I am questioning everything right now. I know that I am meant to write but where, and what? Lord, where do I go? Where is the whole world?
“Do not wait for leaders; do it alone, person to person.”
St. Teresa of Calcutta
It is a concept that Mother Teresa touted but was little understood by the masses. Person to person interaction. The act of one.
Although the culture lifts up Mother Teresa as a demi-god, her heart is often misunderstood. Her lessons are deeper and more profound then simply serving the poor and the dying.
Her heart was for the dignity of the human person. The right to die with love. And the understanding that we are all poor and dying, each of us in our way.
As a young Jewish girl, Mother Teresa’s impact on my life was profound and I invested in her philosophy of servitude and deep love. In her acts of kindness and humility, I found the God of love, and unconsciously my soul opened up when it contemplated service to others.
As a sexual abuse survivor living in the 1990’s, there were no outlets of help. My cries became muted and I had to move on. My body was dead but my soul was not, in fact it was the only thing that was keeping me alive…
It is important to note that our deepest purpose comes from our deepest pain. In God’s economy, he uses it all, every last bit of it. In understanding Mother Teresa’s profound love in service, I found a way to express my pain in a tangible and healthy way, pouring myself out like a libation for others. The more I gave, the more I healed, and I soon found myself at the feet of the least and lost of our society.
How was I able to serve them? That’s easy.
I was one of them.
The difference for me from death to life was the understanding that self-loathing is different than humility. Hating one’s self is contradictory to the very essence of who God is, as I learned later on as a Christian. That we are made in the image and likeness of our Heavenly Father, and God cannot hate himself.
Therefore, humility was an entirely new concept to me. That I did not have to hate myself to love God. No, quite the opposite was true! I had to love myself in order to love Him and serve Him. It was only after this great epiphany that I was able to heal.
I served whoever I could and made it my life. I started when I was sixteen and never stopped. The ability to begin the healing process without a single word spoken was powerful and set the stage for the plans that God had for my life. It seemed that there was no triumph or tribulation that I couldn’t endure- until I couldn’t.
You see service without the consciousness of God is simply that- service. It is self-reliant and many times full of pride- indulging ourselves in our “good works” to show the world. Service becomes a resume and an ego builder, and not an act of humility before the divine master, even for those of us that have committed our lives to public service.
And so through my transformation of being in Christ, my healing through recovery, and my service back to my sisters who were also victims of sexual abuse, I learned how to wash the feet of my Master.
We often think of this scene with Jesus, the washing of the feet, as us having to go out and wash the feet of the “poor” in the secular sense. If in fact you look at the sentence again, Jesus admonishes his followers to wash “one another’s feet.” In other words, each disciple should wash the feet of the other disciple. He is saying in fact to you, who do you consider your equal? Wash that person’s feet.
That is humility.
This will look different for everyone. As you examine this verse again and think of your colleagues or those you identify most with, the thought of serving those people may be more difficult for you than to go out and feed the homeless. This is exactly what Jesus is talking about. The kind of service that nobody sees. The kind that you wouldn’t tell anyone about.
We are supposed to serve those people that God has brought into our lives, even if some of those people are in our lives temporarily. It could be people you work with, family members, ministries you are involved with, or friends.
If it is easy, you are probably not serving the right group of people, try again.
“For if you love those who love you, what credit is that to you? Even sinners love those who love them.” Luke 6:32
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
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.
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
“We must never say that the kind of sanctity, forgetfulness of self, love of the cross, self-immolation and so on-are not for us. That is our human way of looking at things. If God wants them of us, he will send the necessary graces; all we must do is to hold ourselves in readiness for anything that he may ask of us, and go ahead fearlessly.”
Dom Augustin Guillerand, O. Cart., French Carthusian monk and revered spiritual author
The question in my meditation time today was, when is the last time that you were happy? Such an odd question for Day 2 of Lent, when I was expecting the scourging at the pillar. But this Lent has been different for me, very different, as I had already spent my time in the desert prior to entering this Lenten season.
Instead, I felt Ash Wednesday as an opening. There was joy instead of pain, peace instead of sorrow. My foot entered the door of His kingdom and crossed over into an infinite threshold. There was no fire, or brimstone or darkness, but only light; light in my vision, in my body and in my soul. It was almost as if I entered heaven.
But how could this be? Was I not destined to be thrown into the darkness for self-evaluation, state of consciousness and penance? Yes all those things are important. But why had I entered the gates of eternal freedom?
Because, the Lord said, you have chosen the cross
In two or so months of suffering, it wasn’t until a single moment leading up to Lent that I sat with myself and decided to make that choice. I had had enough suffering, and I was willingly ready to hop on that cross. But if I chose death, would he give me life? It was worth the chance…
My soul is sorrowful even to death
When I gave up my soul to the cross, the tears ran dry. I could still feel every inch of the pain; but that was until I crossed over to the other side. And as I slid into my spiritual death, the pain, the willingness to give it all to Him, the suffering suddenly stopped. I was inside the book of Revelation; He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death, or mourning, or crying or pain…and there wasn’t.
The cross was true to it’s word- it did not fail me. I could only feel the splinters but for a second.
And suddenly my great pain turned into great joy, and my mourning to turned into dancing! The welcomed cross, the humble cross, the needed cross.
Choose life, God said, by choosing death
What a strange dichotomy. What an absolute wrecking of soul. But He is the God of the living, not the dead. And I praise the cross of His execution every time I get down on my knees.
O great physician of the soul! Oh great Master! May I die to self a thousand times a day to feel your infinite love!
“When I cried to the Lord, he heard my voice; he rescued me from those who attack me. Entrust your cares to the Lord, and he will support you.”
Psalm 55; A Lament over Betrayal