Category: Spirituality

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Untie the Ropes!

I recently read some sermons from St. Sharbel (1828-1898). I was blown away by his depth of spirituality and practical human wisdom. Drawing from his experience of monastic life, his pastoral ministry, and his final 23 years if life as a hermit, he came to understand the human heart at a deep level. Now in heaven, he seems to be one of those chosen miracle workers who (in designs known only to God) has become a “go-to” Saint in time of need.

Here in the United States, Sharbel Makhlouf is not exactly a household name. But he is immensely and intensely popular among those who know him. I first learned about him 25 years ago from my crazy Lebanese friends (you know who you are!). In many ways, Sharbel is in the Maronite Catholic Church what St. Anthony or St. Thérèse are in the Roman Catholic Church. You find their statues and shrines in churches everywhere – usually with multiple votive candles blazing and possibly even with keepsakes or personal mementos left behind. Half the pilgrims are storming heaven for help in time of need, and the other half are pouring out their thanksgiving for prayers answered. It seems that God chooses certain Saints to be heavenly miracle workers, close companions and friends to us here below, still bearing fruit in our lives as we learn from them to trust and surrender more deeply.

I remember visiting Mexico City in 2001, and noticing shrines of Sharbel in several of the churches there. These were not Lebanese churches. Somehow this obscure Arab monk and hermit had found his way into the devotional life of everyday Mexicans. The abundance of ribbons plastering the wall around him bore testimony that these Mexican Catholics had discovered a new and well-trusted heavenly friend. In that word-of-mouth culture, word got around that this is a Saint who gets things done.

Personally (and in this blog post) I am less interested in Sharbel’s miracles worked from heaven than I am in the divine wisdom he imparted while on earth. His preaching is profound. I hope to share several insights in the weeks ahead.

In one of his homilies, Sharbel offers the image of a ship setting out on a great voyage across the sea. Man is born from the heart of God and destined to return to the heart of God. Any time we allow ourselves to watch and to listen with deep attentiveness, we notice that movement – in our own heart and all around us. We hear that voice beckoning us to cross the ocean and come home.

But the ocean is scary, and our ship is still moored to the dock, held fast by many ropes. We untie several of the ropes with ease, but there tend to be one or two that we simply don’t want to untie. We resist. We insist that things will be more stable and secure if we keep those ropes tied fast.

Sharbel reminds us of our deeper truth: “The ship is destined to cross the sea and not to remain in port. It is made to navigate far and wide. It is necessary to untie all its ropes; if even one of them remains, it will prevent it from leaving the port.”

Four centuries earlier, St. John of the Cross made the same observation. A bird that has its leg tethered cannot fly free. It matters not whether it is a large chain or just a tiny thread– until it is severed the bird will not be free to fly.

Why is it so hard for us to untie all the ropes and put out into the deep? I have struggled so often with surrendering the last of my ropes to the Lord. I willingly reorder so many things in my life and make great sacrifices – but resist and resist letting go of that last thing or two. It’s a false security, rooted in ungodly self-reliance and pride.

Sharbel cuts through these lies with simple and effective words: “All security is an illusion without the peace of Christ.”

Our own best efforts usually leave a few ropes still tied fast. Sharbel encourages us to allow God’s Word, which is living and effective, sharper than any two-edged sword, to set us free: “Let the Word of God release you from your bonds by breaking them one after the other, even if it causes you suffering. Do not stagnate in your inclinations and thoughts, even if they offer you rest and security … Do not fear to free yourself from the shore and to leave the port; give yourself up to God in order to free yourself from your chains.”

How? How can we surrender in this way when it can feel so impossible? Sharbel urges us to deep and serious prayer.  “One who prays lives out the mystery of existence, and one who does not pray scarcely exists.”

He is not so much talking about reciting prayers as allowing ourselves to enter into deep silence, to be drawn into the movement back to the Father. He describes the experience: Listen humbly. Understand deeply. Witness modestly.

When we listen attentively, we begin to understand deeply. We realize and feel the truth that we are but a drop of water amidst the great current that leads back to God the Father. Apart from that volume of water, we are but a drop; within it, we find that we can keep moving back to him. We find that there is peace amidst the great movement – one that we do not in any way control. Sharbel gently but firmly admonishes us, “Do not agree to be outside this movement.”

That movement is always there, in the depth of our heart. But we so often prefer to step outside of our own heart – seeking false rest and security in things that will never satisfy. Sharbel warns us, “Rest far from the heart is a deception.”

In God alone be at rest, my soul. When I am tempted to let myself be tied down to false ports, pretending to offer me safety, may the Lord give me the trust and fortitude that I need to untie all the ropes and set sail on this great voyage back to the Father’s heart.

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Dispelling the Shadows of Shame

I have come to realize that shame is the devil’s tactic of choice in his efforts to ruin our human existence. Certainly he entices and allures, divides and distracts. Occasionally he openly attacks, but he would much rather not. In those moments we might call upon the name of the Lord and be saved. If there’s anything the devil can’t stand, it’s being defeated yet again.

Rather than an open fight, the devil much prefers to lurk in the shadows and undermine us without our even noticing. As Kevin Spacey famously said in The Usual Suspects: “The greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn’t exist.”

The devil subtly shames us with his lies, keeping us from becoming fully ourselves. If we don’t unmask him and expose him, if we don’t even notice that he’s there, he can deceive us with ease, convincing us that we are unlovable, that we must avoid being vulnerable, and that we must hide ourselves from others and even from God.

Curt Thompson wrote a marvelous book on the subject entitled The Soul of Shame: Retelling the Stories We Believe About Ourselves. He offers the image of a “shame attendant” who follows each of us around, pretending to be a loyal servant, eagerly whispering his counsel in our ear. I think immediately of Grima Wormtongue from The Lord of the Rings, who kept sapping and undermining the strength of King Theoden with his whispered distortions and lies.

Shame is all about distorting our true story. We humans are storytellers by our very nature. Even though we only know some of the facts in any given situation, we generally cannot resist filling in the gaps with assumptions about the parts of the story that we do not know. This is how rumors get started. This is why twenty different witnesses can give twenty different accounts of the same event. This is why one momentary interaction in daily life can sometimes feel like just a normal human interaction and other times can send us on a downward spiral for hours or even days.

An acquaintance walks past without stopping to talk. A co-worker asks for a status report on our project that we are behind on. A parish member asks us how our struggling child is doing in school. A friend posts social media photos of amazing family activities. A spouse offers a suggestion for how to do something differently. Any one of these innocuous experiences can cause a sudden shift. We might immediately feel the urge to withdraw or isolate or procrastinate; we might lash out at the person; we might find ourselves replaying conversations over and over in our mind, trying to find just the right response.

Behind those reactions are the whispers of our shame attendant: There you go again; you always fail at those things… You’ll never be as successful as him… You’ll never be beautiful like her… Of course she would walk away from you; why would you let someone get close to you like that?… He wouldn’t understand – no one will ever really understand you… If you make mistakes like that, no one will want to be around you anymore… You’re stuck; nothing will ever change… People will always let you down; they’ll leave you once they really get to know you…

The devil is the father of lies and a murderer from the beginning. He sees God’s glory in us and cannot stand it. Often very early in life, he begins his carefully planned attack. He sneaks in when we are the most powerless and vulnerable, and whispers lies and half-truths into our ears. He uses a few facts to begin distorting our story. This constant whisper becomes so much a part of our life that we cease noticing it. We learn to hide and isolate, for fear of feeling vulnerable.

The hiding and isolating can come in many forms: avoidance and withdrawal, shifting the blame to others, putting on a fake persona, overachieving, or addictive behaviors. Every addiction is fueled by shame. Whereas intimate relationships run the risk of abandonment or rejection, the soothing of an addiction (sugar, alcohol, shopping, pornography, binge watching) will always be there for us, won’t make any immediate demands, and will numb the shame if only for a brief time.

Perfectionism is also fueled by shame, and often goes hand in hand with addictive behaviors. Behind every perfectionist is a shame attendant whispering why failure is not an option: I am only lovable if I am accomplished and successful; I am not lovable when I make mistakes or fail; I have to…or else… When the pressures of perfectionism become crushing and unbearable, the escape of an addiction can feel irresistible.

Shame doesn’t just infect our minds in the form of negative self-talk or accusations; it also affects our emotions and even our bodies. We are a unity of body, mind, and spirit. So we typically feel shame and even carry it in our bodies. That is why our shame reactions can be so strong and so lasting in certain day-to-day human interactions. Many of us have shame-laden memories, unresolved moments in our story that we keep hidden away – moments in which we felt totally worthless or unlovable, threatened or powerless, rejected or alone or abandoned. In those memories, our body felt certain sensations. If we ever feel those again, our brain immediately sets off its “smoke alarm” (the amygdala) and warns us that we are in grave danger – even when we are not. We react. We hide. We isolate.

The solution is so counter-intuitive. We need to be seen and known, to come to the light, to be loved and to belong. It only works if I surrender and allow all of myself to be seen and accepted and loved (including the “bad” parts I would rather lock away).  If I pull back and only project an avatar of myself, a “safe” and edited version to share with others, I will never truly be known and loved – and shame can stay in the driver’s seat, ever reminding me that there are other weaker parts of me that must be kept hidden at all costs.

To be human is to be vulnerable, whether we like it or not. The whispers of shame convince us that we must not allow ourselves to feel vulnerable. So long as we are beholden to those whispers, we are unable to be healed and integrated as a whole person. We continue to experience what Mother Teresa described as the greatest form poverty – to feel alone and unloved.

And you – what are the parts of yourself that you hide from others or from God? Are you willing to be known and seen and heard by at least a few trustworthy people, and by God? He does not pull back; he loves us for who we are and he has always loved us. He has loved us “even when…” If we ask, he will also help us find others who can play that role of loving us for who we are. Those people are there to be found – we are just afraid!

Stepping out into the experience of vulnerability can be terrifying at times (believe me, I know!). But the shadows of shame take flight the more that we allow it to happen.

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Living Torches

The emperor Nero was a troubled soul. In A.D. 64, following the great fire that destroyed much of Rome, he cast the blame on the Christians and put many of them to death. The Roman historian Tacitus paints a disturbing picture: “Some of the Christians were crucified and set on fire at the end of the day, as torches to illumine the night. Nero kept his gardens for this spectacle, hiding among the crowd, dressed as a charioteer.”

Crucified and set on fire. One can only imagine the devil’s delight, just like that first Good Friday. But the devil cannot create. He can only twist or pervert the good things God makes, attempting to mock his Creator’s good designs. God can always untangle the devil’s knots, not only restoring things to their original goodness, but even bringing forth new and unimagined blessings.

As we approach Pentecost, those early Christian martyrs in Nero’s gardens can become a holy icon of our life in the Holy Spirit. If we allow ourselves to be crucified with Christ, if we surrender our hearts to undergo that dying and rising with Him, we shall be set ablaze with the fire of the Holy Spirit. We shall become living torches who light up the night of this world, bringing comfort, joy, and peace to all around us.

Do not quench the fire of the Holy Spirit. That is Paul’s exhortation to the Thessalonians.  The Holy Spirit is to be a flame constantly ablaze within us, drawing in and consuming all the lesser flames of our disordered and unruly passions.

When we prepared for our Confirmation, many of us learned about the 7 Gifts of the Holy Spirit: wisdom, understanding, counsel, fortitude, knowledge, piety, and fear of the Lord. The 7 Gifts are easily misunderstood. Well-meaning catechists tend to use gimmicks or clichés to attempt to make them interesting. The deeper truth is that those Gifts are perfective (seven being the biblical number of perfection). When they are activated in us, we are truly possessed by the Holy Spirit. He becomes the primary agent, and we are willing co-operators.

Without the gifts of the Holy Spirit taking over, even the best parts of ourselves will get in the way. There is that wonderful scene at the end of “Revelation,” a short story by Flannery O’Connor. The main character, the self-satisfied Ruby Turpin, discovers she is not quite so Christian as she had thought. Furious at God and not wanting to take an honest look at herself, she screams out to Him, “Who do you think you are?” In response, she has a vision. The twilight cloud in the sky overlooking the field is set ablaze, almost like a fiery bridge into heaven. Leading the procession are many of the kinds of people she would least expect to find in the Kingdom. By contrast, her own kind, the rule-following and decent kind, are the last and the least. And “she could see by their shocked and altered faces that even their virtues were being burned away.”

Our self-regulated attempts at virtue and holiness, our managing and controlling, protecting and striving, tend to quench that fire of the Holy Spirit.

So does codependency. Christian churches are often full of do-gooders who will jump in to help others with their problems, but resist being vulnerable and receptive themselves. Remember the story of the five foolish virgins, who ran out of fuel for their lamps – in contrast to the wise virgins, who kept their lamps well-stocked, so that they could burn brightly at the coming of the bridegroom. If we do not learn how to receive vulnerably, if we do not abide in the Lord and depend daily upon him, the fire of divine love within us will burn out. Yes, we are called to give and share, but it is the Holy Spirit that is given and the Holy Spirit that is shared. The work does not depend on us. We need only cooperate and yield.

In God’s mercy, he will offer us many invitations to surrender. Most of the time, the invitation comes in that still small voice, gently inviting us into communion. Yes, occasionally the invitation may come à la Flannery O’Connor, in the form of a violent interruption or intrusion, something that splits open a crack in our otherwise impenetrable armor. Moments of crisis can become moments of great opportunity. There is also the very human factor that some of us have to hit rock bottom before we will even think about surrendering. God knows what we need and deeply desires us to be aided by the Holy Spirit.

In whatever fashion those graces come, there is no avoiding the Paschal mystery. We must be crucified with Christ in order to rise with him. That victory needs to be extended to every part of our heart. That death with Christ opens up a space for the new life of the Holy Spirit. It is only when we give all over to God and approach him with empty hands that he can truly fill us. That includes the shameful and feeble parts of our heart that we would rather keep hidden away. It includes our most noble and virtuous parts, which are not quite as amazing as we would like to think. It includes every part of us. Then the Holy Spirt can truly take over. We can burn brightly as God’s living torches.

In our humanity, we shrink back from any form of suffering or dying. Our instincts tell us we will be annihilated. But this pain and this death is different. The fire will not consume us. It heals, unites, and purifies us as it burns. We become like the burning bush that Moses saw. We will be perpetually ablaze, and nothing of value in us will be definitively lost.

As we approach Pentecost, like those disciples in the Cenacle, we join with the Virgin Mary in prayer and beg the Lord to set us ablaze with the Holy Spirit. May we all become his living torches, shining for the world to see.

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Kerygma

Your new vocabulary word for the day is kerygma.

Kerygma means “proclamation.” It is a very simple proclamation, and it changes hearts. Kerygma happens when one follower of Jesus, moved by the Holy Spirit, becomes a herald of good news, and the hearts of the hearer(s) catch fire as they hear the message. When the kerygma happens, one follower of Jesus becomes the instrument whereby the hearer actually “hears” the gospel as good news, and is moved to heartfelt repentance, responding with a resounding “YES!” that starts showing itself in a new way of living.

Kerygma moments happen again and again in the Acts of the Apostles. Peter or one of the other disciples, filled with the Holy Spirit, stand up and boldly proclaim the Good News that Jesus has risen from the dead. It’s such a simple message. Jesus died. He died because of your sins and my sins. Jesus has risen from the dead. He has the power to forgive you and forgive me. He has the power to save you and save me from death. All we need to do is repent of our sins, get baptized and place our trust in Jesus instead of ourselves. Then we can begin following him together on an amazing new journey.

Peter and the apostles, the guys who snoozed and snored while Jesus was sweating blood in the Garden, the guys who left Jesus all alone to die, the guys who denied him and abandoned him – yes, those guys –become heralds proclaiming Good News. Each time they proclaim the simple message of salvation in Jesus, hearts are moved to repentance.

Whether it moves 3,000 hearts (as on the day of Pentecost) or whether it touches just one heart at a time, the power of the kerygma is real. It’s a life-changing experience. God wants all of us to “hear” the good news in a personal way that re-orders our entire life. We change and become “all in,” surrendering ourselves to Jesus.

Notice that it has nothing to do with Peter or the other apostles being smart, or educated, or talented, or strong (they were none of those things!). Indeed, it was precisely their ordinariness and their human weakness that made the Gospel message so compelling to the hearers. These were changed men. Whatever it was that they had, the hearers wanted to experience it.

There are a few core reasons why the kerygma works.

First, it is a work of the Holy Spirit. We are cooperators, but truly led by the Spirit in the process. The same Holy Spirit who raised Jesus from the dead is at work both in the heart of the one proclaiming and the one(s) hearing. And he does his work! He is the principal agent of all evangelizing. We all have access to that Holy Spirit through faith and baptism.

Secondly, the kerygma works because the disciple who is proclaiming has actually been transformed by his personal relationship with Jesus. He’s not just talking about Faith. He’s proclaiming Jesus. Not as an abstract idea, but as a real person who has really changed his life. The change is obvious to the hearers. It attracts them. It’s an open invitation. They hear the Holy Spirit gently whispering in their own hearts, “Wouldn’t you love to have that experience for yourself?”

Thirdly, there is always freedom in the kerygma. Whether it’s Jesus himself proclaiming the Good News of the Kingdom, or those early disciples proclaiming the Resurrection, they respect the freedom of the hearers. There is no forcing or pressuring, no nagging or manipulating, no guilting or shaming. If the hearers aren’t interested, so be it. Those who proclaim the kerygma only want followers who want to follow.

How different this all is from the everyday experience of so many Catholics during the last several decades. The majority of Catholics these days are simply NOT interested in talking openly about their personal relationship with Jesus. As for those who are willing (myself included), it is with deep sadness that I admit that many of us have too often been led more by fear than by the joy of the Holy Spirit. I confess that out of a fear of failure or rejection I have engaged in pressuring, manipulating, shaming, or other methods that were totally NOT used by the early disciples. It’s so hard to trust the Holy Spirit, to wait for God’s timing, and to respect human freedom – especially when it’s our own children or spouses or friends, and especially if we tie the outcome to our own personal worth, somehow thinking were are a failure if they say “no.”

I have definitely learned, slowly but surely, to be both patient AND bold. If the person is not yet ready to hear the kerygma, so be it. But when I notice that the Holy Spirit moving, as at Pentecost, when I sense the person asking “What must I do?” THEN is the moment to proclaim the Good News of Jesus – and in a truly personal way that speaks to her experience. THEN, perhaps for the first time, that person can see Jesus as his Savior.

It is such a privilege to be a herald of the kerygma. You get to be the person who announces good news of great joy to persons who are longing so deeply for it – and it changes their lives forever. What a joy!

But there’s a deeper question. Have I ever really “heard” the kerygma myself? How can I give what I have not myself received? There, I think, is a big part of why we Catholics (yes, even we priests and bishops) have struggled so much to be bearers of good news to a world that longs for good news. We may possess a great store of knowledge, we may faithfully follow many rules. Perhaps we even had an amazing experience of Jesus long ago. But if we are not perpetually being renewed in the Joy of the Gospel, if we have not truly internalized the kerygma, if others do not see in us that Jesus is truly “Good News,” then who will care?

I encourage each of us to ask today, what has been my own experience of receiving the kerygma? When has my heart burned with joy at receiving the good news?

For me personally, there have been many “kerygma moments.” I remember the first time I went to Confession at the age of nine, how honest I was despite my deep fear, and what an incredible joy I felt afterward. I remember many moments on retreats in which God comforted my heart, deepening my desire to trust and surrender to him. I remember the witness of my friend Peter, a seminarian in his late 30’s. During a few years of intense personal struggle for me in the late 1990s (moments in which I felt very unlovable) he kept gently gazing and speaking good news into the places of my heart that feared and doubted. The Holy Spirit was very much at work, consoling my heart at a time when I deeply needed it. When Peter explained that “a good friend is someone who sees right through you – and loves you anyway” I not only grasped the words intellectually; I truly “felt” their truth. It changed me.

I remember Peter tragically and unexpectedly dying that fall of 1999, after only five months ordained as a priest. I remember surviving a fire a month later, losing nearly all of my possessions. Truth be told, I would have gladly thrown them all away to have Peter’s friendship back.  Then I remember astounding graces and spiritual encounters during the Jubilee Year 2000. I received deep healing as others prayed over me and stood with awe and gratitude as others receive astounding graces and healings when I prayed over them. God knew what my heart needed and gave it to me; he assured me yet again that I could trust him and surrender.

Even then, there were parts of my heart that I was keeping locked away and out of sight. I simply wasn’t ready yet to receive totally or to surrender totally. I continued through life as a perfectionist, secretly fueled by shame, secretly insecure about not being good enough or loveable. Too often, I tried to “get life right,” to try harder or work more. I slowly got more disconnected and burnt out, losing sight of the good news of Jesus and of my identity as a beloved child of God.

Theologically, I knew the teachings of Scripture – God loves us while we are yet sinners. Salvation is a gift. We cannot earn our way to receiving love. But that was not what I was believing internally. There were layers of my heart that had still never heard the Gospel proclaimed. I was not yet ready.

Eventually, the trials of life wore me down. A few years back, I reached a point of recognizing that my life was totally unmanageable. I wanted to be well. I was ready to die to self. I allowed myself to surrender and to become vulnerable in ways I would previously have thought impossible. I began letting myself be “seen” by a few trusted people – letting all of myself be seen, mind you.  It has allowed me, more and more, to believe with all my heart that I am truly a beloved child of God – no matter what. Now that I no longer felt like I had to perform (or at least much less frequently felt that way) I discovered, to my amazement, that old habits of sin melted away.

I still have a long way to go, but the more I have internalized the kerygma, the more I have discovered that the Holy Spirit is opening up new opportunities for others around me to receive the good news. I find myself more frequently able to show kindness and mercy because I have been learning what it is to receive it.

It’s an old axiom of the first universities in the Middle Ages: nemo dat quod non habet (“a thing can’t give what it ain’t got”). We will not be able to proclaim Good News to others if we are not allowing Jesus to be good news for us.

What about you? Have you experienced the kerygma? Ask the Holy Spirit to help you remember any “kerygma moments” in which someone proclaimed good news to you and the Holy Spirit totally changed your heart.

If you can think of those moments, I encourage you to revisit them with gratitude and allow you heart to be touched once again.

If you cannot think of any, would you like to be moved by the Holy Spirit in that way? Would you also like to experience the joy of the Gospel? If so, you can ask God for that. And you can seek out someone who has experienced it, and ask that person for help. The Risen Jesus and the Holy Spirit just might surprise you with what comes next.

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From Wonder to Wisdom

Childlike wonder is a precious gift.

It is so much fun to observe the awe of children as they plunge into the present moment. They exhibit an eager and relentless curiosity, whether exploring the flora and fauna in the backyard or dismantling their toys to figure out how they actually work. They burst forth with such intense joy during spontaneous play as they gleefully cry out “Again!! Again!!” They tirelessly yearn for the eternal in their experience of the present moment. They instinctively and effortlessly convert a large open room into a playground or an adventure zone. They easily overlook the expensive Christmas gift their parents have purchased, instead playing for hours with the large cardboard box or the shiny wrapping paper.

The common denominator in all of these experiences is a marvelous human capacity to be wholly and wholeheartedly present in the present moment. We do not need to teach our children how to do this; they do it effortlessly. It is hardwired into our humanity. God has put the timeless into our hearts (Ecclesiastes 3:11).

Sadly, the trials and traumas of life often leave us splintered and fragmented, and we “grown-ups” can be much more guarded about entering freely and wholeheartedly into the present moment. We hold parts of ourselves back. This self-protection is so sad because the present moment is the only thing that really exists! The past is irretrievably gone, no matter how much we cling to it or dwell upon it. The future is not yet here and is largely unknown to us, no matter how much we try to control it. Certainly it is wise to learn from the past and plan for the future, but ultimately the “now” of the present moment is the one and only space in which we can encounter the living God. All times are simultaneously and perfectly present to him. There is no before and after, only the “now” of his eternal existence. As the most unique of all God’s creatures, made in his own image and likeness, we humans are most fully ourselves when we abide in the present moment.

We learn in Scripture that the beginning of Wisdom is to be found in the fear of the Lord (Psalm 111:10; Proverbs 9:10). The “fear” that leads to wisdom is not a cowering or groveling fear, and it is most definitely not the paralyzing fear that many of us know all too well. It is what Saint Thomas Aquinas calls “filial fear.”

Thomas describes the difference between “filial fear” and “servile fear.” Servile fear is a slave-like fear, motivated primarily by avoiding punishment. This kind of fear can certainly be a strong motivator, but it is not what sets us apart in the image and likeness of God. The fear of pain or punishment is something that we share with all our fellow mammals. It can be a helpful beginning to wake us up or turn us away from a destructive path. But servile fear will not lead us to grow in Wisdom. Indeed, it is much more likely to pull us out of the present moment. From a brain science perspective, servile fear kicks in our survival response of “fight or flight or freeze.” In those moments, our prefrontal cortex (the higher and more rational part of our brain) goes offline as our survival instincts take over. Survival mode is great when our life is on the line. But it does not allow for childlike wonder.

Filial fear, by contrast, is what sons and daughters have towards a loving, benevolent, and merciful father. They cherish him and their relationship with him. They desire that relationship to grow ever more intimate and shun anything that would turn them away from that joyful communion of love.

Many of us still need to make the journey of maturity from servile fear to filial fear, a journey described so beautifully by Paul in Romans 8: “For you did not receive a spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you received a spirit of adoption, through which we cry, ‘Abba, Father!’ The Spirit itself bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God, and if children, then heirs, heirs of God and joint heirs with Christ, if only we suffer with him so that we may also be glorified with him.”

Faith is a gift, utterly undeserved. It moves mountains, removing any and all obstacles that get in the way of us growing into the glorious freedom of the children of God. Restored by Faith, we can rediscover an even greater childlike wonder, which leads us to true Wisdom. We can rediscover the spontaneous joy and gratitude and praise that come from abiding in the present moment.

What a special gift to grow into during this time of COVID-19, in which many are feeling bored or understimulated. The words of G.K. Chesterton come to mind:  “There is no such thing on earth as an uninteresting subject; the only thing that can exist is an uninterested person.”

If we become again like little children, even the smallest blessings of daily life can become an unmitigated experience of wonder and awe in God’s presence. All is gift, and his glory shines everywhere in the creatures he has made. Those who become again like little children can experience it.

What are the cardboard boxes God is dropping into your life today? Are you ready to receive them with awe and praise and gratitude? What is holding you back from being wholeheartedly in the present? Are there parts of your heart that resist, hesitate, or bail out? Will you let the soothing balm of the Holy Spirit calm you, opening all of your heart to receive the glorious freedom of the children of God? It is a freedom that can only be experienced in the “now” of the present moment.

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When Hope Hurts

As followers of Jesus, we are people of Hope – especially during Holy Week and Easter.

This year we will experience a Holy Week like no other – gathering the family around our tablets and TVs to view the live stream of the holiest liturgies of the year.

I think back to the middle of March – which now feels like ancient history – and remember how I wept and sobbed over the cancellation of public Masses. The part that was the most painful for me was when it fully dawned on me that our faith communities would not be gathering together for Holy Week and Easter. Having had time to process my grief, I am now grateful that we’re doing our moral duty and serving the common good by joining in the shared effort of social distancing. I’m grateful for all the creativity and innovation that has opened up new opportunities. I’m getting accustomed to Mass on facebook live and Zoom meetings. But let’s face the facts: it’s still hard.

Since the middle of March, there have been far greater hardships for many than the temporary disruption of prayer gatherings and public Masses. Some find their entire livelihood in grave peril; others are under enormous daily stress; many others have died of COVID-19 or lost a loved one.

All of us have felt our daily lives turned upside down. Almost everyone I know seems to be experiencing a significant spike in anxiety or a resurgence of unwanted behaviors. So much is uncertain and unknown; so much can change so quickly. We trust God, but it’s incredibly hard at times to keep believing that it’s somehow all going to be blessed by God as part of his greater plan.

Hope is hard. The Christian virtue of Hope is not rosy optimism; it’s not a feel-good pretending like everything is just swell. Hope involves longing and desiring, watching and waiting. Hope stretches our human hearts far beyond what feels easy or comfortable. Indeed, keeping Hope alive in our heart can be painful. It’s so much easier to try to avoid, it, numb it, or even kill it – choosing instead a path of self-soothing or self-reliance. But we cannot save ourselves.

Holy Week is a time of Hope. The death and resurrection of Jesus, his Paschal Mystery, constitutes THE human story. Without Jesus dying and rising, our human existence becomes empty, fruitless, and meaningless. On the contrary, as we allow ourselves to be plunged into those saving events, we are brought to new and more abundant life.

In the “in between” of that transformation stands the virtue of Hope, like a brave soldier standing in the breach. It can be far more agonizing than we may realize. It’s quite possible that only a few Christians these days are truly steeped in Hope.

Hope is the virtue of Holy Saturday – a day that is easily overlooked. Many are bustling about preparing for Easter; others are pre-binging on food or Netflix or some other pleasure. The invitation of Holy Mother Church – rarely accepted – is to engage in fasting and silence and prayer as best we can, to continue keeping our vigil at the Tomb of Christ, watching and waiting in Hope.

Think of the various characters in the Gospels and imagine what their experience of Holy Saturday was like. Think of Peter and the other apostles, having suddenly lost their Lord and their friend Jesus – and under the shameful circumstances of having abandoned him or denied him. Jesus had recently given a glimpse of glory to Peter atop Mount Tabor in the Transfiguration. Maybe that remembered experience emitted some faint glimmer of Hope amidst his overwhelming feelings of grief and disillusionment, fear and doubt, guilt and shame.

Think of Mary Magdalene and the other faithful women, holding Jesus in their hearts, continuing to love him even when it hurt so much. Their instinctive and intuitive Hope drew them to the tomb on Easter morning, even if they didn’t understand what was happening in their hearts.

Think of Jesus’ own mother Mary, who had borne him in her womb, nursed him, taught him to walk, taught him to read the Scriptures, taught him to pray, and so much more. Over the course of 33 years, she was more intimately close to him and held more conversations with Him than any other human being. Scripture does not record these, but Luke does tell us more than once that Mary kept pondering these mysteries in her heart. She is perhaps the one person who was not entirely surprised at his Resurrection.

But even for Mary – nay, especially for Mary – there was that agonizing in-between moment of Hope between the first day of Good Friday and the third day of Resurrection. If the experience was anything like the previous patterns (the birth of Jesus, the Flight into Egypt, the Presentation in the Temple), she knew and believed God’s promises, but did not know how those promises would be fulfilled.

That is what is so hard about Hope. It is an invitation to plunge into the depths of Jesus’ suffering – which involved far more than physical torments. He freely chose to dive into the depths of our fallen human experience – including the isolation, the loneliness, the fear, the shame, the rejection, and the abandonment that so many of us experience. When he cries out “My God, My God, why have you abandoned me?” He is crying out with and for each of us from the depths of our hearts – places we are often not willing to go ourselves, because they hurt so much. Jesus allows himself to feel the pain of rupture from God and rupture from neighbor that is part of the story for each of us who are fallen.

Then it’s our turn. Like the Virgin Mary, like Mary Magdelene, like so many of the other disciples, we are invited to keep vigil at his Tomb. We are invited to keep believing his promises – even when it seems impossible anything will ever change. For each of those followers, Easter morning was a wonderful surprise. The risen Jesus brought them joy in a way they had never imagined possible.

During “normal” Holy Weeks, Catholics show up in large numbers for Good Friday, and are often moved to tears at the torments Jesus endured on the Cross. This year, only the priest celebrant will get to kiss the Cross.

During “normal” Holy Weeks, most Catholics give little thought to the experience of Holy Saturday. This year, we all have an extended Holy Saturday opportunity. We have been given a share in Jesus’ suffering and death. In the form of all this unrest and all these unknowns, we have an opportunity to share in the same disorienting and agonizing experience of those early disciples on that first Holy Saturday. Like most of them, we do not know how long it will last, whether it will get better, or how it will get better. We surrender in Hope; we wait in Hope, even when it hurts.

We are free to choose. We can plunge fully into the deep waters of Hope. Or we can keep popping up for air. There are any number of ways we can do that. Some turn to the false soothing of food or alcohol or pornography. Others minimize or deny, pretending like it’s not really that hard (thus distancing themselves from genuine Hope). Still others crack a joke or enter into fault-finding and peevishness – anything that will distract us from the present agony of abiding at the Tomb in Hope.

These are normal ways of avoiding – and they make sense. We all do at least some of them. The truth is that tt is terrifying to be under water for a long period of time! For many of us, it feels like it will be too much or too long. Indeed, that is the whole point of being plunged into the waters of Baptism – we actually die with Christ!

We Catholics think often of Good Friday and of suffering with Jesus. This year, I invite each of us to think especially of Holy Saturday, and give ourselves permission to experience the full depth and breadth and length of Christian Hope. It is not for the faint of heart! If we allow it, it will grow and crescendo into an earthquake that will finally break open the cave of our heart; it will roll away the stone so that we, too, can be surprised by the joy of the Risen Jesus.