Tag: Shame

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Into the Desert

We begin another Lent. Jesus enters the desert to engage in combat with the devil. He shares in and represents our humanity. “He was tempted in every way we are, but did not sin” (Hebrews 4:15). He allows himself to be weak and vulnerable. He abides in his identity as a beloved Son. With humility, trust, and confidence, he conquers. He shows us that genuine human maturity is possible. We get to share more and more in the “glorious freedom of the children of God” (Romans 8:21).

Sometimes I taste that freedom. Other times, I resonate with the words of the apostle Paul: “I do not do the good that I desire, but the evil that I do not desire is what I keep on doing” (Romans 7:15). Even though I have free will, I often fee unfree!

This is where the ancient Christian Tradition of asceticism comes in. Beginning in the 200’s, many Christian men and women flocked to the desert to engage in spiritual combat and claim more fully the peace that only Christ can give.

Many people today haven’t even heard of “asceticism” or “ascesis.” Or if they have, they are likely to misunderstand or distort what it’s really about. People tend to hate it or love it for all the wrong reasons!

The Greek word askesis literally means “exercise” or “training.” Ascetical practices, when healthy and holy, are like the best of athletic training. Healthy training is directed toward a positive goal. It may include a good deal of self-denial, not to mention rigorous practices that are uncomfortable or even painful.

There can be joy, exhilaration, freedom, and peace in discovering that I am capable of so much more – and then actually experiencing it. I think back to my high school years, and the weightlifting and football training. Through intense discipline and consistent practice, often in community with others, celebrating each milestone, I discovered new possibilities that I didn’t know were within me.

I had similar experiences during the last decade, both with exercise and with how I eat. I remember quite vividly two triumphant moments about ten years ago. One was riding my bicycle up a tall and steep hill, staying in the lowest gear and determined to “just keep peddling.” It was so exhilarating when I actually made it to the top and kept going! Likewise, after months of buildup, I finally made it through an entire rigorous exercise video, muscles burning and heart pounding. It felt amazing. Seven years ago, after conversations with my doctor, I discovered new motivation to be healthier around food and alcohol. More importantly, my work in therapy and group therapy was opening my eyes to my emotions and my needs. I noticed how many times a day I felt an urge to eat (without actually being hungry). I became curious about what was really happening. I made phone calls daily to talk about it with friends. The self-denial around food opened up an awareness of how much within me needed care and healing.

I look back and see how Spirit-led all of it was. I received an abundance of healing; I genuinely matured. I look back, and I also see some pitfalls in the process – my pride and shame. There was a certain impurity in my motives – relishing the positive attention from others, silently making comparisons or judgments, and believing lies that I was somehow more lovable because I weighed less and looked different. More subtly, there was the role (the false identity) that I had adopted in adolescence – that of the golden child, who looks and acts the part and makes the family system look good. I played that role in my family; I played it for my church family; I even played it at times during 4+ years of group therapy. I recall a moment in which the group facilitator made a comment about me being the “poster child” of the group. As has happened so many times in my life, that admiration felt amazing but ultimately left me feeling empty. As I have previously described, admiration is not the same as love; and drivenness is not the same as desire.

Two years ago, I parted ways amicably with that group, as my healing journey went in a new and deeper direction. Those who truly know me and love me describe to me many ways they have seen me continue to grow. I have also “grown” in less desirable ways – externally showing weight gain that belies some of my unhealthy habits that have crept their way back in. And then I battle with the old accusing voice of shame, calling me a hypocrite – here I am, invited in my current ministry to lead other priests into healthier living, and I find myself not living in a healthy way. But that shame is telling me lies. Now I get to seek asceticism out of desire rather than fear or shame. Moreover, I now see more clearly the toxicity that is so often present in the fitness culture, the shame and contempt towards certain bodies, and the idolatry of thinness. Being healthy and holy is not about the shape of your or my body or the number that shows up on the scale. It’s certainly not about gaining the adulation of others. There is a multi-billion dollar industry that is more interested in selling their products and services than in real human flourishing. The messages are often manipulative and shaming. As it turns out, both fitness culture and asceticism have much to offer, and both are full of pitfalls.

The desert is a dangerous place. There are fell creatures there. The devil doesn’t sleep. The combat is not easy. The victory is not a one-and-done, but an ongoing and very non-linear process. When you withdraw from the world and engage in healthy self-denial, it is then that the real combat begins. Sometimes you get your lunch handed to you. Much like the cave in The Empire Strikes Back or the woods of Lothlorien in Lord of the Rings, entering the desert uncovers what already lies within your heart – and then the real combat begins.

The lives of the saints are so often sanitized or glamorized – as though they easily and quickly achieved holiness and purity. Their lived reality was so different! As Bishop Erik Varden describes in his new book on chastity, the virtue of purity is actually exceedingly rare, because it takes many years of patient and diligent effort to mature into it. As the Catechism of the Catholic Church describes (nn. 2337-2445), this process of maturing into purity is a long and exacting labor that must be renewed in every stage of life. It requires lifelong apprenticeship. It is mainly about healthy relationships, emotional maturity, and our capacity to receive and give love.

Let’s not forgot how Jesus begins his combat in the desert. He is not led there out of fear or shame, nor to improve his public image, nor because he is hoping he can change and become lovable. No, he is led there at his Father’s invitation, by the Holy Spirit, immediately following his baptism. He has already been claimed as the Father’s beloved, in whom the Father delights. He is anointed by the Holy Spirit for the battle. It can be the same for us.

Secure relationship comes first. We first are loved and delighted in and belong. We first receive strength from on high. If you are like me, much of the battle will be with the multi-layered lies of shame that keep trying to tell me I can only be lovable if…

Shame gets healed in communion – communion with God and healthy community with each other.

This Lent, I feel the Lord inviting me to reclaim healthy discipline, to engage in exercise (ascesis) in both bodily and spiritual ways. I am resolved to do so out of a desire to abide in love, to grow and mature, and to bear fruit. I may once again discover mixed motives; it’s still worth it. Layer by layer, the Lord will keep patiently and gently uncovering my heart. Such was the prophecy of Simeon to Jesus’ mother Mary. As her Son dies on the Cross, he gives her to me as a mother who always delights in me, shelters me, and guides me. I am already loved. I can now grow and keep growing.

Jesus conquers the devil by standing firm in his identity. I pray that you and I may remember who we are as we pray and live into the Collect prayer of Ash Wednesday:

Grant, O Lord, that we may begin with holy fasting this campaign of Christian service, so that as we take up battle against spiritual evils, we may be armed with weapons of self-restraint.

As we enter the desert with Jesus, may we come to share more fully in his Paschal victory, and claim that joy and peace that no one can steal away.

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Admiration ≠ Love

Admiration feels amazing – for a while. It is never enough. It never satisfies our insatiable thirst for love. Admiration is not love.

Consider how many celebrities bask in the admiration of their fans, while secretly struggling with loneliness or depression. Consider the trend to chase after “likes” on social media – often eliciting envy in the onlookers, thrilling for a while, but inevitably leaving the recipient feeling empty and disappointed. Consider the mental health crisis in our schools and universities – including (and especially) among the “high performing” students.

I recall a conversation about university life. One institution was monitoring their students who were at the highest risk of flunking out. A consistent profile was emerging. It was not what many would think – not the party crowd who are getting distracted from their studies. No, by far the larger at-risk group was made up of students who had “performed” at a high level in high school, had presented an “ideal” college application, and were now in desperate trouble.

I was certainly one of those high-pressure students as I entered the university, though it took me another two decades or so to have my perfectionism fall apart. In part, that was because I had some genuine experiences of being loved for who I was (experiences that are increasingly scarce for young people today!). In part, it was because of my intense determination and my many talents. Whenever I seemed stuck, I fought and found ways to keep “succeeding.” I got myself back to a place of being admired by others. And it kept getting lonelier.

It was exhausting being admired, not to mention terrifying. There was no room for rest. Being admired meant that I couldn’t fail. I had to keep succeeding. It meant I couldn’t have any messy emotions or be in need. Shame was always lurking in the shadows – warning me that others would want nothing to do to me if I didn’t keep it up.

What I really needed was love – to be loved for who I really am. Being loved for who I am is so different than being appreciated for all that I do or being celebrated because of how amazing I am at this or that role.

It was incredibly hard to be loved for who I was because I had buried that identity so deeply that I didn’t even know it myself! During most of my childhood, I felt like I was under surveillance. I had to behave a certain way and be a certain way – or else. I discovered over time that I could be a “good” child by not having emotions or needs. I could even receive praise or more privileges if I was highly responsible, dependable, disciplined, and successful. I grew into that role and stayed in it for a few decades. The admiration was a drug that, like other drugs, kept me anticipating the next dopamine release – but ultimately left me feeling hollow. Others were loving me in a role, but they weren’t actually loving me – because I was keeping the real me hidden.

The last seven years have been an arduous but rewarding journey of recovering and reclaiming who I really am – who God created me to be. That journey has introduced me to unexpected companions and new friends. Even in environments with a high level of safety and care, I still find it awkward or scary when others really see me, and all I can do is receive their love – or squirm away from it. My defenses still spring up – though with slowly increasing freedom to notice what’s happening and allow the defenses to settle back down. It still feels easier to be in a “one up” or “one down” position – admired by another or admiring another; clearly “stronger” or “further along” than another or clearly in the position of an admiring (and subtly fawning) disciple.

I am convinced that the deepest wound we can experience is not being loved for who we are. Facing abuse is hard. I’ve done it with my own experiences of abuse, and I’ve very often been there with others. But in every case I have found the deeper wound and the longer road of healing to be around the ache to being loved for who we are. Once we have a chance to work through the fear or hurt or rage at being mistreated or used, we begin to access the deeper heartache of longing for love but not really receiving it. Lack of love is the deepest wound, resulting in the biggest ache.

The more I have healed, the more I see how omnipresent this wound is! Our churches hold up “good” Christian families to be – ahem – admired by the community. And their children or adult sons and daughters often struggle with feeling alone and unloved. Until their parents begin facing their own heartache and receiving what they really desire and need, they will struggle in providing it for their children. I say all this without the least bit of shaming or finger-pointing, but to tell the truth with kindness.

I believe that most of our families have transmitted heartache from generation to generation. How could we not? On a collective level, we have endured massive traumas over the last 150 years: the radical reordering of society and family life wrought by the Industrial Revolution, the struggles of immigration, two global pandemics, the Great Depression, and savage wars that have killed more people than the rest of the human centuries put together. How many of our families have actually faced that heartache and received the needed healing? Until we do, we are bound to keep transmitting the pain – leaving it to the next generation to figure out. Meanwhile, the saddest result is that most children are left entering adulthood feeling insecure and unloved.

I am aware that many readers may be feeling shame about how they have treated others. Notice that – but please don’t let it distract you from receiving what you need. We cannot give others what we have not received ourselves.

Do you tend to seek admiration rather than love? Do you truly feel loved for who you are? Are you playing a role rather than abiding securely in your authentic identity? Would you like to change that? If so, may the Holy Spirit inspire you and illumine the next step or two along the path.

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Driven vs. Desiring

For many years, others described me as “driven.” They typically intended it as high praise, and at the time I took it as such.

After all, isn’t it wonderful to strive for excellence, to persevere through repeated obstacles, and to find a way to keep coming out on top? Not necessarily – especially if it’s at the expense of the people I care about, not to mention my own dignity as a beloved child of God.

Desire and “drivenness” seem so similar, but they are radically different. Desire attracts us, allures us, draws us. It doesn’t drive us. Ultimately, all of our desires (even our disordered ones) are beautiful gifts from God. He never coerces. He always honors our dignity and freedom.

If we are “driven,” the real question becomes, by whom or by what? Where is that feeling of pressure or high expectation or coercion coming from?

In my case, there can be a felt sense of urgency: I have to, or else…

Or else what?

For years, I don’t think I slowed down enough to ponder what the “or else” even was. I was too driven, and sometimes still am. I can easily shift into a dogged determination, in which failure is not an option. When I do, if a person or situation suddenly stands in my way, my normally “calm” outward demeanor flashes with irritation, peevishness, or frustration – often surprising myself and others. Where did that burst of anger come from, that overreaction?

Now I understand a bit better. In mere milliseconds, my body mobilizes: first feeling shame; then feeling fear of exposure or abandonment; then feeling contempt toward the person perceived as a threat; then weaponizing that contempt; and finally, an eruption of anger, manipulation, or shaming behavior. All this happens in an instant – before my thinking brain has even realized that a reaction is happening.

I can’t stop such reactions from happening altogether, but I can notice and be curious and reflect. Kindness and childlike curiosity go so much further than self-contempt and a push into even more drivenness. My curiosity might go something like this: Huh – that’s interesting. I really reacted just now. What’s my body feeling at the moment? What is the intense warning trying to tell me? How old do I feel right now? When was the last time I felt like this?

I can listen to my anger, my fear, and my shame. Then I can start to notice what the “or else” is saying – even if it is irrational in the current situation. I’ve noticed in myself a fear of failing or of being exposed as not good enough. I notice a fear that others will leave me unprotected or all alone to navigate the hardest moments of life. As long as I somehow keep performing at an impossibly high level, maybe they’ll stick with me. Over time, this drivenness gets exhausting. It is not sustainable, and it definitely does not yield joy!

Hear me correctly – I’m not condemning being “driven.” It is one of the ways we human beings survive awful situations. Shame and fear are powerful motivators. They may even help us begin a journey of repentance. But only desire can abide, grow, and bear fruit. Fear and shame will never help us to have healthy, happy, and holy relationships. Fear of the Lord may be the beginning of wisdom (Proverbs 9:10), but “perfect love drives out all fear” (1 John 4:18).

I’ve written before about Augustine of Hippo and his distinction between ducere and trahere. Appealing to John 6, he describes the way in which God the Father allures and attracts us (trahere) by means of our desires. He doesn’t demand or coerce like an earthly authority tends to do (ducere – from which words like “duke” derive). We are created for communion and love, and God desires us to desire him. He allures us without coercing, without “driving.”

This is a tricky matter, because outwardly, two different human beings can be doing exactly the same thing for quite different reasons. One is driven by fear and shame, while the other is motivated from within by desire and love. One is avoiding the pain of unhealed wounds and running away from the Cross; the other has experienced dying and rising with Jesus and is bringing an unshakable confidence into a broken world. For example, two different Christians passionately evangelize. One is terrified of hell and is driven to keep all others out of hell. The other has been transformed by an encounter with the risen Jesus and desires everyone else to encounter the risen Jesus in their own ways. Two pro-lifers engage in advocacy. One is driven to keep the right people in political power and views pro-choice advocates with total contempt. The other cares passionately about the dignity of unborn humans – as well as about the dignity of the mother, and of all human beings, including those she most disagrees with. She treats all of them with honor and respect.

This is where spiritual discernment comes in. Catholics have a tendency only to use that word only in asking massive questions such as, “Am I called to become a priest?” We don’t always realize that God intends discernment to be a daily practice for us. We can notice what he is doing and engage in a response of love throughout the day.

Like a lover wooing his beloved, God is always stirring up desires in our heart. We have the freedom to grow in those desires and bear fruit. Unfortunately, our deepest and most intense desires are often buried beneath our fear and shame. That actually makes sense! The evil one HATES our God-given desires, and wars against them early and often.

The only way to uncover our deepest desires is to welcome the healing and transformation that Jesus brings. And the only way to experience that is (~gasp~) to die and rise with him. Can you see why so many of us prefer to be “driven” by fear and shame?

Are you “driven”? If so, are you ready for a change?

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Communion Heals Shame

Shame secretly torments every one of us as fallen human beings. It affects every single relationship we have – with God, with each other, and with ourselves.

Recall the story of Adam and Eve in the garden. The devil seduces by inviting a mistrust of God’s goodness and generosity. Once Adam and Eve choose to be their own gods, they experience the reality of that rupture. They run and hide from God (as though he were a petty tyrant eager to punish them). They sew fig leaves and begin protecting themselves against each other. Their good human passions become unruly – in themselves and their descendants. One need not read far into Genesis to experience the downward spiral of depravity. We begin to use, manipulate, envy, hate, and kill.  Shame is at the root of it all.

Brené Brown is a fellow Catholic who often speaks or writes about shame. She describes it as “an intensely painful feeling or experience of believing that we are flawed and therefore unworthy of love and belonging.”

I see shame as the shadow side of communion. It warns us when connectedness is under threat. It shows up in our bodies as a neurological warning signal, swiftly and intensely seizing our attention and launching us into a survival response. We all know the experience of “overreacting” in the present moment. What is really going on? Our body is feeling the familiarity of rejection, abandonment, failure, or humiliation. And our limbic brain is catapulting us into a survival response. Without even thinking, our defenses spring into action: fawn, fight, flight, freeze, or (as a last resort) shutting down. Depending on the situation (and on the skills we’ve learned over the years), we placate or smooth things over; we power up and begin shaming the other person; we change the subject or leave the room (or grab our phone and plunge into our screen); we freeze up and just take it; or we go numb and stop feeling anything. In intense situations of threat, these are actually brilliant responses that give us a better chance of surviving! But in everyday life they really rupture our relationships.

Unhealed shame fuels contempt. I have always found it to be the case that those of us who are hard on others are experiencing (or intensely avoiding) our own shame. Our self-contempt shifts into a contempt of others and an urge to make them pay. Just spend a minute or two on social media and I think you’ll see what I’m talking about!!

In my own life, God has provided many moments of melting my shame. One was totally life-changing.  I was a 23-year-old in the seminary in Washington, D.C. Some very challenging circumstances – including a severe lapse of judgment on my part – left me feeling intense shame for months. I remember one Sunday simply not wanting to go to Mass anywhere. I couldn’t bear being seen. That put me in an intense bind. Not going to Sunday Mass was simply unthinkable for me, but that inner conviction was in a mighty tug-of-war with my desperate urge to hide and isolate. Even attending anonymously across the street to the National Shrine felt unbearable. I slinked upstairs to a little chapel to pray, and there found two resident scholars, Romanian priests. They were offering Mass in their own language, and I had a way out of my dilemma – for now.

It was in this season that my friend Peter “saw” me and drew near to me. Peter was a 37-year-old who was about to be ordained a priest. I desperately miss him – he died in his sleep only four months into priesthood! He and I had many talks, in which – without naming it at the time – he helped me feel seen, soothed, safe, and secure (to borrow language from Curt Thompson). I didn’t want to be seen. I told him as much. I’ll never forget his words: A good friend is someone who sees right through you – and loves you anyway. And that was the thing – Peter wasn’t seeing the perfectionist version of me, nor the always-succeeding version of me. He was seeing all of me, telling the full truth, and (for some reason I simply couldn’t fathom) he was still eager to have a relationship with me. It was so dumbfounding and so healing.

He provided for me what Jesus so often provided in the Gospel – with the apostle Peter, with the woman caught in adultery, with Zaccheus, with Matthew, or with the woman at the well. He saw right through them, but he saw them in their wholeness. He invited them into communion: follow me.

The Greek word is koinonia – which means not only “fellowship” (as many Protestant Bibles translate it) but a true sharing or participation in the communion of the Trinity and of the whole Body of Christ. Because Jesus has reconciled us to the Father and to each other through his blood shed on the Cross, we now have a place to belong. In a sense, our shame is speaking truth – we can never become “worthy” by our own best efforts – and we don’t have to! Jesus declares us worthy and invites us to be secure in his Father’s love. THEN we can begin growing and bearing fruit.  Apart from him we can do nothing.

But it’s never just “me and Jesus.”  He always places us in koinonia with each other. He desires his Church to be a community in which we all have ways of experiencing what I did way back when with my friend Peter. We all need fellow Christians who see right through us and love us anyway!

I invite each of us to recognize the ways that we sabotage or block real community from happening in our families and in our churches: Do we let our whole self be seen? When and how and by whom? Do others feel totally safe and secure in our presence, knowing they don’t have to hustle or hide? Why or why not?

Authentic communion heals shame. We all ache for that – and are perhaps terrified of it at the same time. Will we allow the Holy Spirit to create it in our midst?

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Failure IS an Option

FDo you ever experience a fear of failure? I know I do!

Sometimes it’s a stew of anxiety, simmering throughout the day. Other times it’s a sudden eruption of panic or peevishness amidst what had seemed a moment of calm. When I pay attention and reflect, I can see that there is a significant fear of failure. It doesn’t drive or dominate me nearly as much as it used to, but it still shows up.

I already shared with you some highlights of Fr. Jacques Philippe’s recent book Priestly Fatherhood. Perhaps his greatest insight for us all (priests and laity alike) is when he connects our fear of failure with the rift in our childlike trust in God as a fierce and tender Father. God is a Father who will unfailingly provide for our needs. He will never reject or abandon us. But in our woundedness it often doesn’t feel that way! From the very beginning of human history, the evil one has been tirelessly at work to rupture our relationships – with God the Father, with each other, and with ourselves. Shame is the devil’s single greatest weapon. Through the lies of shame, he enticed Adam and Eve to hide from God and to protect themselves from each other.

I see shame as the shadow side of communion. It’s not inherently evil (after all, the devil can’t create!). Shame actually helps us and many other mammals to survive. If they get cut off from their pack, they will die. If we humans are on the verge of a rupture of communion, shame will speak up! Unfortunately, that shame signal is so easily exploited by anyone who would manipulate (the devil being chief among them!). We are created for the purpose of sharing intimately in joyful communion. We are meant to belong and to experience that safe connection with the Father and with each other. Shame blares its alarm whenever there is a threat of rupture. It does indeed feel like a matter of life or death!

The problem is that what initially serves our survival ultimately leads us into a wasteland of isolation and ungodly self-protection. Our survival becomes exhausting! As Fr. Philippe puts it, modern man, no longer looking to God as a Father, is “condemned to success.” There is no room for failure because there is no longer a loving Father there to give us protection, freedom, encouragement, and space to keep learning and growing from our mistakes.

How do you handle it when you fail? Or when others around you fail? Are you both able to go closer to the failure and talk about it? Why or why not?

When I feel like I have failed or am about to fail, I have a tendency power up or withdraw, depending on the situation. Both are ways of distancing my shame from the other person. Both isolate rather than heal and repair.

If I listen attentively and notice in God’s presence, there are two main messages to my shame. It either warns me against being seen and exposed as a failure, or it warns me that others will flee from me and leave me alone to face it all. When both show up, it can be a challenging push-pull in relationships – inviting others to come closer, and then pushing them back away when they get too close. In both cases, it’s not so much a conscious strategy as an instinctive reaction. In both cases there is an ongoing invitation to trust God the Father and begin maturing as I abide in healthy and meaningful relationships.

Fear of failure was familiar to the twelve apostles. Just think of how they handled the Passion of Jesus. When Peter first heard of it, he swiftly forbade his Lord to speak any further of it – prompting Jesus to respond, “Get behind me Satan! You are an obstacle to me. You are thinking not as God does, but as human beings do” (Matthew 16:23). Nor did Peter have it figured out during Holy Week! He, at least, stays close(ish) to Jesus – rather than running and fleeing like the others. But he denies him three times. When Jesus begins surprising each of them on Easter Sunday, they are downcast, discouraged, and afraid. They were not yet ready to handle the “failure” of the Cross.

If God is not a loving Father who is faithful and true to his promises, then the Cross is indeed both a scandal and utter foolishness. Jesus willingly faced the Cross – though not without sweating blood first and begging the Father for another option! How did he do it? Ultimately, Jesus was secure in his identity as the beloved Son of the Father. He trusted his Father’s promise of Resurrection. The “failure” of the Cross was ultimately a great victory. It was truly “Good” Friday as Jesus crushed the head of the serpent. The very moment in which the evil one grasped at his triumph was a singular moment of human love and trust. It was the moment in which Jesus invested meaning and hope into what otherwise truly would be a hopeless and miserable human existence following the Fall.

Jesus is Lord and Savior and Messiah – not in a way that erases human sin or suffering, but in a way that transforms it. He opens up a healing path for us. When he says to Peter, “Get behind me,” he is not saying “Get out of my sight!” Rather, he is inviting Peter (and us) to take up our Cross and follow him.

For us who are redeemed by his blood and in the process of being restored and sanctified, taking up our Cross and Jesus often means failing and learning, failing and growing, failing and repairing. As Winston Churchill once put it, “Success in not final, failure is not fatal. It is the courage to continue that counts.”

Will you and I have the courage to fail? Will we allow space for failure – in ourselves, in our families, in our workplaces, and in our church communities? Will we meet failure with both tenderness and truth-telling? In the person of Jesus, we see that God is clearly drawn towards our failure and our littleness. He enters into it, neither shaming us nor excusing us. He helps us to trust and to grow. May we receive that gift and learn to do the same!

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Purity Culture – Conclusion

This is the fifth and final installment of my reflections on the “purity culture” often found in Christian homes and churches. Out of fear that young people will be corrupted by the sex-obsessed culture, we sometimes miss the mark ourselves. We link shame and sexual desire together in ways God never intended; we abdicate our responsibility of providing apprenticeship in chastity; or we model a moralistic self-righteousness rather than humble growth and fruitfulness. Perhaps the biggest mistake is turning “purity” exclusively into a moral issue and/or a sexual issue. That is certainly not the biblical view nor the Catholic view.

Lie #5 – “Purity” is mainly about sexual morality

In the Beatitudes, Jesus teaches, “Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God” (Matthew 5:7). Isn’t it interesting that most American Christians hear these words and instantly imagine sexual morality?

Yes, Jesus proceeds to address adultery and lust in the subsequent chapters. But he also addresses murder, aggression, anger, unforgiveness, and greed. He teaches about prayer, fasting, and almsgiving. He invites us to seek first the Kingdom of God, and in so doing to persevere in seeking, asking, and knocking.

Above all else, Jesus speaks from start to finish about a relationship with God the Father. He invites us into communion. He desires us to be “blessed” by our Father, who sent his own Son to die for us while we were yet sinners. We do not and cannot earn our way into relationship by good conduct. We enter our covenant with God as ones who are poor in spirit; grieving and mourning, meek and humble; aching with hunger and thirst. Jesus knows that we will be presenting broken lives to God for mending.  Purity of heart means bringing God all of the scattered pieces of our shattered hearts! It is then that real growth can begin.

In other words, when Jesus speaks of being “pure in heart,” he is inviting us to be wholly and wholeheartedly consecrated to God. That means allowing every dimension of our being to be blessed by him. It is the opposite of hiding away pieces of ourselves in shame! It was the devil who tried to convince Adam and Eve to run and hide after they had disobeyed God.

Toxic shame is perhaps the single greatest obstacle that keeps us from letting ourselves (ALL of ourselves) be loved by God and others. Many of us are more susceptible to shame because we learned to tie performance and relationships together: “I am only lovable if…” or “I am only lovable when…” To the extent that those lies have purchase in our hearts, Christian morality becomes a torment rather than Good News.

The urge to hide ourselves is challenging enough when we feel shame over moral faults. But the devil has worked still greater harm in many of us. In moments of betrayal, abuse, abandonment, or neglect, he has crept in and whispered lies – convincing us to hold contempt toward our desires, our bodies, our sexuality, or our capacity for delight. We then enter a false battle for “purity” – trying to rid ourselves of that which is best in us! If we feel shame every time we feel desire, how can we grow in healthy relationships? Hiding ourselves does not lead to intimacy.

Our shame can be healed by moving away from hiding and towards relationships: becoming truly and safely seen, known, heard, understood, and cherished – not some idealized version of ourselves, but as we currently are, a work in progress.

The Catechism of the Catholic Church (n. 2518) speaks of purity of heart as a threefold sharing in God’s purity: in our charity, our chastity, and our orthodox belief. In other words, we are created to share in divine Goodness, divine Beauty, and divine Truth.

Truth, Goodness, and Beauty – the human heart has an almost insatiable longing for all three! The devil HATES this longing in us, but cannot erase it. So he attempts to divert and distract us away from the intimacy of relationship that is at the core of all three.

Our intellects are ordered to the Truth. Purity of heart includes surrendering to the Truth whenever the evidence is in front of us. The humble heart is willing to be proven wrong – or incomplete. The arrogant heart resists the vulnerability of surrender – either through obstinate refusal to believe what God has revealed or through a dogmatism that thinks it knows everything – as though Truth is an object we could possess. The closer we get to divine Truth, the more we realize how little we truly know!

Our wills are ordered to Goodness. We long to love and be loved. And so God commands us to love him with all our heart, mind, soul, and strength, and to love our neighbor as ourselves. It is a two-way street: freely receiving and freely giving. Growing in purity of heart includes recognizing any ways in which we are blocked – either in giving or receiving. The more we love, the greater our ache to become more God-like in our love.

Our ache for Beauty flows from both our intellect and our will. Here we find the intense desire of eros that is such a glorious divine gift. No wonder the devil tries so hard to ruin it! Early and often, he entices us to curse our desire for Beauty – to feel shame around this God-given longing.

Yes, our desires often run wild – overindulging in food, becoming possessive in relationships, or wandering into sexual fantasies. That is why the Catechism speaks of “apprenticeship” in chastity. There is an appropriate pruning or discipline – not for the sake of cutting off desire, but of fully claiming it.

The word “purity” is first and foremost about our relationship with God –with sexuality as only one dimension. It is a damaging distortion to use “purity” in a moralistic sense. Instead, the Catechism of the Catholic Church devotes ten full paragraphs to the much more helpful words “integrity” and “integrality” (see nn. 2338-2347). Little by little, we learn how to put all the pieces together, aided by healthy relationships with God and others.

Becoming a whole person in our sexuality, our desires, our emotions, and our relationships is not a matter of “on” or “off,” maintaining or losing. It is a lifelong task. The Catechism proclaims this integration to be “a long and exacting work. One can never consider it acquired once and for all. It presupposes renewed effort at all stages of life” (n. 2342).

We are called to keep growing in charity, chastity, and truth our whole life long. The more we grow, the more we will long to grow. Getting a taste of God’s Truth, Goodness, and Beauty is described by many of the mystics as a “wound” – but in this case a wound of love that keeps us coming back to our lover for more. Once we begin tasting from the spring of living waters, our thirst for God intensifies. We desire more; we ache; we taste; we desire; and so the cycle of growth continues.

Apart from those living waters, we wither and die. If we only bring parts of ourselves to the living waters, the relationship will remain impartial and restricted. God desires ALL of us. The mystics desire ALL of him. Unlike lust, however, there is no devouring here. Jesus and his bride become one flesh, in a way that causes both to flourish. Every healthy and holy human relationship imitates that heavenly nuptial union. It is indeed a daunting and lifelong task to keep maturing in imitation of Christ. We need not shame ourselves or others in the process, but allow the kindness of God to keep spurring us on to deeper repentance.