Category: Scripture

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To Wonder and be Curious

This post is an important corrective and counterbalance to the previous one. The spiritual weapon of “talking back” (antirrhēsis) is indeed powerful in the moment of temptation. Like Jesus in the desert, we can willfully claim and assert our glorious human dignity and freedom. We can swiftly and decisively fight back against evil before the temptation has a chance to grow.

But what about all the calmer moments that precede? Jesus’ victory in the moment of temptation flowed forth from all that came before: being claimed as God’s beloved Son in his baptism and then spending forty days receiving spiritual strength through prayer and self-denial. It was his childlike dependence on his Father that won the deeper and more decisive victory. He came to the battle as one fully awake and aware, fully alive in his humanity. We who are members of his Body are invited to share in the same childlike trust, including the amazing human capacity for curiosity and wonder.

Jesus encourages us to become like little children. Every healthy human child discovers the power of “No!!” and “Mine!!” and “You can’t make me!!” Those words, properly learned and properly harnessed, can become wonderful weapons in the moment of temptation. Every healthy human child goes on to discover an even more powerful word: “Why?” What a precious gift it is to have curiosity and wonder at why things are the way they are. From philosophers to poets to scientists, all our greatest human achievements, all of our most shining successes emerge as fruits of childlike curiosity and wonder.

It is so easy to lose that curiosity and wonder. For one thing, it is exhausting to parents to hear the word “Why?” a hundred times a day. It is tempting to stifle children in their pursuit of wisdom. For another thing, it is incredibly hard to have wonder and awe in moments of trial or trauma. Whether war or abuse or addiction or mental illness, when our daily living environment becomes a fight for survival, we do not tend to take time to smell the roses or to marvel at why things are the way they are. We need to feel safe and secure to be able to do that. Jesus faced Satan with an incredible sense of safety and security in the Father’s love and in his own human dignity.

I have written before about the importance of getting down to the roots. Sure, we can lop off the dandelion heads time and again – they will keep growing back until we uproot the plants. This is especially our human experience if we are struggling with habitual patterns of sin or addictive behaviors. In those cases, we may find ourselves fighting temptation again and again. We may win 99 out of 100 battles, only to fall hard once again into the same sin or struggle. Certainly we can celebrate those 99 victories and not wallow in shame over the one defeat. But even more importantly, we can give ourselves permission to step back calmly, to remember that we are a beloved child of God (even in our moments of sin). Basking in empathy and kindness and grace, we can look upon our situation and begin asking questions, engaging that gift of childlike curiosity and wonder. We can begin to asking   “Isn’t that interesting…?”  “I wonder why that would happen just now…?” And so forth.

Far too often, we engage in self-loathing and self-shaming. I can think of things I used to say often to myself: Why do I have to be this way?” “There I go again.” “What’s wrong with me?” I’m sure that most of you have your own inner critic in those moments as well. It doesn’t have to be that way. We can shift gears, choosing empathy and kindness, and can begin asking questions with curiosity and wonder.

For myself, one of my most frequent struggles is to feel the urge to eat something even when I am not at all hungry. I have learned (sometimes anyway) to “just notice that” and wonder at it. Isn’t it interesting that I would feel the urge to eat something just now? I know I’m not hungry…

Actually, my curiosity and self-reflection (and talking to others about it) has led me to identify forty-two different behaviors that spring up in me during times of unrest. Some are more sinful; others are benign. All of them are ways of surviving and protecting me from feeling vulnerable and exposed. I am learning that it is not really those behaviors that I am wanting, but instead I am reacting to feelings of insecurity, shame, fear, loneliness, or sadness. These are learned behaviors that have helped me survive in the past. I don’t need them anymore.

I have begun looking at them as a cast of characters, as a members of the family in the drama of my interior life. When ten or twenty of them start showing up at once, it’s a sign to me that I really need to pay attention. Rather than running away, rather than becoming disgusted with myself, I need to reach out and connect with someone who cares – God, certainly, but also others in the flesh who can be a listening ear and an empathizing heart. These different parts of myself are not actually evil – they are trying to help me, but need to be integrated, re-organized, and directed. As the prophet Isaiah promises, a little child will guide them all – first and foremost with his wonder and awe in God’s presence.

This process is so counter-intuitive for many of us. Our tendency in the face of temptations is to run and to flee, and to see our habitual temptation as bad. Instead, we could look at it much more like an indicator light on the dashboard of our car. It’s there to get us to pay attention and look under the hood – calling on experts if need be. In cases like mine, that may mean reaching out to a trained therapist or a support group, in addition to a spiritual mentor and good friends. Whatever helps us feel safe and secure and rediscover the power of childlike wonder.

Our hearts are made in God’s own image and likeness and are very good. That means that even our most twisted fantasies or darkest thoughts, at their roots, begin as legitimate human needs and good desires. That means that fighting temptation is not our only tactic. We need connection and safety in healthy human relationships; we need to reactivate our capacity for curiosity and wonder, becoming like little children and in so doing becoming whole and holy.

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“Talking Back” to evil

Many of us were raised to view back talk as bad talk. From a young age we were schooled to curb our tongue. Our 3-year-old willfulness was broken down as we learned to be “nice” and compliant. But there is a time and a place to use our will and our words to talk back. This is true in confronting situations of grave injustice, and is especially true in facing the subtle snares of the devil.

Imitating Jesus, the Desert Fathers were masters of spiritual back talk. Whether Anthony of Egypt, Evagrius of Pontus, or Dorotheus of Gaza, they didn’t take any $@#^! from the devil. They used their will and their words as weapons, quoting the Scriptures as a means of fighting back. As trained athletes of Christ, they did so calmly and patiently – but with a decisive swiftness and forcefulness. They let their “yes” mean “yes” and their “no” mean “no.” By the power of God, they sent the devil to the Cross for judgment and reclaimed their human freedom and dignity.

The unique vocation of the Desert Fathers was to go into the wilderness and devote their entire life to sharing in Jesus’ conquest over the devil. As the New Adam, Jesus reclaims and redeems our human freedom, restoring our capacity to overcome evil with good. He freely and firmly renounces the age-old traps of the flesh, the world, and the devil. The early monks made their vows of chastity, poverty, and obedience as a direct means of fighting the same fight. And they weren’t afraid to talk back when needed.

During his forty days in the wilderness, Jesus talked back to the devil. The moment he was tempted, he called upon Scripture to rebuff the evil one. When it comes to fighting temptation, sooner is always better. As with Eve in Genesis, the tempter wants to “dialogue” with us. She could have ended the conversation at his first deception (“Did God really say to you…?”). It would have been a different story. Whatever the forbidden fruit is for us, the longer we linger in debating back and forth whether to do it, the more likely we are to do it!  The devil’s deceptions and lies are so much easier to uproot as seedlings or saplings in the very early moments of temptation than they are when they become tangled trees clutching at our heart.

Saint Benedict, the model of monasticism in the West, appealed to Psalm 137:9 – a deeply troubling verse about seizing babies and smashing them on the rocks. But when applied spiritually to the experience of temptation, it suddenly makes sense. Early on, while any thoughts of temptation are yet in their infancy, while they are still small and not-yet-powerful, we can take them and dash them on the Rock that is Christ.

The Desert Fathers advocated “talking back” (antirrhēsis) as the best way to engage in that fight. Evagrius actually compiled an entire book on the subject, offering suggested Scriptures to use as weapons in confronting over 500 circumstances of temptation! Full disclosure here – I tried reading his book and gave up on it, finding his particular situations to be dated and not as relevant to my own life. But I love the concept, and have often used it in my personal life. When the alarm clock goes off and my body and spirit protest, I can quote Psalm 57, “My heart is ready, O God, my heart is ready … awake my soul … with praise let us awake the dawn.” When I am tempted to distract myself with fleshly or worldly pleasures, I can pray Psalm 62, “O God, you are my God, for you I long; for you my soul is thirsting…”

In addition to the Scriptures, the Desert Fathers used the simplest of prayers – uttering the name of Jesus. I have found it to be an incredible spiritual weapon. Saint Paul tells us that every knee must bow at the name of Jesus – even those under the earth (i.e., the evil spirits). In the very first moment of temptation, simply whispering his holy name deepens our freedom and increases our strength. We can add bodily prayers such as making the Sign of the Cross or prostrating ourselves in surrender to God’s will. Whatever works – it’s hard to argue with good results.

Notice that this spiritual “talking back” is not a dialogue with the devil. By contrast, it is much more like a willful three-year old firmly declaring “No!!” and “Mine!!” and “You can’t make me!!” We tend to look with scorn on the “terrible twos” – which actually have their peak around age three. But learning a healthy sense of “mine” versus “yours” is critically important in our human development – as is learning to let our “yes” mean “yes” and our “no” mean “no.” Jesus calls us to become like little children again. Not childish but childlike. Calling upon his power, uttering his name, or quoting his Scriptures allows our will and our words to become mighty weapons against evil – especially in the moment of temptation.

Many saints have testified to the truth that evil spirits have no power whatsoever over human freedom. We are truly God’s stewards and have a God-given authority. We can abuse that authority (indeed, that is the devil’s goal). But in the end all Satan can do is deceive or threaten; he cannot ever make us do anything. Aided by the name of Jesus and by His written Word, our freedom will triumph.

As we start another Lent, we go forth with Jesus into the desert, ready to reclaim our full human freedom.

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The Gift of Tears

Most of us dread the shedding of tears – particularly in front of other people. There are many reasons why we hold back. We don’t want to feel weak or vulnerable. We fear rejection. We fear losing control, perhaps even fear that if we start sobbing, we will never stop. Whether we realize it or not, we probably learned these lessons from word or example in family life. Whether spoken or unspoken, it was against the rules. The shedding of tears comes so spontaneously and naturally to little children. Then, rather than being guided and directed and nurtured, it comes to be seen as a threat.

I have come to learn that tears can be a precious gift from God.

I am by no means the first to make this observation. Many authors in contemporary charismatic circles talk about “the gift of tears” as a charism (a “spiritual gift” of the Holy Spirit along the lines of tongues, interpretation, prophecy, healing, etc.). True, there are individuals who experience weeping as an outward manifestation of the presence and activity of the Holy Spirit. This was all the rage in sixteenth-century Spain – to the point that authentic mystics like John of the Cross, Teresa of Avila, or Ignatius of Loyola had to warn against the faking of tears as a false expression of piety, even showing off. That risk is still there for some today, but I much more frequently find a false toughness that holds back tears.

More commonly over the centuries, tears are an expression of repentance and conversion, opening us up to love God and neighbor with fuller freedom. Examples abound in Scripture. King David weeps over his sins (Psalm 51). The prophet Jeremiah allows his eyes to stream day and night over the great ruination which overwhelms God’s people (Jeremiah 14). Nehemiah’s tears over the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem move the heart of the Persian King Artaxerxes. This pagan ruler is so touched with empathy that he sends Nehemiah with full funding and an armed force to go to Jerusalem to fight and rebuild (Nehemiah 1-2).

In the New Testament there is the marvelous story of Saint Peter. The very moment he denies Jesus a third time, Peter experiences a gaze of mercy from him (Luke 22). The Lord turns to look upon him with full knowledge AND full love. Peter knows that he is known and knows that he is loved. He goes out and weeps bitterly. According to many Christian legends and stories, it was by no means the last time Peter would weep. His tears went on to captivate the imagination and heart of Christian mystics and artists for centuries.

What a journey of lifelong conversion Peter undergoes! From the beginning he is drawn to follow the Lord Jesus. He leaves his nets behind. He believes from day one, and never falters in his faith, even when he repeatedly falters in loving Jesus. He denies Jesus; his actions show us time and again that his understanding is only partial. The growth is prolonged and slow. Even after the Resurrection, when Peter joins Jesus on the seashore, there is still much conversion needed. Jesus asks Peter three times if he loves him – offering three renewals of love to the man who three times denied him. But there is more in the Greek. Jesus asks Peter if he loves him with agape – that self-emptying, sacrificial love that Jesus showed on the Cross. Peter answers that he loves Jesus with philia – brotherly love.  Jesus is inviting Peter to confess the full truth of his present condition. There is almost a sense of playfulness about it, certainly gentleness. Jesus is not disappointed in Peter; rather, he is encouraging him, inviting him farther and farther along the path of conversion. He doesn’t expect Peter to get there all at once, yet he speaks the truth to him with love. He encourages Peter that he will one day be strong enough to lay down his life with a full agape love. For now, Peter is not yet ready, and that is okay. Jesus just invites him “Follow me.” The rest will come in due time.

I am guessing Peter had tears in his eyes at that moment as well. It is easy to imagine him shedding tears at all the key moments of his conversion. The mercy of God unleashes our tears, and our tears unleash his mercy. It’s a wonderful, virtuous cycle.

The Desert Fathers, those mighty monks of the early centuries, often discussed tears as a marvelous gift of God. They saw tears as a powerful remedy against the evil spirit of acedia – one of the subtlest and most formidable foes we will ever face.

[If you are unfamiliar with the sin of acedia I highly recommend reading Fr. Jean-Charles Nault’s book The Noonday Devil: Acedia, the Unnamed Evil of our Times]

The deadly sin of acedia is difficult to translate. Calling it “sloth” or “laziness” can be misleading. That is just one of many possible manifestations. Indeed, in today’s world this sin is more likely to manifest itself in boredom or busyness or burnout. Our restless hearts resist staying present in the moment, seeking any alternative than abiding in God’s presence. How sad indeed to be repulsed by divine goodness and prefer our self-created madhouse of busyness and comforts, even when that madhouse becomes an unbearable hell for us. Yet how common to our human experience!

Literally, acedia is from the Greek a + kēdos – “not caring” or “not feeling.” John Climacus describes its first steps: a numbness in our soul, a forgetfulness of heavenly promises, and an aversion to the present moment as to a great burden. How many today, I wonder, are in the throes this spiritual sickness?

The Desert Fathers fought it. Their era was very much like our own. They saw the decline and fall of a once great civilization. The Greeks and Romans, plunged into pleasures, had worn themselves out. The early monks discovered that tears are a saving remedy for acedia.

First of all, our tears allow us –  like King David and like Saint Peter – to be truly humble and recognize our need for a savior. In our tears, we confess that we cannot save ourselves. Like a child in the presence of its parents, we are crying out in our need. The Lord hears the cry of the poor, and delights in those who are willing to become like little children.

Secondly, tears unthaw our frozen hearts and allow us to feel again. They lead us out of our numbness and free us to be vulnerable and dependent. Fr. Nault, in his book, offers the image of our falling tears carving out a notch in our stony hearts – a notch through which God’s mercy can pour into our sin-sick soul.

Evagrius was one of the wisest of those desert monks. We can close with his words about the gift of tears aiding us in our spiritual struggles: “Sadness is hard to bear and acedia is hard to resist – but tears shed in God’s presence are stronger than both.”

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The Church as Mother

Jesus reminds us that the fields of the world are ripe for the harvest. Like the woman at the well, so many human hearts today are hungering and thirsting for meaningful accompaniment. They come to our churches seeking and searching. They often leave again, still feeling empty, undernourished, unseen, misunderstood, unaccepted, out of place, or unloved. It is so important for us to learn how to be communities that provide ample opportunities for meaningful accompaniment.

What does this look like? We have already considered many metaphors (mentoring, coaching, walking with, sharing bread, etc.). But none compares to that of motherhood. For each of us, motherhood is THE way in which we experienced the most accompaniment in our life – or didn’t, in which case we may still feel the painful effects of that void.

Motherhood is so very important, and the Church is called “mother” both in Scripture (Galatians 4:26) and throughout our history. It is not just the females, but all members of the Church who participate in that motherly role. Jesus teaches us that anyone who does the will of his Father becomes brother and sister and mother to him. How do we become a mother of Christ? According to Augustine of Hippo, by mothering new members in that one Body of Christ that is the Church – both in bringing them to birth and in the ongoing nurturing that is needed after birth.

Each Christian is born again in baptism, birthed from the womb of the baptismal font. Within our new family, the Church, we are meant to receive the slow and steady mothering we need as we grow in our newfound faith. This need was obvious in the early Church. There were droves of adult converts, and the process of accompanying them took several years by design. Once again we live in an age when a large number of our families (children and adults alike) are proceeding on their faith journey with virtually no knowledge or experience of Christianity or discipleship. There are people in our pews who do not know the basic story of Jesus dying and rising, not to mention the messiness of their personal lives. The need for a motherly presence in their spiritual and emotional life is enormous.

I can think of several things that earthly mothers provide that also apply in Church life: nurturing, caring, encouraging, attuning, calming, soothing, celebrating, empathizing, teaching, guiding, and correcting. We all need these things as children; we continue to need them as adults. In an age in which many mothers didn’t or couldn’t provide these things to their children, the need is felt all the more acutely.

Mothers nurture. They provide steady care and encouragement, reliably present to us as we grow. The growth is gradual and slow, and takes an enormous commitment on the part of a mother. Even in the largest of families, a mother is only actively nurturing a dozen children at most – but usually no more than a few at any given time. And even then it drains all that she has to give.

I find that in many Catholic parishes, the priest and maybe one or two others are looked to instinctively any time serious accompaniment is needed. If there are only 10 or 20 people in the parish in serious need of accompaniment, that works well; it’s exhausting but rewarding. But what if there are several hundred in serious need of accompaniment – and many fewer priests? Let’s not forget also that five or six decades ago there might have been a community of nuns living on site to fill in more of that motherly role. That presence of religious sisters is indeed a rarity today. But one need not be a nun to be a spiritual mother, much less be an ordained priest or a paid staff member. In our parishes, much more motherly presence is needed, and every member has a role to play. It’s a totally different model of parish life than many are used to. But if we don’t learn it, our parishes will be quite small in membership and devoid of new life. Several already are.

Mothers attune. They notice what is happening in the hearts of their children. When their child is upset, they know how to calm and soothe him. They know when to draw near, and when to back off and give space. When their child is overwhelmed or frustrated or confused, they help him make sense of the situation and grow in confidence that he has what it takes to figure out a solution.

Do we notice things in parish life? Do we attune to the people around us? Do we notice those who feel confused or anxious because they have never been to one of our liturgies before? Do we notice those who are obviously looking for something and not finding it? Do we notice those who are feeling alone and unloved, anxious or confused, burnt out or overwhelmed? Or are we so caught up in our usual routine and usual clique of friends that we walk right past them? If we do not attune and offer that attention, who will?

Mothers celebrate. They cheer on their children again and again. Under the loving gaze of a mother, children grow in confidence. Baby takes his first steps – mom cheers him on. Baby says a complete sentence – mom cheers him on. Modern brain science has helped us understand how important these celebrations are. Each time we celebrate a small step, our brains release a healthy amount of dopamine. That euphoric feeling of a successful step keeps us motivated so that we keep on trying and keep on growing.

In parish life, who does the steady cheering on for someone who is slowly coming back to faith? Who is there to notice and celebrate every little baby step that is being taken? So many people are starting out with the very basics in their faith life. Virtually every part of the experience is new to them. When someone actually notices and celebrates their growth, it is so encouraging and so motivating.

Just imagine what parish life could look like if every member was doing this kind of noticing and celebrating and encouraging – even for just one or two other people. The growth would really start to multiply!

The Church needs to be motherly, or new life and new growth will cease. Motherly presence is time-consuming. It is best done with a few people at a time. Even Jesus only tried to accompany twelve in this way! We simply cannot assume that “someone else” (our priest, our staff, our volunteers) are taking care of it. They can take care of 10 or 20 at most. Taking care of the multitude of souls that Jesus is calling is the task of each and all of us!  I encourage each of you to ask God in your heart – who are two are three individuals the Lord has placed in your heart that He especially wants you to accompany at this time? Are you willing to make a steady commitment to those individuals and go out of your way to attune, to nurture, to encourage, to cheer on, to guide, to chide, and to bring to fuller growth? As this motherly accompaniment becomes a normal part of parish life for every member, we will see amazing growth and fruitfulness. By doing God’s will, we will become brothers and sisters and mothers of Christ.

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Accompaniment: The Missing Piece in Church Life

Last week I discussed the need for accompaniment. By God’s design we all need ongoing accompaniment throughout our life. In return, we are all called to make a gift of ourselves in accompanying others. That need that has always been there in the human heart has only multiplied as we watch healthy family life unravel before our eyes.

Marriage and family life are a privileged context for accompaniment. How beautiful it is when husband and wife are truly present to each other, united intimately as one flesh within the marriage covenant. How beautiful it is when that love is extended fruitfully into the lives of their children. The blessings can be even greater when extended family live in close proximity with each other, and are able to provide ongoing mutual support. The past few centuries introduced new pressures that placed a great strain on marriage and family life: emigration to new lands, the Industrial Revolution, urbanization, massive worldwide wars (and their aftermath in family life), the sexual revolution, the rise of the internet, the rise of the smart phone – I could go on and on.

I am NOT arguing in favor of turning back the clock. Not all these changes are bad, and you certainly can’t put the toothpaste back into the tube. I am just pointing out the present painful reality: very few children are growing up in a context of a happy marriage and a healthy family. That means that the need for accompaniment is even more painfully felt.

I know that some of you pine for “the good old days” and wonder why so many things keep changing. I find that most parishes today contain all the classic signs of a grieving process: denial, anger, blame, and bargaining. Unfortunately, many stay stuck.

There is cause to grieve. Whatever your views are about the changes of the last few centuries, I hope that we can all agree that marriage and family life are seriously struggling. It’s a devastating loss. Whenever there is a grave loss, the healthy human response is to grieve and to mourn. The prophets and patriarchs of the Old Testament wept over the ruins of Jerusalem. Yes, it’s normal to experience denial – to pretend like it’s really not all that bad. It’s normal to experience anger – looking for a scapegoat. It’s normal to engage in bargaining and fantasize falsely “if only…If only…” Yet in the end we need to grieve and lament.

Once again God’s house lies in ruins. We need not lose hope. He will raise up children of Abraham from her very stones, will turn those children into living stones, and will rebuild his Church. Whatever that renewal looks like, one thing is certain: Those God calls to be part of that rebuilding will need to be accompanied and to accompany.

The need for accompaniment in parish life today is glaring. Just in my two parishes, I am aware of hundreds of individuals who are suffering deeply for lack of accompaniment: the sick, the aging, the dying, the lonely, the afflicted, the addicted, widows, widowers, abused children, neglected children, anxious adolescents, overwhelmed young adults, and exhausted caregivers.

I have met many a spouse who is beyond burnt out after years of trying to hold it together with a struggling spouse. They are trying to do all the accompanying themselves – not asking for help or knowing how to ask for help, and forgetting their own need of accompaniment.

The same risk is enormous for us priests. In Catholic parish life, people instinctively turn to the priest whenever there is a need for accompaniment that family cannot meet. Most of us have skills in that area and enjoy doing it. But we are fools if we think we can accompany every hurting person we meet – especially now that family life has largely broken down. I’ve been learning to teach other people how to accompany rather than try to do it all myself. That is actually how Jesus did it. He spent most of his time accompanying a chose twelve from among his disciples.

Most people today will NOT find themselves sufficiently accompanied by their own families. They will need to find support from other Christians – from the whole faith community, not just a few ordained ministers. This is how it was in the apostolic Church, and it is how it needs to be today. By God’s design, the Church is meant to be the living Body of Christ, in which we all receive and give love in communion with God and with each other.

When I ponder the enormous need for accompaniment in Church life today, three images come to my heart: (1) a missing puzzle piece; (2) a breach in our defenses; and (3) a blockage in our arteries.

Accompaniment is like a puzzle piece that is missing. For example, I have met many good Catholics who are struggling painfully with habits of sin or addictions. They try and try to break free. They pray hard, go to Confession, fast, or put filters on their phones. They might do well for a while, but they keep falling. All too often are trying to fight the battle alone. They do not know how to let themselves be walked with by a group of companions. Things really start changing when we seek and find that communal support!

The lack of accompaniment today is like a breach in our defenses. The devil is a bully who doesn’t fight fair. He loves to attack us when we are weakest and most vulnerable. He divides and conquers, thriving when we are isolated and alone and in the shadows. But if we are well-accompanied, loved, encouraged, understood, affirmed, strengthened, and held accountable, we can resist the devil, and he will indeed take to flight. He is powerless against the communal love of the Body of Christ.

The lack of accompaniment is like a blockage in our arteries. The love of the Body of Christ is meant by God to flow in and flow out of us, freely received and freely given, circulating to all the members and making us fully alive in Him. When we do not know how to receive, we find ourselves incapable of giving in any meaningful way. When we selfishly resist giving, we become stifled and sterile.

It is time for us to accept the hard truth. Marriage and family life largely lie in ruins. Many parish institutions lie in ruins. There is no going back to some golden age (if there ever was one); the only path is forward. We may for a time battle with the usual denial and bargaining and anger. We certainly need to lament and shed tears. But if we are serious about the rebuilding, we need to learn the lessons of accompaniment that Jesus taught to his disciples.

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The Need for Accompaniment

Accompaniment is perhaps the single greatest need in the Church today. With it, amazing growth and renewal happens. Without it, Christendom crumbles and collapses before our eyes.

Unfortunately, “accompaniment” has become a buzzword. Buzzwords can be confusing and unhelpful. So we need to be clear about what we mean by accompaniment in the life of Christ and his Church.

To be accompanied means that someone commits to us in a relationship that shows love and compassion to us in our need. To be accompanied likely involves one or more of the following: to be seen, noticed, heard, understood, loved, delighted in, celebrated, encouraged, included, affirmed, cared for, walked with, nurtured, fed, sheltered, protected, defended, touched in a meaningful way, comforted, calmed, soothed, taught, guided, counseled, corrected, chastised, or even disciplined. When I am accompanied, I experience at a profound level that I matter, that I am not alone, that I am known and loved, that I am safe and secure, that I belong to a reality larger than myself, and that all will be well. I feel free to be truly myself, without having to pretend or put on a mask. I experience an openness and eagerness for all that is true and good and beautiful.

We are familiar with figures in life who provide this kind of accompaniment: mothers, fathers, spouses, friends, nurses, teachers, coaches, mentors, counselors, and clergy. Or, perhaps we should say that these people can provide these things. Sometimes they do the opposite by using or abusing, controlling or manipulating, neglecting or ignoring.

We live in an age very much like that of the early Church, an age in which the greatness of the Roman empire was fading fast, an age in which marriage and family life had broken down. Jesus urges his disciples to look around them and notice that the fields in the world are ripe for the harvest (John 4:35). They have just stumbled upon his conversation with the Samaritan woman at the well. It turns out that the world is full of people like her, people with a deep hunger and thirst, people with a need to be accompanied. Jesus offered her that accompaniment: noticing her, seeing her, understanding her, caring for her, awakening her thirst, and inviting her to embrace the truth. The disciples arrive and ask Jesus about lunch. He explains to them that his food is in doing his Father’s will. He depends upon his Father. He needs to be accompanied by his Father.

This is the first and most important lesson of accompaniment: We all need to be accompanied. This is not simply a need we have as children; it is a human need by God’s design. We are made in his image and likeness. God is love. He is not a solitary God. He is an eternal communion of persons. The call from God is to share in his eternal life, in that eternal communion of love – a far cry from isolation and independence. Certainly, good parents help us to become strong and free and responsible – but hopefully still in a way that knows how to depend upon God and depend upon others. Love of God and love of neighbor are the two great commandments. Love is mutual, not one-sided. If we are not receiving love in a vulnerable way, we have not yet learned how to love.

We begin life utterly vulnerable and dependent,  looking to our primary caregivers, not only for food and clothing and shelter, but for all the other emotional and spiritual needs mentioned above. In God’s plan, these caregivers are a mother and father blessed and united by God in a stable and lifelong covenant of marriage. These days, it is exceptional indeed to find an environment in which mom and dad are intimate friends of God and secure in their covenantal love for each other. In far too many cases these blessings are lacking altogether, or they are only a well-maintained façade, masking misery and dysfunction.  No wonder there is such a gaping need for accompaniment! The fields are indeed ripe for the harvest.

Here in the United States, there are a couple of added challenges. First, there is the false sense of “independence” – which easily becomes an ungodly self-reliance. Is our nation not built upon rugged individualism? We’re just supposed to pull ourselves up by our bootstraps, suck it up, and make it happen. That seems to work so well – until it doesn’t, and life collapses on us. That certainly happened to me – a story for another time.

Secondly, there are many in my generation who became “latchkey children” or “lost children.” Parenting books, from Spock to Ferber, positively encouraged moms and dads to raise “independent” children, to leave even babies alone in their sadness and fear so that they could learn how to “self-soothe” (as if this is something anyone can teach himself!). In other cases, circumstances forced children to be on their own, whether due to divorce or due to dual-paycheck households. When not consistently accompanied through childhood, children certainly learn to be independent – but not necessarily capable of receiving and giving love in a joyful and healthy way.  Many of us graduated to becoming lonely and isolated adults, uncertain how to form healthy relationships. Many more of my peers have emerged as the legendary “helicopter parents” of this generation, fueled by fear, and swooping in to rescue their kids from any real risk or responsibility (or freedom or growth). We are perhaps even more accurately described as “Zamboni parents” or “bulldozer parents.” Still unhealed and insecure from our own lack of accompaniment, and still unable or unwilling to admit our need for it, we are determined that our children will never face danger or risk alone – or at all.

Genuine accompaniment is all about gradualness – aiding someone, step-by-step, to become truly strong and free, capable of receiving and giving in authentic human love. Genuine accompaniment fully respects freedom, nurtures growth, and invites to greater responsibility. Most of us tend to one of two extremes. Either we meddle and micro-manage, or we stay aloof and inconsistent.

Genuine accompaniment is an art – these days, a rare art. I find that those who are best at it are those who themselves have received it – and who are committed to continue receiving it. Think of Jesus, who received accompaniment for the first 30 years of his life – and even then was regularly pulling aside from the crowds to reconnect with his Father in prayer. Jesus never ran from being vulnerable and dependent.

Most of us avoid being vulnerable and do not like to admit that we “need” at a such a deep human level. Receiving is perhaps the hardest human thing to do. If we do not learn to, we wind up grasping or seizing, using or taking, controlling or manipulating.

The Church is the Body of Christ. The lack of accompaniment today is a true crisis. Until each of us learns how to receive the accompaniment we need, we won’t know how to give it. Our members will keep drifting elsewhere in their ache for accompaniment. We lament that our young families are turning instead to athletics, or to yoga, or to social media. Don’t they know what they are missing by leaving the Church? True, none of those other things will fill the void they are experiencing. They are turning there because they find some version of accompaniment. When will we allow ourselves to learn and to begin turning our parishes into places where authentic Christian accompaniment happens – starting with ourselves? I know that if and when we do, the growth will be every bit as explosive as it was in the early Church. The fields are indeed ripe for the harvest.