Tag: Law of Gift

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“Watch!”

Advent is a season of watchfulness. Near the end of Mark’s Gospel, Jesus admonishes his disciples with a simple and strong commandment, “What I say to you, I say to all: watch!” (Mark 13:37).

What does Jesus mean by “watch”?

His one-word command (grēgoreîte) is a dramatic conclusion of extensive apocalyptic prophecies about the destruction of the Temple, the darkening of the sun and moon, the falling of the stars from heaven, and the coming of the Son of Man. You know not the day nor the hour, so watch.

Jesus is not fearmongering – even though many Christians today imagine the apocalypse that way. The coming of the Son of Man is not something we dread, but something we eagerly await, and daily pray for: “Thy Kingdom Come!” “Come, Lord Jesus!”

To be sure, overindulgence, carousing, or spiritual lethargy will hinder us from being watchful and ready at the coming of Jesus. But so will fear! There is an important difference between vigilance and hypervigilance. The former is a sober-minded awareness that is willing and ready to receive and respond. The latter is a fear-based reactivity, a trauma response doing what trauma responses do – ensuring survival at all costs. Jesus is not inviting us to mere survival, but into abundant life.

This fall, I appreciated a prayerful reading of Erik Varden’s The Shattering of Loneliness. Near the end of the book, he suggests a twofold meaning of the word “aware” – 1) to notice; and 2) to take care of or protect. He suggests that the best of the monastic traditions, including the desert fathers, embraced both dimensions of watchfulness. If we exclusively focus on one or the other, we will fail to fulfill Jesus’ command.

I find that, amidst the ruins of Christendom, many of the remnant Christians are so hyper-focused on “taking care of” that they no longer know how to notice with curiosity and kindness. It’s not hard to find hypervigilant and overprotective Christian parents, Christian families, or entire Christian communities. Fear dominates their consciousness and imagination as they try to control their lives and their environments, feeling immensely threatened by “those people.” These attitudes cause grave harm.

When fear predominates, it becomes impossible to live in trust, receptivity, and mutual relationships. I’ve worked with many adults who survived these home and church environments. Beneath all their tendencies of people-pleasing, anxiety, resentment, and control, there is a vast well of grief over never really being noticed, loved, and delighted in for who they are. They had to reshape their identity into cookie-cutter roles in order for the family to feel well-managed and in control.

When fear is intense, our field of vision literally narrows. There is little space for childlike curiosity to notice and discover and grow. I wrote long ago about the difference between Smoke Alarms and Watchtowers. More recently, I explained how virtue is impossible when emotions are eliminated or subjugated.

Christians have understandably felt threatened in the last few centuries. It’s tempting to get stuck in a collective trauma response, bound up in fear, and fail to remember that the victory is already won! Yes, Jesus spends all of Mark 13 offering apocalyptic prophecy. But these teachings immediately precede his entry into Jerusalem and his willing engagement of his Passion. As a victor very much in charge, Jesus overthrows the powers of darkness and brings his Kingdom definitively and victoriously into the midst of a world that is indeed passing away. It is our calm noticing of his presence and activity that will allow us an eager response and a joyful readiness to enter the heavenly wedding feast.

One extreme of “watch,” then, is a fear-based hypervigilance, which is not hard to find in our church communities. In our culture today, you can increasingly find the opposite extreme – an individualistic “mindfulness” that sometimes gets stuck in navel-gazing, or an untethered empathy that leaves no space for truth-telling.

As we see in Jesus, “the kindness of God that leads to repentance” (Romans 2:4) allows compassion and truth-telling to go together. He describes himself and our heavenly Father as “moved with compassion” (Luke 10:33; 15:20), using the Greek word splangna (“guts”). Compassion is an embodied response. We allow ourselves to feel what the other is feeling – especially when it is painful. Rather than backing away, bypassing, or fixing, we stand with as witnesses. Such “being with” is not at all incompatible with telling uncomfortable truths. Once the toxic shaming of “shoulds” is set aside, there is a time and a place for naming honestly and kindly the harm that is being caused by destructive behaviors. Jesus frequently speaks uncomfortable truths with kindness.

What about mindful noticing? During all these years of healing and recovery in my own life, I’ve come to appreciate being aware, here and now, in the present moment. I’ve come to appreciate noticing what is happening, without launching into contempt or judgment. I discover much more truth that way! Much of my former “discipline” was more about self-shaming, drivenness, and perfectionism. From a place of insecurity and fear, I was desperately striving to be good enough to be lovable. That is not virtue.

Of course, overindulgence is not virtue either. As I read Erik Varden’s words this fall, I felt a gentle invitation from the Lord to take the next step from a calm noticing into a healthy “taking care of.” I can be mindful of what is really happening here and now, and then freely engage in a “yes” or “no.” My desires are still unruly and disordered, in need of guidance and direction. They do not need shaming or fixing or subjugation, but they do need to be brought over to the Kingdom of God. So long as my desires belong only to this fallen world, they will indeed pull me downward, in a way that steadily ruins me. As I learn to receive them, accept them, and allow Jesus to love me there, I discover that I can be free in Christ; I can say “no” and be okay.

Jesus is the Word made flesh. He humbles himself to share in the clay of our humanity so that we can be exalted to share in his divinity. Mindfulness has enormous value, but is not an end in itself. It opens us to the transcendence that Jesus brings. It opens us to the fullness of Truth. He is the Way, the Truth, and the Life. Jesus entered this world precisely so that we can be wedded to him and thereby transcend this world – because this world and all the things in it are passing away.

Without the Incarnation, there is no Hope. There is no “taking care of” possible in a world that is under the dominion of its seducer, Satan. Jesus undoes that betrayal, not by eliminating its consequences, but by forging a path through suffering and death into eternal life. Genuine mindfulness allows us to see and follow that path, without being dismayed or distracted by the immensity of suffering that we would prefer to ignore, and definitely without being seduced by the allurements of this world.

Genuine mindfulness allows us to follow the path (not just “me”). The command of Jesus to “watch” is plural (grēgoreîte). He is not inviting an isolated and individualistic mindfulness, but a shared path of noticing and responding. We were never meant to exist as isolated individuals. It is not good for man to be alone.

Pope John Paul II articulated this balance in his Law of Gift: “Man cannot fully find himself except through a sincere gift of himself.” But we cannot give ourselves without much diligent labor of human integration. We must first become more of a whole person, self-aware and self-possessed – thereby allowing us to make a free, wholehearted, and fruitful gift of ourselves. Each person is a unique and unrepeatable mystery, worthy indeed of being loved and cherished in that uniqueness. But that unique giftedness is for the sake of bringing life and healing and goodness to the rest of the Body of Christ. It’s a gift to be given away.

We desperately need healthy Christian community – community which allows us (in the words of Curt Thompson) to be seen, soothed, safe, and secure. It is through a shared and communal “noticing” that each of us can discover more fully who we really are. It is also in that shared and communal noticing that each of us can emerge in lives of discipleship and truly “take care of,” truly become the steward of our story. It is then that self-awareness and self-possession can become self-gift. It is then that we can be one with Jesus in laying down our lives that others may live.

Come, Lord Jesus!

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Love Yourself as Your Neighbor

The title is not a typo. It is intentionally provocative. I invite you to try it on for size: “Love yourself as your neighbor.” What does that stir in you?

When my spiritual director first suggested those words to me a few months ago, it jolted me. And then I saw the truth of it. There is a simple mathematical syllogism here. If A=B then B=A. When speaking of love of neighbor and love of self, Jesus does not say “more than” or “less than,” but “as.”

I suspect that many Christians will cringe at the invitation to love themselves, much less to love themselves just as much as they love their neighbor. Surely such talk is selfish? Doesn’t Scripture tell is that it is more blessed to give than to receive (Acts 20:35)? Aren’t we supposed to make a gift of ourself rather than seek our own fulfillment? Shouldn’t we be putting others first?

Jesus never actually says that last one. Nor did he live that way. As a human being, he received an abundance of human love – not only during his infancy and childhood, but even after he entered public ministry. He did not seek or expect that love from most people, but he willingly received it when it was offered. His receptivity and willingness to be loved solidified in him a secure foundation from which he could become total gift.

It is true that there is no greater love than to lay down one’s life. It is true that each and every one of us is given abundant gifts so that we can freely and fruitfully give it all away. The Second Vatican Council described human beings as creatures of gift. We are the only beings that God willed into existence for their own sake – and we can only find ourselves by making a sincere gift of ourselves (Gaudium et Spes n. 24).

What is “sincere” self-gift? And what gets in the way?

I see two extremes here, two possible distortions: toxic self-fulfillment and toxic self-sacrifice

Our culture definitely feeds us lies about finding fulfillment in ourselves. There are the more obvious examples of self-indulgence: binging on food, drink, tv shows, shopping, pornography, etc. There are also more subtle versions: the fitness culture that tells us we will be happy when our bodies look a certain way, or the approaches to psychotherapy that beckon us to find fulfillment by crafting our own identity. 

All God’s creatures are good, and we humans are very good. But when those creatures or we ourselves become the overarching goal, we become turned in on ourselves and will never discover our deeper identity and purpose, which always includes an invitation to give ourselves away in fruitful love.

The other extreme is found in all of us who squirm at the thought of “love yourself as your neighbor.” Most Christians I know feel far more comfortable giving than receiving – even if their “giving” has become joyless, bitter, resentful, or stuck. There can be a distorted form of self-sacrificing that loathes our own dignity and struggles to be receptive to the love and care of others. Receiving care would mean opening up places in our heart in which we feel alone, unloved, or unlovable. It would mean the risk of being disappointed or hurt or rejected or abandoned. It feels far safer to keep sacrificing and call it “good.”

I easily slide into caregiver mode. In those moments, I can indeed be a fruitful gift to others. And the Lord often does invite me to be generous. But if I am not paying attention and discerning, I will find myself either avoiding intimacy (always giving care and never receiving it) or feeling driven and constricted in my “giving” – or both. The former leaves me feeling alone and unloved; the latter leaves me feeling resentful and entitled. Both leave me susceptible to grasping and taking – which seems to be self-indulgence but is actually a desperate cry from within to pay attention and receive love and care.

“Integration for the sake of self-gift” – this theme summarizes the last seven years of my life, and much of my current work with other priests. Again and again, I wish I could just feel free as I give and sacrifice. “I should just be able to do this,” says my inner critic. Again and again, the Lord gently reminds me that I need much care as I make slow and not-always-steady progress. I need people in my life who see all of me – including the parts and places that feel messy or filthy. Jesus desires nothing short of ALL of me – and that includes the pieces that feel toxic. I cannot give wholeheartedly if I keep hiding away half the pieces.

I am gifted at being in dark or scary places with others. I bring both truth-telling and tenderness. I attune keenly and offer an abundance of space for them to show up however they need to.

Oh, how I need those gifts offered to me! In some cases, I seek it and experience shame or disappointment. The other offers quick advice or fast fixes, makes a comparison, or keeps talking without really having listened. And then there are those moments where really great care is present. Sometimes I receive it; more often, I launch into the “5 D’s of Dodgeball” – dodge, dip, duck, dive, and dodge. I have to admit – I’m pretty great at that game in intimate relational settings. Sometimes the others are skilled enough and kind enough to be unphased and unconfused by my maneuvering. They don’t try to whip a ball at me. Instead, I see in their eyes and face that they’re not going anywhere. Sometimes I let myself be loved in those moments. The parched land finally drinks in the water of life.

Let yourself be loved.

I am reminded here of the inspiring words of Claire Dwyer in her delightful book that summarizes the spirituality of Saint Elizabeth of the Trinity:

“Let yourself be vulnerable.  Let your walls down, your carefully constructed fortresses breached, your fiercely guarded heart laid bare.  Let your wounds be touched, your fears revealed, your deepest desires, damaged dreams, and most daring hopes unveiled before the Bridegroom who has the power to redeem, restore, and resurrect them. Drop your independence and the idea—which you clutch so tightly—that you can do anything to protect and save yourself.  And let Him love you.”

Jesus never actually says to put others first and disregard your own dignity. However, both Scripture and twenty centuries of Tradition repeatedly emphasize the core of the Gospel – that God offers us love freely and gratuitously. He loves us first, while we are yet sinners. We can only grow and bear fruit to the extent that we have received (and keep receiving) as branches on the vine.

Jesus and Mary are models of total and fruitful self-gift, but they are first models of receptivity. All that Jesus has (and gives away) is from the Father. Mary receives so wholeheartedly that the very Word of God becomes flesh in her.

Moreover, Jesus and Mary’s receiving is not merely from the Father. They willingly receive from other humans. Mary and Joseph pour human love into Jesus’ human needs. He is honored, delighted in, nurtured, protected, played with, taught, and held in reverence as one who has his own identity apart from their pre-conceived notions. Likewise, we can imagine the abundant human goodness of Mary’s childhood. Saints Joachim and Anne are traditionally named as Mary’s parents. She would not be so open and receptive in the Gospel stories if she had not already been loved safely and consistently.

Love your neighbor as yourself. Love yourself as your neighbor. Every child of God is uniquely created by him and is worthy of honor and delight. Love is never earned, but always a gift. We all get to be branches on the vine that is Christ. We all get to be interconnected as we receive and as we give forth fruit. We all matter. We all need Jesus.

It’s such a simple lesson, but one that may take a lifetime to learn. May you and I keep learning!

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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!