Renouncing All for the One Who Is Worth It- No not you

I’ll admit it, I stole the title of today’s post from my Magnificat Reflection from Monsignor Giussani, a priest from Milan, Italy. Today’s stolen title and gospel reflection can be found here. It’s more than worth the read.

None of us are worth it really, though are attentions seem to sway us to think otherwise. We turn to our husbands and friends and co-workers to provide what they cannot, the unconditional, unselfish, unyielding love of Christ. I am sure that is why so many relationships fail, because we fail, yet expect others not to do the same. In fact, we expect them to exceed our expectations. We are so unfair and selfish in that way. If we are imperfect producers of love how can we expect any different from the flesh and blood around us?

Renouncing all for the One who is worth it is just that, He is the only one that is worth it. Yet our hearts pour out in so many other directions, bleeding on the ground and we still ask why. Why did he/she hurt us? Why is there pain in the world? Why did they break our hearts? Why do we ask why? Why instead do we not yield our hearts to the one who created the heart? To the lover of our souls? To the Only one who knows, and is worth it?

The light of love flooded my heart this morning thinking of the lover of my soul. And I couldn’t help but think how my heart danced away from him, watching him standing in the background. It isn’t that I want to stray, in fact quite the opposite, but love and acceptance seem so enticing when the road gets hard. Sometimes you just want to be held by something real. And Jesus is hard to hold, because in order to hold Him, you have to renounce everything else, even oneself.

And it’s hard to let go. It’s hard to follow a path that leads to the unknown. And my cross is heavy, over- bearing at times. And I don’t like it, and I don’t want it. Why can’t I carry an ice cream cone or a puppy or something? The burden of the wood burns my back, It is sweaty, hard, laborious. And sometimes the gentleness of Jesus gives way to the pain of Jesus. But the way of the cross is the same every time- a painful death, silence and a resurrection. Yet we so often will not choose that path, even it be an unconscious choice of avoidance. And that’s where I was. The road is narrow and I don’t like it. But after much pain and trial, I am back on the road, carrying my cross, coming after Him to a known death, again and again and again. I have calculated the cost yet still run. I reason I am not strong enough or brave enough. I reason I am broken. I say that I am not the one. And that’s the moment I leave Jesus in the corner while I dance with someone else. But when I come back, the pain is sweet, the burden is light and the heart is heavy. This is the great mystery of the crucifixion.

The meditation from today goes, “As time passes, Jesus makes his request more demanding.” Oh how true this is! And our love for Him is tested, day in and day out. Oh Lord why do you bring me such difficult people. “Because, ” He says, “They need to know that they are loved by me.” Oh my Lord, such a tall order.

But this is what I was made for, to love Him and know Him and serve Him. To pour that love out so others may experience Him in a real and tangible way. No matter their belief or who they are. Everyone wants and needs to be loved, and it’s really that simple. And the closer I am married to the sacred heart of Jesus is the closer I am to heaven. And I want to be close to heaven because my heart is buried there, and so is His. There is no other reason to live. Just Him. And that love, that great love that pours out when we are hopelessly wrapped up in Him is the same love I give to you, and you, and you. I give His love regardless of the love that’s given to me from you. Because it is not my job to make them love me, it is my job to make me love them, like He loves them. Don’t they know He’s right here? And there are so many tears. Oh Lord, how foolish I have been. Of course I am not qualified, but I am when you hold me. Because when you hold me, I can hold them. Because it is ok. Because through His wounds I am healed. And the wounds in my heart, those invisible wounds that Christ has too, can heal the one who is wounded. How can we not see those wounds? They are the walking dead in high positions, they are noble kings, they are paupers and they are prisoners. Is there any man that can escape the pain of life?

If today you hear His voice, harden not your hearts. Marry your heart to Jesus and reflect the love that He has, no matter the cost.

Listen to: I shall Not Want

The Pain of Perfectionism

O Mary conceived without sin, pray for us who have recourse to thee

The pain of legalism is the pain of perfection. No matter the religion, the task , the opportunity, it is a deep rooted need to be parallel with rules, with something tangible and real, with something that aligns your desire to tear off your old skin and make it new again. Legalism is grasping and real and desirable because it is something to align yourself with when the pain becomes to unbearable. It is a real place to go, a set of absolutes to follow when you are drowning in a world of uncertainty. And while many find legalism abhorrent and counter-cultural or even more so so very “Catholic,” legalism really has less to do with religiosity and more to do with the pain of perfection. It is the trauma of a neglected child begging to be loved by their parents, an abused child struggling to make sense of their broken body, and the abandoned child, hungry for the love of something. So when you tell me my legalism is so very Catholic, I will tell you that what is so very Catholic is what ultimately freed me.

For those of us scrambling from the pain of wanting to be loved, we lean into legalism in all of our endeavors. I learned early on that sexual abuse manifests itself in perfectionism for some, and when perfectionism cannot be attained the suffering ensues. So we search for something real, something we can hold on to to attain this great level of perfection. It is ultimately in rules that we find our comfort, sticking to rigidity within ourselves, cleaving to unattainable goals and words that always fall short and are imperfect. It is the reason I haven’t written in so long. The words were not perfect, the topic was not perfect, and so it just couldn’t come out, lest it offend someone or something or attain some level of criticism that I just didn’t want to bear. So instead I prayed, But not just prayed I ceased to exist in rote prayer.

At first this routine started innocent enough for me. A beautiful devotion to a specific set of prayers, leaving it all to God and surrendering myself as if I did not exist. I found the prayers comforting as I often do when I find prayers that I can cling to. But after awhile, I found myself flat and falling, longing to have a conversation with God but not dare move from my Rule that I created for my self. I find myself entering this pattern often but never recognized it until last Sunday. I was preparing a talk for a group of women for an upcoming retreat when the “light switch” went off for me. That hadn’t happened in a long time. And while usually the darkness is a scary place for me, this time it was not. I knew where I was . It was not unfamiliar.

So I groped around for awhile before reading my talk and like the song in Chorus Line, “I felt nothing.” That same numbness had returned. But it was not vicious this time, it was there when I read my talk and recounted my childhood, my abuse and the betrayal of my dearest friend. I walked out of the room after reading the talk as if nothing happened, because nothing did. The lights were still out.

After an enlightening talk with my sister, I called my godmother to help me through the weeds. I could see a hint of light out in a far distance but I could not get there. We talked for quite some time about healing, letting go and resentment. I love her and wanted to feel, but I couldn’t. No matter, because she has been there and understands. I have learned to listen to her and follow her direction even when I don’t understand. I do that because I recognize the far reaching power of God to send a human being to be there in our suffering. Karen is the embodiment of Jesus to me.

So I started to do what she told me. That will remain between me and her. But the lights just wouldn’t go on, and I stewed, I kept on with my morning routine until I could not bare it. After many months I stopped reading the prayers and asked God what He wanted me to do. I felt the burden start lifting.

As soon as I put down the prayers, the unthinkable happened. My daughter was injured in a horseback riding accident. But because I was feeling nothing, I was able to keep it together for her. It was you are ok, solemn reassurance,. quiet ride to the hospital, prayer over her with great authority and a diagnosis of a compressed vertebrae with no tears from me. She saw my steadfastness and took it on as her own cloak of blessed assuredness. No more tears, no anxiety. “Because, ” I told her with firm resoluteness, “You will be ok. You will ride again.” And that’s all she needed to hear.

With my firmness came a bit of light. I was unmoved and not frightened. I was a rock.

And she went to school the next day and I went to work. And I didn’t pray those prayers again, instead I just went with my spirit. My morning holy hour was the daily church readings, some time in adoration and reading a newfound book recommended to me by a newfound friend, My Peace I Give You: Healing Sexual Wounds with the Help of the Saints. And I felt free.

In Thanksgiving for God sparing my daughter from serious injury, my heart flooded with the want to thank Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament. So I fled to Adoration and sat with Him, while I texted with my husband about my own pain.

Giving thanks to God started to allow me to feel something. It wasn’t on the calendar for that day, but my break in my legalistic routine gave rise to the Lord of my life. I began once again to feel the great joy of freedom that only Christ can bring.

And a funny thing happened. I got several emails out of nowhere from people who had either watched my story or read my recent piece on the Coming Home Network- A Jewish Girl’s Journey to Christ. And the flood of emotion I felt from receiving emails from complete strangers whose life I had somehow touched felt overwhelming. My words somehow got through to them. And somehow despite my brokenness and imperfect words, they heard God.

And I went back to the scripture that I studied just yesterday,

“Rather, new wine must be poured into fresh wineskins. And no one who has been drinking old wine desires new, for he says, ‘The Old is good,” Luke 5:38

The biblical note found an opening in me this morning.

Satisfaction with old forms will prevent one from sampling the new

Astounding…

It is so true that old habits die hard, and deep wounds are the hardest to heal. And when I let go, the light began to flow back in and it wasn’t so dark anymore. And when I asked a good friend why God had chosen me, a broken vessel to be an advisor to men who were both kings and prisoners, he said something very profound. “You are accepting and loving.” That was so simplistic for me. Isn’t everyone?

“No,” he said.

Hmmmm…

So I wrestled with that, lights not fully on yet. What was keeping me in the dark? Why did God choose me to speak to men when I myself was so broken? If they only knew, they would surely turn away. Or maybe that was the exact reason they were not.

I went to bed and woke up determined to find the cause of why the lights went out. As I answered the various emails I had received about my story, my heart flooded with the greatest rush of joy as I recounted my conversion, how I overcame trauma and what and who had helped me along the way.

And I realized in that moment that I had gone back to my old ways. That perfectionism is comfortable and known and that legalism is comfortable and known and that’s why I was stifled, that’s why the lights went out. Because in telling my story sometimes I am triggered to go back and be that person again, and because again and again God makes me tell it. Is that not the conundrum of the cross? Is that not the fiery furnace?

So I released a breath and the lights flipped back on again. God designed me to be free- this is His Holy Spirit. To follow Him wherever He goes, again and again leading me back into the pain so he can go deeper, so he can root out the wounds that plague me, so he can make me better, so that I can be His vessel of light to another fellow journeyman.

Immediately, something like scales fell from Saul’s eyes, and he could see again. Acts 9:18

Listen to Open Up Let the Light In