Relationship With Jesus Christ

It's easy to fall into the tendency to think of "Christianity" as merely a worldview, or a collection of ideas that explain the universe and direct us regarding what we should do. It's easy to act as if Christianity is primarily an intellectual system that has to be expounded and defended in competition with other intellectual systems. In fact, it's easy to go through the day reading about Christianity and writing about Christianity and talking about Christianity--all the while seeming to forget the reality that makes it worthwhile:

Jesus Christ.

How do I live so much of my life without an awareness of Him? Why does my heart not converse more with Him? O sure, I "pray"--but it's like I'm an official making a report to my boss from time to time. Or even if I speak with Him in sugary, "personal" terms, so much of it is still a game of dodge and duck, an effort to "love" Him but still keep Him at arms length. Which, of course, is the way I interact with the human persons who are important in my life. Please don't enter the fear zone.

But He said, "Do not be afraid."

How seldom do I just enjoy being with Him. Of course I have to attend to the many tasks of life. But He is with me, and He is inside of those little things. I feel as though I say morning prayer and then leave Him there on the wall. Why do I try to leave Him behind?

Sometimes I will turn to Him during the day, even with great intensity...when I need something! "Jesus, give me...." I suppose there is something childlike in this; I tease my own children about it, telling them that they seem to think my name is "Daddy Can I."

So what's the problem? I love Him. Of course I do. But I take Him for granted. And I am a little...afraid.

"Fear is useless. What is needed is trust."

I know. But I am still afraid. Why? I'm afraid that I can't measure up to Him. Of course I can't. I'm also afraid to let Him do what He wills with me. Lord let me see that what You want for me is for my happiness. It's the only thing that can make me happy.

I want to love You more, Jesus. I want to trust in You more. I want to live my life as a relationship with You.

"Lord, you know that I love you." Under all the junk and the forgetfulness and the fear,
I love you. Jesus I love you. Jesus I trust in You. Have mercy on me. Deepen my trust.

A Thirst For The Infinite

Some recent words from Benedict XVI that express some of the basic truths that are important to me, and to everyone:


We know that we cannot respond alone to our basic need to understand. For however much we think we are self-sufficient, we experience that we do not suffice. We need to open ourselves to something else, something or someone, that can give us what is missing. We must go out of ourselves and go toward the One who is capable of satisfying the width and breadth of our desire....


Humanity bears within it a thirst for the infinite, a yearning for eternity, a search for beauty, a desire for love, a need for light and truth, which impel us toward the Absolute. We carry within us the desire for God....


The desire for God never ceases within the human heart, even though we may not recognize it as such, because man is created by God and for God. Our Father tirelessly and with love constantly draws man to himself. Only in union with God, the well-spring of life, will we find the truth and happiness for which we continually yearn (cf. CCC No. 27).

From Audience of Wednesday, May 11, 2011

Growing Up (Finally)

Growing up is a humbling experience.

I am now in my late forties. Many of the "facts" that I asserted with such zeal and conviction when I was a younger man were, I now realize, only opinions combined with passion. I still hold many of these opinions, but in a different way, recognizing that they pertain to practical matters and that they must be open to the organic development that the experience of life brings to our understanding.

At the same time, the essential Truths--the matters upon which my life is really grounded --have gained greater firmness and depth in my mind. My faith has grown stronger. The relationship of my reason to reality has grown more solid.

Truth is a matter for adherence, for witness, and for reasoned presentation and defense.

Opinions are matters for continued observation and discussion, matters in which something of the truth is perceived, but many questions remain. And in the world of practical things, questions often remain because the reality under consideration is still in the process of development. I find that the more I understand about concrete problems, the more inclined I am to form intelligent questions rather than (even provisional) answers.

Some Examples of Matters of Truth: Jesus Christ is God Incarnate; He communicates His life through the Church; the human person is created to love and to be loved; it is always wrong to directly intend to kill an innocent human being; I can only find true happiness through a living relationship with God, and with the human persons that He has given me in my life.

Some Examples of Matters of Opinion or Question (and I frankly feel the need to state all these as questions, even though I hold strong opinions on some of them): What is the significance of the rise of "traditional" Islam in its native countries and in the West? How should the West engage Islam? How ought democratic institutions to play a role in the development of emerging nations? What are the distinctive characteristics of the United States of America as a nation? What needs to be recovered? What needs to be developed?

Okay, those may seem a little large and political. How about these: When the kids bring me one of their conflicts, when should I resolve it and when should I try to lead them to resolve it themselves? How much should I allow the kids to use the computer? What the heck are we going to do about High School for John Paul? And many more.

An interesting common thread runs through all my understanding and consideration, from adherence to the most profound Truth to considering the smallest questions. I cannot effectively accomplish any of these things "alone." I cannot "be" in isolation, much less understand anything.

There is God first, source of all good, source of the grace of faith, creator and sustainer of the light of reason. There is Jesus Christ, and the Church. There is reality that presents itself to me and informs my mind. And there are those who point to reality and distinguish it from my own fantasies: those, of course, who are responsible for preserving and transmitting the teaching of the Gospel in the Church, but also many other kinds of teachers (because in this life most of us will always need teachers), as well as friends, resources, doctors, advisors I can trust for guidance. And in a very special way, my wife. My wife!

I can't think straight without other people. I am not a great, self-generated autonomous individual. I can't do it by myself. The real, concrete recognition of this is a tremendous moment in the process of growing up.

It is also humbling.

I Need Other People

I need other people in my life.

I know there are those who are called to be hermits. But even they are not "alone," if they offer their solitude for the salvation of the world. But that is a special and mystical kind of life.

I need other people, in the most ordinary, human sense of the term. I am a weak and afflicted man, constantly in need of being reminded that I am loved, but more importantly, constantly in need of others to remind me of my vocation to love. I am naturally introspective and easily wrapped up in myself. It is not a place where I want to be, but I don't know how to get out by myself.

The way to get beyond myself is love. And the invitation to love, for me, usually comes from other people. I pray to God and I try to love God, but it is too easy for me to forget about God--even while praying--and get wrapped up in some imaginary "God" that is the product of my own circular thinking. How easily prayer can become a monologue and a worrying session. Of course, I know God is there; He accepts anything that we even try to give Him and lovingly turns it toward the good. Still, if life was just me by myself with my prayers, I would be a sad and lonely and atrophied person.

Throughout the day, the summons to love comes from other people. I can't do this thing called "life" by myself. I don't think I could even keep my sanity, much less attain my destiny. These other people are first and above all my wife and family, but also everyone who has been given to me in my circumstances--people who depend on me, and on whom I depend. They turn me "outwards" with all of that intensity and perceptiveness of my personality. And so I am focused on affirming and helping others instead of analyzing and devouring myself.

It is also a tremendous blessing to be able to write in a context in which I know that someone is going to read my words. Writing could easily degenerate into a self-absorbed exercise were it not for the desire to communicate, and the realization--thanks to this medium--that communication will in fact be achieved, and that the words written here will be found useful by others.

Many complex motivations, of course, arise in relationships with other people--not the least of which are vanity and self-affirmation. But when relationships and communication strive outward, for truth, goodness, and beauty, they become the path for the freedom and transcendence of the person. Whether face to face or in writing, they embody the giving and receiving of love that is the mystery of God's own life and the means by which He draws us to Himself.

May 13, 1981

Thirty years ago today.

I was a Senior in a public High School of 2500 students. We were weeks away from graduation.

It was early in the afternoon, I think. What was on my mind? I don't remember. But I was walking down the hallway. I can see that hallway right now in my memory. In living color like I'm walking down it right now. I was coming up to a classroom door. Was I about to go in? I don't remember.

One of my fellow Catholic students came up to me, ashen-faced, and said, "Did you hear, the Pope has been shot."

It was like she had said something in Chinese. For a moment, my brain simply could not put the words together. Then I thought, "What?"

The Pope had been shot.

Was he dead? Was he dying? All I remember was a numbness.

And our secular, American public school came to a stop. They sent us all to our home rooms, where there were TVs. And we watched, stunned: Jews, Catholics, Protestants, Agnostics, potheads, jocks, nerds, blacks, whites, honor students, deadbeats, drama club kids, orchestra kids, Student United Nations kids, newspaper staff kids, all kinds of kids--the large collection of public school humanity united by some mysterious thing. We all felt something strangely in common in those moments. It's the only thing I can remember that ever brought us together in that way.

And everyone said to me, "I'm so sorry...." As if someone had shot my father.

And they were right. Someone had shot my father.

May 13, 1981. History held it's breath. The TV vigil continued at home. The earth prayed.

But Blessed John Paul II lived. He lived to change the world. He lived to be God's instrument to change our hearts. A loving maternal hand guided that bullet.

The Joy of Offering

...that we may attain the joys of eternal life.

Joy is the fruit of that secure relationship of love with something or someone good. But as St. Augustine pointed out so many centuries ago, every good in this world whispers, "I did not make myself. I was made by Someone Else...." It is only in that Someone Else that lasting joy can be found, the joy that encompasses and fulfills the promise contained in created things.

When I say those words above in the morning, and again at noon, during this Easter season, what am I asking of God? I am asking to "attain the joy"--the joy that endures because it is the fruit of a relationship with the One who is worthy of eternal love, the Only One who can exhaust and engage fully and finally the love that has been awakened in my heart.

I am asking God to make my day an "offering." This means affirming the reality of things according to that inner secret that constitutes their being and goodness: the fact that they belong-to-Another. And so I cannot possess things by dominating them and reducing them to my own measure. My life becomes "offering" when I use and possess and love things in a way that takes them completely seriously, because things are a hymn of rejoicing to the One who makes them be, and the only way to truly love them is to join in that hymn. The ecstasy of the beauty of things is their giving-back-of-themselves to the One who sustains them and calls them to their own fruition. I offer my day when I join in with the "giving" of things, when I allow their song of rejoicing to enter into my awareness, when my engagement of reality becomes a prayer, a "blessing of the Lord" that gives voice to the hymn of creation: Bless the Lord, all you works of the Lord. Praise and exalt Him above all forever!

How does this "offering" extend to love for another person? The greatest gift, the greatest beauty in all of creation is the other person. There is much to be said about this. For now, I can only reflect that in loving other persons I am loving others who, like me, are called to the joys of eternal life. When I engage in a relationship with another person, I "offer" that relationship by recognizing that this someone is not primarily a  source of satisfaction or utility for me, but someone who has a destiny, who is "for Another." To love a person as offering is to love them for what they truly are, that is, to love them for the sake of that Other and their relationship with that Other. It is to love their destiny.

Give It All To God

“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.”

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  http://t.co/ddwYeqX) 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!

Mothers Day

I hope everyone had a Happy Mothers Day. We certainly did. There is a happy Mommy with some of her girls (and, yes, "Uncle Walter" in the background). There is also a picture to prove that I bought flowers for my wife. We also got some for my own dear mother (my parents came over for the day), and they got some for Eileen. It was a nice circle of exchanging gifts of flowers.

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.

We Are Christians

We are Christians. What does this mean?

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!"

You Scared Us, You Mischief Maker!

You are a troublemaker! A big bundle of trouble, that's what you are!

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.

On Being Merciful

Be 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.

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.

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.

Blessed John Paul II And Us

The joy of yesterday remains in my heart today.

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."

Divine Mercy and Blessed John Paul II

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.

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.

Peace and the Politics of Mercy

Christ is Risen, Alleluia!
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.

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.

Easter: God's Mercy Triumphs

Christ is Risen, Alleluia!

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.