Category: Truth

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Certainty ≠ Truth

Certainty can be one of the greatest obstacles to Truth.

That claim may shock many Christians, who feel like they are clutching tenaciously to what little certainty remains in our tumultuous times. But certainty and Truth are not the same thing. When we demand or cling to certainty, our quest for Truth gets abandoned, and the Truth gets lost or distorted.

Have you ever had a moment of reckoning – a moment in which your tightly-held certainty was shattered upon the rock of reality?

My older sister never tires of reminding me of my own six-year-old clinging to certainty. My favorite show at the time was The Price is Right – only I insisted quite emphatically that it was called “Win a Car.” No amount of argumentation on her part could sway me. I had often viewed the latter half of the show at my grandparents’ house after kindergarten. I watched contestant after contestant win a car – or be foiled in the attempt.

And then came my reckoning. I passed by the television one summer morning, saw the flashing lights, and heard the familiar voice of Rod Roddy: “Here it comes! Television’s most exciting hour of fantastic prizes! The fabulous, sixty-minute PRICE IS RIGHT!”

Rod called down the first four contestants, and informed them that they were the first contestants on The Price is Right. And those same words appeared on the screen, tiny at first, but swelling until they filled the screen. I stood agape, stunned at my error. I had been so certain – so very certain.

Reality changes us – if we allow it to. Hopefully reality changes us not just once, but day after day. With childlike wonder, we discover new depths of the mystery. The more we know, the more we desire to know. Authentic growth in wisdom actually yields more wonder and more desire, not less. Those who are wise recognize how little they know and understand.

Such was the wisdom of Socrates in the face of his accusers. When he didn’t know something, he at least knew that he didn’t know. He was not puffed up with false certitude. Such was the wisdom of Thomas Aquinas, who stated that “an article of faith is a glimpse of divine Truth tending towards that Truth” (ST II-II, q. 1, a. 6, sc). Catching a glimpse of Truth is different than possessing it with certainty. Those who catch a glimpse of something they truly care about feel an ache to seek more.

In describing faith, Thomas reminds us that our faith does not point to the proposition, but to the reality itself (ST II-II, q. 1, a. 2, ad 2). And perhaps most shocking of all, Thomas asserts that our knowledge of God is a knowledge what he is not, but that what he is remains utterly unknown to us (SCG c. 3, 49, 9).

Thomas Aquinas is not a relativist, and neither am I. But he is even more a mystic than a theologian. He intuitively understands that God is infinite. The closer we get to him, the more painfully we realize the infinite gap between him and us – a gap bridged not by intellectual comprehension or certainty, but only in a communion of love in the new and eternal covenant.

Jesus Christ presents himself as the Way, the Truth, and the Life. He invites us to enter into a relationship with him and to follow him as disciples. Through faith, we become fellow members of his Body. We begin an ongoing journey of conversion, in which we become changed more and more into him. He invites us into communion with him and his Father. He prays that all that is his will be ours. He invites us as his bride into a one-flesh union with him. We are invited to grow into that union throughout our life.

Our demand for certainty comes from our insecure hearts. To feel insecure is one of the most difficult human experiences. The solution to not the “certainty” of Christian fundamentalism, but the intimacy of communion, and the security that is received in that relationship.

The Truth is not relative, but it IS relational. I love studying ancient and medieval philosophy, and find enormous wisdom there. That great legacy of Truth-seeking did not happen in a vacuum. It happened within the context of community. It is only within secure relationships, and in respectful dialogue with fellow humans, that we can pursue the Truth – never as isolated individuals, but as fellow children of God.

There are two opposite errors here: relativism and fundamentalism. Each in its own way refuses to surrender to reality. Relativism dogmatically asserts that there is no Truth. Those who cling to relativism ultimately refuse to allow reality to change them. They also ultimately refuse to give themselves over in a loving communion with the living God who holds all the answers to our ultimate questions.

But fundamentalism, too, is an enemy of Truth. It pretends to offer total certainty about “the truth” in a way that kills curiosity and wonder – the gifts of God that truly draw us into his Truth. There is a vulnerability and a playful engagement in the curiosity of a child. The “certainty” of fundamentalism exchanges a vulnerable relationship with the living God for an illusory sense of control.

The obsession with certainty has been particularly strong in the modern era (the last few centuries). It shows up in both Catholic and Protestant circles in some form of fundamentalism. We see this clinging to certainty it in the “once saved always saved” approach of some Protestants. We see it in an exaggerated emphasis on the inerrancy of Scripture or the infallibility of the pope. I believe in both of those doctrines as far as they go – but I find that most Christians seriously misunderstand or misrepresent them! Insofar as they point us to divine Truth, both are at the service of the living and enduring Word of God, who is a person inviting us into covenantal relationship with himself and his Father.

Through faith, we share in the dying and rising of Jesus. We are securely loved as God’s children, and are able to grow into maturity in Christ. With childlike wonder and curiosity, we can humbly acknowledge and keep surrendering to a Truth that is always larger than us. In the words of C.S. Lewis, “The further up and the further in you go, the bigger everything gets. The inside is larger than the outside.” May we never allow the temptation of certainty to hinder us from the great invitation of the eternal Bridegroom: “Come further up! Come further in!”

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Fatherhood and Play

“Play is the language of paternal love and kindness.”

I was listening to an audiobook this spring as I zoomed downed the highway. These words brought one of those epiphany moments– in which the veil is briefly lifted, time seems to hold still, and – as long as the moment lasts – I feel embraced by deeper Truth. For me, those are moments in which the hosts of heaven beckon (in the words of C.S. Lewis): “Come further up! Come deeper in!”

In case you are curious, the words were from Kelly McDaniel’s 2021 book entitled Mother Hunger. She writes from the perspective of a secular therapist, and in the process affirms several core biological, emotional, and relational truths about motherhood – all of which are strongly reinforced by the latest findings of neuroscience and attachment theory. My May blog posts benefitted from a few of her insights. She is writing to adult daughters, inviting them to consider what they needed and didn’t entirely receive from their own mothers. And then she casually drops in her comment regarding fatherhood, kindness, and the language of play.

In that timeless moment of hearing her quote, I was immediately transported back one year in time to Tallahassee, where I was assisting as chaplain for the priest retreat at the John Paul II Healing Center. As is common, the 18 priest participants showed up with fears, resistance, and defenses. It was amazing to watch those melt away in unexpected ways. Play played a huge part!

I already shared with you last June about the “human sculpting” exercises we engaged in each day. Bob Schuchts invited me, three days in a row, to play the part of God the Father. Another played God the Son, another the Holy Spirit, along with several human and angelic (and demonic) characters. We were invited to follow our intuitions and interact with each other in a visual scene. I felt fear and constriction at first – the familiar perfectionistic pressure to perform well – or else. I turned to Bob and whispered, “I’ve never done these before – what am I supposed to do?” He smiled and shrugged. I felt the familiar dread in my gut. But I reconnected with my body and was able to tap into my deeper desire and intuition. Each sculpt was a surprise. Many participants received insight or healing. For me, it was a oneness with the heart of the Father that shifted my connection with him. I felt his poverty of heart – the way he willingly honors our freedom amidst his ache for our flourishing.

Each day, play opened us in receptivity and a rediscovered joy of fatherhood. The team there ever so simply invited us into play each evening – a cornhole tournament with Sister Miriam as a DJ taking song requests, a Pictionary competition with three teams, a trip to the cinema to watch Father Stu, a group hanging around the campfire each night and laughing together. Everyone felt more authentically human – which is so important to being a healthy priest, much less to being true spiritual fathers! Then Bob shared (without naming names) about the retreat for bishops they have started doing. He described busy bishops, buried beneath impossible pressures and ugly problems, laughing and playing together like little children. How healing! Obviously, deep prayer is the foundation.  But without a playful heart, fathers cannot be fathers!

I can only imagine the plight of bishops. It’s hard enough to be a parish priest these days. I am at my worst when I am in a scarcity mentality. In those moments I feel a drivenness that screams loudly “I don’t have time for that!” – no time to slow down and delight, or savor, or play, or connect, or rest. It is then only a matter of time before I wind up in a place of resentment, and then entitlement – seizing small pleasures that bring no true joy.

At times, I still have the hoarding heart of an orphan – a heart that is terrified of needing and depending on the Father or others. In those moments, fueled by shame and fear, I stockpile and self-protect; I hide my truer and deeper self. At my core, I am highly sensitive, highly creative, eager to connect, and totally playful. But I frequently feel inhibition around play – or at least around being seen in play. It’s so much easier around children, or when I am unaware of anyone watching. It is in those moments when I am the most childlike in my faith, and when I am willing to engage in play with others, that God most powerfully shows up. It is then that I receive the most, and then that others receive the Father’s love through me.

On the retreat, Jake Khym left us with profound words on the Father’s love, encouraging us to anticipate his affection day after day: “Over and over, I will be good to you, my son.” He invited us to notice and receive those frequent moments of affection, to allow the Father to be playful with us and delight in us.

If I pause in the afternoon or evening to reflect on the day in a General Examen, it is a marvelous request I can make to God the Father: Show me how you were affectionate to me today. If I allow myself the time and space for that meditation, it is remarkable how quickly he shows me moments small or large in which he was playfully affectionate to me. He is always a good Father, tending to me in my poverty, and inviting me to become playful as he is playful. I just struggle to believe that it can be so simple and so effective. I struggle to trust amidst that poverty that he will keep showing up and keep being affectionate. Yet he always does!

I believe all men are called to be one or another kind of father – not in the toxic masculinity of the last few hundred years, but in our uniqueness and individuality. Whatever fatherhood may look like for each of us, playful affection will be the language the Father speaks to us, and playful affection will be the language he teaches us to speak to our children.

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Michael the Archangel

Michael is a mighty archangel described in Scripture as commander of God’s heavenly armies. Many of us call upon him daily as a defender and protector. But in what sense does he protect? And what is the battle really about?

Scripture describes Michael casting Satan out of heaven (Revelation 12), battling with Satan over the body of Moses (Jude 9), or battling a spirit described as “the prince of Persia” (Daniel 12).

If angels are spiritual and immortal beings, what does it even mean for them to “fight”? They cannot be wounded or killed – so how can there be any battle, any victory or defeat?

The real battleground is over human freedom, and all that is impacted by our “yes” or “no.” This battle has implications for each one of us individually, but also cosmic ones – because God makes us his stewards.

Each and every human person is created in God’s image and likeness. The devils envy and hate each one of us, and relentlessly seek to ruin us. But God also placed the entire cosmos under human stewardship. God invested us with true authority – an authority the devil has always envied and hated. He seeks to steal it away by seduction and lies. He seems to succeed – both with Adam and Eve and with each of us. They and we give away what is not his to take. And then he thinks he can hold us captive.

Enter Jesus as the new Adam. He ushers in the Kingdom of God, the new creation, new heavens and a new earth. Those who are willing to die with him and rise with him through Faith become members of his Body. Under his headship, every enemy is placed under his feet, until at last even death itself is destroyed (Ephesians 1-2). All this happens by human agency, by the exertion of human freedom – his human freedom, but also yours and mine.  In due time, our human destiny is to become higher than all the angels as we behold God face to face and become like him (1 John 3).

We tend to esteem our own dignity and freedom far less than God does! He never forces us to do anything. For that matter, evil spirits cannot force us to do anything either. Had Adam said “no” and told the devil to leave, the devil would have had to honor Adam’s God-given authority! The same holds true for us, though we need the power of Jesus to reclaim and restore that which we have given away. United with him and in him, we need never fear evil spirits. Indeed, it is they who fear us as we shine with restored glory!

When I say that God honors our freedom, that also means that he allows our freedom to have its consequences. We were the stewards of this current cosmos, and we failed in our stewardship. Though it still bears stunning goodness and beauty, this cosmos is irreparably damaged. The world as we know it is passing away.

[NOTE – I am using the original Greek word kosmos, which can be translated either as “world” or “universe”]

Jesus tells us that he came into this cosmos not to condemn it but to save it (John 3:17).  He will cast out the devil, the ruler of this cosmos (John 12:31). But in what manner? Jesus does not stop us from dying, and he does not stop this universe from coming to its just demise. His kingdom is not of this world – because we the stewards have truly ruined it by giving dominion over to the devil. The devil will have his pound of flesh. But the devil has never understood love or the new life that springs forth from love.

In his dying and rising and ascending, Jesus crushed the head of the serpent. And he ushered in the new creation. Like his risen body (or rather, AS his body) this new creation is both the same and new. We already participate in it! In Christ the head, the battle is done. It is finished. Love wins.  In us the members, the battle is still playing itself out – we need only give over our freedom!

In the early Church, the Letter to Diognetus taught that we Christians are in the world, but not of the world. In one sense, we live and act just like everyone else. But we actually live in an entirely different dimension!  In the 300’s, Gregory of Nyssa observed that “the foundation of the Church is the creation of a new cosmos.” More recently, Pope Benedict XVI explained the Ascension of Jesus as opening up a new dimension of human existence.

That is where Michael comes in. He is the mighty guardian of this new creation. He is God’s answer to the devil. His name is not a name but a menacing question: “WHO IS LIKE GOD??” The devil styles himself a god, but is not. Michael brings God’s Truth and Love to full light and casts out the devil. All that is true and good and beautiful is resurrected in the new creation. All that is disordered, all that tends toward ruin or destruction, all that spirals towards nothingness – that belongs to the devil, who will ultimately be the ruler of nothing.

But back to human freedom. If we want Michael’s protection, we must choose to abide in the new creation, rather than cling to this world, which is quickly passing away. That means becoming willing to die to what is easy or familiar and trust in the newness that is coming. We gain glimpses and tastes of that newness, but are not yet ready for it in all its fullness.

It is truly challenging to abide in the “already but not yet” of Hope. Even now, we possess the Kingdom and already participate in it. But we are not yet ready to see God face to face, and not so completely transformed as to share in the fullness of the ascended glory of Jesus. We call on Saint Michael again and again to defend us in that in-between place, in which we are still vulnerable to the attacks of the evil one. Michael willingly and faithfully defends us. He safeguards the space in which grow. but only we can do the growing!

The more we become who we are, the fewer entry points the devil even has to attempt an assault. God’s light shows us the weak spots where the devil will predictably attack us. We ask Michael’s protection – but we also cooperate with Christ to repair those breaches!

Gregory the Great calls the earthly Church “the Dawn” – surely and certainly ushering in the full light of Day, but still mixed up with the darkness. We eagerly await the full Day, when Christ will always shine, and when Michael’s protection will no longer be needed. In the meantime, we engage our journey of change and growth, until Christ becomes all in all.

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A Horn of Salvation

He has raised up for us a horn of salvation, in the house of his servant David (Luke 1:69).

These are the words proclaimed by Zechariah, the father of John the Baptist, after nine long months of silence. Nine months to ponder the promises of God given through the angel Gabriel.

At the very moment of proclaiming that his newborn son will be named “John,” Zechariah was flooded with the Holy Spirit and burst into praise – in words that many of us proclaim each morning in the Liturgy of the Hours. Unfortunately, our English version loses something in translation, saying “He has raised up for us a mighty savior…”

By contrast, the original text speaks of a “horn of salvation.”  Why?

If the name John (“God is gracious”) was significant and willed by God, so much more the holy name of Jesus, at which every creature must bow – those in heaven, those on earth, and even those in the infernal regions (Philippians 2:10-11).

The name “Jesus” in Hebrew is Yeshua – the very same name as “Joshua” in the Old Testament. The name means “savior.” Joshua was a figure of salvation – giving us a foretaste of Jesus, the true savior of the world.

Joshua led the Israelites in the battle of Jericho (see Joshua 5 and 6). But more truthfully, it was God himself, through his mighty messenger, who won the battle. As Joshua approaches Jericho, he sees a fierce warrior, drawn sword in hand, and asks him, “Are you one of us, or one of our enemies?” And the warrior replies, “Neither. I am the commander of the army of the Lord: now I have come” (Joshua 5:13-14).

We could debate whether this messenger was Michael the Archangel, or the Word of God himself (not yet in the flesh, not yet named “Jesus”). Either way, the instructions come directly from the Lord: Joshua and his soldiers are to circle the city for six consecutive days. Then on the seventh day they are to circle the city seven times. Seven priests are then to blow their seven horns, followed by a jubilant shout.

In light of that story, the seventeenth-century theologian Jacques-Bénigne Bossuet interpreted Zechariah’s choice of words: “The word horn is one of magnificence and terror that in Scripture signified at once glory and an incomparable power for defeating our enemies.”

But who are these enemies from which we need to be delivered? Bossuet reminds us, “They are, in the first place, the invisible enemies who hold us captive by our sins.”

The apostle Paul says the same: “Our struggle is not with flesh and blood but with the principalities, with the powers, with the world rulers of this present darkness, with the evil spirits in the heavens” (Ephesians 6:12).

What important reminders for us today! If we spend mere minutes on social media, we will encounter animosity and enmity – one group of humans pitted against another group of humans, their accusations dripping with contempt. The devil is a master strategist, and “divide and conquer” is one of his choice strategies!

But – you might object – some human beings are perpetrating atrocities against other human beings, or threatening to force us to change our beliefs, or else. Doesn’t that make them “enemies”?

Yes and no. Human beings are only ever “enemies” in a secondary sense. They are, first and foremost, created in God’s image and likeness. He wills their and our salvation (1 Timothy 2:4). Jesus commands us, “Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you” (Matthew 5:44). Paul gets even more specific: “If your enemy is hungry, feed him; if he is thirsty, give him something to drink; for by so doing you will heap burning coals upon his head. Overcome evil by doing good” (Romans 12:19-20).

This is not a command to become objects for others to use or oppress. Rather, it is a command to be on fire with the love of Jesus and to trust God the Father. Jesus was never a powerless victim to others’ manipulations and schemes; yet he truly loved his enemies. Bossuet suggests that this manner of heaping coals upon their head is “to warm up and melt their icy and hardened hearts.” Not all with hardened hearts will welcome this melting. God desires that all be saved, but fully honors our freedom.

Jesus came among us as a true savior from our real enemies. He allowed God’s own breath, the Holy Spirit, to blow through him according to the Father’s will. He knocked down the wall of hostility that had divided us, opening up true reconciliation with the Father and with each other (Ephesians 2:14-16).

For us on earth, the battle is still playing itself out. We are still in the middle of the story. It is so normal for us to feel terrified. It is so tempting for us to look for scapegoats – to depict one human or group of humans as “the enemy.” We need not let the evil spirits play upon our fear and our shame. We need not allow them to seduce us into hatred, division, or contempt. We need not succumb to the lie that secular human efforts will save and deliver us.

Imagine how hard it must have been for Joshua and his soldiers to surrender with trust to God and his promises! Were they really to believe that seven priests blowing on their horns would win the battle, rather than military might or human cunning? But at God’s command, so it happened.

And what a powerful reminder that God does not belong to any sides in our human factions! For him, there is never an “us versus them.” He is fully in charge, and all human beings are called to be restored as his beloved children.

Rather than seeing other human beings as enemies to be fought, rather than looking to secular means of deliverance, will we trust the living God? Will we give our fears over to him, and seek the deliverance that only Jesus can bring?

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The Embrace of the Father

In Luke 15, the Pharisees and scribes are seething with suspicion and envy. The problem? Jesus is hanging out with sinners – welcoming them with kindness, dining with them, and curiously getting to know them. The Pharisees feel a conviction that those sinners need to know the truth! How can they stop sinning if we don’t tell them clearly the difference between right and wrong?

Jesus responds by telling them three stories. God the Father seeks out the lost sheep, seeks out the lost coin, and seeks out his lost sons. In each story God’s desire is not to scold or to punish, but to pursue what had been lost, to embrace with delight, to reconcile, and to restore. In each story, God’s deepest desire is to celebrate the heavenly wedding feast with all his scattered children. He wants all of us at the table, where we can celebrate the one-flesh union between his own Son and all those human beings who dare to desire so much delight.

The younger son (the “prodigal”) comes to his senses and begins to tell the fuller truth to himself – not just about the legal rules he has violated, but about how much harm he has caused in his relationships. He has sinned against heaven. He has sinned against his good father. He rises and returns to the house of his father.

As much as the son desires to return, the father’s desire is infinitely greater. He sees his son from afar, rushes out to meet him, and embraces him.

Here is where the Pharisees and scribes have it so wrong. The Father’s embrace comes first. In his eternal love and kindness, he eagerly seeks us out. He embraces us with delight – while we are yet sinners! Full conversion will come in due time – gradually, and always in a way that keeps inviting us to come further up and further into the infinite vastness and intensity of his delight.

If we are not secure in the Father’s embrace, there is no way we will keep choosing our journey of conversion. If we are like the younger son, we will (sooner or later) return to the familiar smallness and squalor of old and familiar behaviors that cause harm to self and others. If we believe ourselves to be unlovable, and to be lacking in dignity, it’s only a matter of time before we start behaving that way!

If we are like the older son (or the Pharisees or the scribes), we will self-righteously cling to “the truth” – which is really just a list of propositions that allow us to feel good enough about ourselves. If we can control and manage our behaviors, we can style ourselves to be “good” and not like those other people who disregard the truth.  But what we are calling “the truth” is only a very partial glimpse of the living God. Without the relationship, it becomes a caricature and a distortion.

Yes, morality matters. Yes, moral relativism is a problem and a threat. When each person gets to define for himself or herself what is true, good, or beautiful, then innocent people will indeed suffer!

But the answer is not the answer of the scribes and Pharisees. It is not the answer of the elder son. They are fixating on the rules while ignoring the covenantal relationship that is the foundation for all those rules! Jesus teaches us that every single law hinges upon the two great commandments of loving God and loving neighbor.

This past spring, I was chaplain at a priest retreat at the John Paul II Healing Center. Bob Schuchts asked us to consider what the experience of the younger son would have been like if he returned home and was greeted, not with his father’s embrace, but by his older brother.

What a question! And it’s not an abstract question. In our church families, heartbroken humans emerge, month after month. Desire is awakening in their hearts, even though their lives are a mess. They are trying to find their way back to the house of the Father. And what do they encounter here? The Father’s embrace and an invitation into deeper relationship? Or a checklist of expectations for how they are to behave if they want to belong to our club?

Truth-telling is important, but I find that many of us Christians today (like those Pharisees and scribes) are more interested in comparing, categorizing, and condemning. We want to tell “the truth” about particular moral issues while ignoring the deeper and fuller truth about who God is and who we are as human beings.

God tells the truth with kindness, never with contempt. His pursuit of us and his embrace of us communicate to us the Truth of our dignity and our destiny. He reminds us of what we are capable, and emboldens us in our desire. THEN we begin to grow and mature and bear fruit.

The contempt of the older son is a symptom of his underlying shame. I’ve learned to watch for that connection. Whenever contempt for human poverty shows up – whether it’s the poverty of “those people” or my own poverty – it’s a symptom of shame. It’s a symptom of seeking to earn love by performance rather than receive it as gift.  It’s a symptom that we may not truly believe the amazing and foundational Truth of the Gospel – that God makes the first move, that he is always eager to embrace, and that he desires to share everything with us.

We all desperately need to hear that Good News proclaimed to us – usually more than once. We are shattered by sin, and there are many shards of our heart that still don’t know this Truth. The more fully we receive the Gospel, the more we grow and mature and bear fruit.

The saints are those who keep growing into the Father’s embrace. Their deepest suffering is an increasing realization of the infinite gap between themselves and God.  The more they grow, the more they realize how far they are – no longer in shame or discouragement, but in a loving longing that aches for union and realizes there will still be a wait before all fullness comes.

As a result, authentic saints exhibit an incredible kindness to sinners – because they feel a kinship. The gap between God and the saint remains infinite. The gap between the saint and the sinner is miniscule. The saint begins to share in God’s desire for every sinner to be embraced, reconciled, restored, and celebrated. The saint begins to share God’s delight in human dignity, treating self and others with honor rather than contempt – especially when human poverty shows up. Here we find the truer and deeper meaning of “Love your neighbor as yourself” – to welcome human poverty in self and others and allow God the Father to embrace with honor and delight.

Will we allow the Father’s embrace to change our own hearts? Will we desire the same embrace for others – even those we dislike or despise? The Father desires them and us to come into the feast! His embrace is all-transforming. But he never pressures or forces. The decision is ours.

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The Law of Gift

“Man cannot fully find himself except through a sincere gift of himself.” So said Vatican II, in words that John Paul II often repeated. Many call this principle the “Law of Gift.”

But what is “a sincere gift of self,” and how is it actually possible?

I’ve been re-reading John Paul II’s Theology of the Body, now over 40 years old. Okay, I’ll admit – I never actually finished it the first time around, twenty-one years ago. I found some of his reflections tedious and confusing. I drifted into other distractions. But in so many ways, I wasn’t emotionally and spiritually ready to engage all that he was saying.

At the time, I was gung-ho about upright sexual morality. So in my reading of Theology of the Body (TOB), I was scavenging for ammunition.  I wanted “the Truth” so that I could fight the culture war, save marriages, and help young people stay pure. I was well-intended but misguided, because I was conveniently avoiding the brokenness within my own heart!

Even so, I was captivated by the beauty of TOB: the inherent goodness of our bodies; the God-given glory of sexuality, and the invitation to make a free, total, faithful, and fruitful gift of ourselves. I began preaching that message of self-gift.

Meanwhile, I prayed and toiled that I might somehow be strong enough or good enough to be self-giving in that way. I tended to one of two extremes. When I felt like I was “succeeding” in my sacrificial self-giving, I was puffed up with a sense of grandiosity. Then, inevitably, I would struggle or “fail” and would be flooded with shame and discouragement. In both cases, I was keeping parts of myself buried deep, where no one could see them (not even myself!).

In recent years, the Lord has been uncovering layer after layer in my heart, and showing me repeatedly that he desires ALL of me – not just the presentable parts. As that journey progresses, I think I understand more fully the stunningly beautiful invitation of John Paul II. Under the loving gaze of God the Father, with much protection and nurturing from Mary my heavenly mother, I am invited to grow as a whole person so that I can make a free and wholehearted gift of myself.

There are two sides to this beautiful teaching: integrity and self-gift.

When we hear “integrity,” we tend to think of following the rules or getting it right. But the word literally means “wholeness.” I cannot give all of myself if I am unwilling to take hold of all the pieces of my heart – much less to invite God or others close. It is only when I grow in wholeness that I can make a total gift of myself.

Just as there are two sides to the Law of Gift, so there are two common ways of deviating. The first is the one that I was committing for many decades, namely, “spiritual bypass.” We avoid going into the painful places of our own heart. Instead, we rush to “love” or “serve” others. We tell ourselves we are making a gift of ourselves. We tell ourselves we are sacrificing or (in Catholic lingo) “offering it up.” But in many cases, we are actually avoiding the Cross. We are resisting a full participation in the paschal mystery. We are unwilling (or perhaps not yet ready) to enter into the suffering and death of Jesus, to endure the hope of Holy Saturday, and to encounter the newness of the risen Jesus. He eagerly desires to go into those places of our heart with us, but some of us are not yet ready.

“Gift” is only gift if we give all the pieces. That is what integrity means. It means being authentically human – not just a spiritual or cerebral being, but also fully alive in our emotions, our imagination, and our desires. It means being EMBODIED!

Many Catholics talk about “Theology of the Body” – but prefer to keep the teachings only at a spiritual or moral level. Rather ironic, isn’t it, since its focus is the body?  I’ve often suggested that TOB is like a giant crate we’ve brought home from IKEA. It’s an amazing addition to our home – or will be, if we ever take all the pieces out of the box, much less engage in the hard work of assembly!

Meanwhile, in the broader culture, there have been amazing breakthroughs in neuroscience, in developmental psychology, and in trauma research. Trauma shows up in the body. Trauma is healed in the body. I am in awe of how well these findings connect both with the teachings of Thomas Aquinas and John Paul II. But Catholic have been SLOW to integrate and make connections.  We need to!

If we do not, the opposite error will prevail – that of personal “autonomy” or “independence.” In a well-meaning but misguided effort to reclaim the shattered pieces, many contemporary clinicians exalt the Self (with a capital “S”) as the be-all and end-all. It is well and good to become disentangled from abusers or to overturn oppressive structures. But our true human purpose is to make a gift of ourselves – to be the grain of wheat that falls to the ground and dies and bears much fruit.

And that brings us back to the original quote, which articulates the Law of Gift: “Man cannot fully find himself except through a sincere gift of himself.”

We are, at our core, relational beings – because we are created in the image and likeness of a relational God. We will never become who we are if we do not make a free, total, faithful, and fruitful gift of ourselves. But it is a “sincere” self-gift – one that requires authenticity and integrity. If we bypass the broken places, we will never become a whole person that way. Our “gift” will be far less fruitful, because our “yes” is not yet free and wholehearted.

May each of us grow in integrity and discover the ways God is truly inviting us to make a gift of ourselves!