy searching for some rock inside myself that I can stand on. I have stumbled from one precipice to another. I have found no security, no certainty, inside myself. Lord, I don't know how to approach You without playing some sort of game.
I want You, but....
I like my life. I want stuff for myself. I want security in my relationship with You, and then "space" to follow my own whims and chase after all the silly things that I think will make me happy.
So I am always trying to bargain with You. I do not try to please You. I try to please myself without displeasing You. But this is not what I want. I want to love You. I want to change but I do not know how.
"Little John, you always forget. You cannot do it yourself. You cannot find any security inside yourself. You cannot find anything inside yourself. There is no rock inside of you. I am your Rock.
"That is why I came. That is why I died on the Cross. You know that, but you are living through the painful process of it becoming concrete in your life.
"You want Me because I AM DRAWING YOU TO ME. I have suffered the whole mystery of your life. I know you. Do not be afraid of your pettiness. I know what you need, when you need it, and how you need it. Do not worry about trusting yourself. Trust in Me.
"So you are bargaining with Me? Well, I am not bargaining with you. I have accepted you totally. I have embraced you completely in My sufferings.
"You must trust in Me. I know your heart. I know your desire. I have placed that desire in your heart. Ask. Ask that your desire might increase. You do not know how to change? I am already changing you. Ask Me to change you more.
"I am Mercy. I have come to save you. Do not be absorbed in yourself anymore. Turn to Me.
"TRUST IN ME."
All my life, as far back as I can remember, I have searched for Truth, and I have longed to find certainty. I have also pursued comfort and the satisfaction of my own petty desires.
I am a divided man.
All my life, I have wrestled with doubt. Not doubt about You, O Lord, but doubt about myself. I believe in Your promises, Your power, Your love for me. But do I want You, O Lord? Do I really want You more than anything else? Do I really love the Truth more than myself? I know that You deserve my confidence. I know that You are trustworthy. But I do not trust myself. How can I trust the whimsical thing that I am?
I cannot trust myself.
Where am I to go? For most of my life, and through most of my days, I have wasted my energy searching for some rock inside myself that I can stand on. I have stumbled from one precipice to another. I have found no security, no certainty, inside myself. Lord, I don't know how to approach You without playing some sort of game.
I want You, but....
I like my life. I want stuff for myself. I want security in my relationship with You, and then "space" to follow my own whims and chase after all the silly things that I think will make me happy.
So I am always trying to bargain with You. I do not try to please You. I try to please myself without displeasing You. But this is not what I want. I want to love You. I want to change but I do not know how.
"Little John, you always forget. You cannot do it yourself. You cannot find any security inside yourself. You cannot find anything inside yourself. There is no rock inside of you. I am your Rock.
"That is why I came. That is why I died on the Cross. You know that, but you are living through the painful process of it becoming concrete in your life.
"You want Me because I AM DRAWING YOU TO ME. I have suffered the whole mystery of your life. I know you. Do not be afraid of your pettiness. I know what you need, when you need it, and how you need it. Do not worry about trusting yourself. Trust in Me.
"So you are bargaining with Me? Well, I am not bargaining with you. I have accepted you totally. I have embraced you completely in My sufferings.
"You must trust in Me. I know your heart. I know your desire. I have placed that desire in your heart. Ask. Ask that your desire might increase. You do not know how to change? I am already changing you. Ask Me to change you more.
"I am Mercy. I have come to save you. Do not be absorbed in yourself anymore. Turn to Me.
"TRUST IN ME."
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Teresa: Extra Large Pizza, With Ham
Teresa, my 8 year old daughter, is the only member of the family that has not yet been a subject for reflection. She has so much personality that it is hard to know where to start.
She was such a little baby in the beginning. I used to sing to her:Teresa, Teresa, Teresa, Terees / So full of love and joy and peace. / Teresa, Teresa, Teresa, Terees / You're my wonderful girl But the song (I don't know how) quickly changed into "Teresa, Teresa, Teresa, Teresa, / YOU'RE ONLY THE SIZE OF AN EXTRA LARGE PIZZA!..."
As soon as Teresa was old enough to express herself, she started to...express herself, all over the place. She was determined to make the whole house laugh, whatever it took. It was clear from the beginning that she would win the family prize for biggest Ham. But as she grew older, she began to display other qualities of delicacy and affection, thoughtfulness and interiority.
Teresa is funny and downright crazy, especially when we are all together. She is also bright and inquisitive, always asking questions. She is very affectionate and considerate. Daddy can always count on a hug from Teresa. She also has a sense of when I am not feeling well, and a desire to comfort me.
Teresa is the "worrier" among the kids. She is the one who wants to be sure the door is locked, and that no burglars will come. She is also meticulous, and still loves to draw pictures and give them as presents to Mommy and Daddy. She is outgoing and open hearted. She had never been shy, and is always ready to strike up a conversation with perfect strangers. Especially if they have a dog.
My daughter Teresa loves dogs. She really, really wants a dog. She is so good with other people's dogs, so friendly and natural and sympathetic. And she is responsible and attentive enough that she will soon be ready to take care of a dog on her own.
There is only one problem: Daddy is horribly allergic to dogs. I can't be around dogs for very long without getting sick. I can't even be around people who have been around dogs for very long. And so, alas, we can't get a dog. Teresa has everything but a real dog. She has mountains of stuffed dogs. She has ceramic dogs. She has battery operated toy dogs that bark and walk across the floor. She has dog calendars. She even plays "puppy" with Josefina. But no real dog.
Teresa accepts the circumstance. She doesn't pine for her own dog. Instead she shows a special interest and friendliness toward any dog that comes along on its owner's leash.
As I said, Teresa has her sensitive side. She is perhaps the most openly devout of the children. The year she was born, I had taught a course on "Modern Spirituality" that included a large section on St. Therese of Lisieux. I really "discovered" St. Therese that year, and Teresa was named primarily for her (and also for Mother Teresa, who is one of the special heavenly protectors of our family). Teresa talks about praying, and often asks things about God and our relationship with Him. I know it is something she thinks about in her little mind and ponders in her heart. I wonder what God has planned for her.
Then there's the silly side of Teresa. This is what we see so often. Teresa hamming it up. When she gets on one of her "rolls," she drags all the kids--including John Paul--into silly land. Teresa is often behind the schemes that end up with children romping around the house and whooping like drunken sailors. Daddy or Mommy eventually have to blow the whistle. Then she has her own little performances: silly words, silly songs, funny faces. She gets very goofy while playing games, starts fooling around and making jokes about everything, and ends up driving John Paul--who is a purist about games--into a frenzy. John Paul and Teresa are often bickering, but they are also often playing together. They are mad at each other at least once a day, and a case between them usually needs to be adjudicated by Judge Mommy or Judge Daddy. It's not always easy because they are both good lawyers and Teresa is a proficient whiner.
But I know that when they grow up they are going to be the best of friends.
Teresa seems still to have a special sympathy for Daddy. She is like a little grown-up in some ways, and I feel like she is already my friend; she is a good listener, and she tries to understand and share my pains and my aspirations. Sometimes I feel like I have a glimpse of what she is going to be like as an adult. I hope she will be around with me as I grow old.
Still, God has His plan, and above all I want her to have the loving environment and the space and the freedom to hear His call, whatever it may be.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)