"Nowhere Near The Man I Thought I Was"

My post yesterday (People Want Abortion) was my attempt to flesh out the inability of our culture, blinded by sin, to change course by way of reason, logic and common sense alone. I argued this also in The Time For Teaching And Preaching Is Over to the degree that the 1990's "presentation of Catholic truths" socratic-type method of moral reasoning may still have it's place but not it's day in our present culture; i.e., the idea that "if we just catechize and teach the faith better to people, the Truth will become self-evident and they will naturally become Catholic." My conversation with a friend from that post:

"I once had a vigorous disagreement with a religious, who was absolutely right. He said, "The time for preaching and teaching is over."" I was shocked by that, but...he was profoundly right."

"What did he mean by it?" I asked, still reeling a bit from the cold stiff truth.

 "He meant it on a large scale, a metaphysical scale, a historical epoch scale. Not that one couldn't teach and such...but that the preparations now are not evangelistic. They are one hundred percent witness and prayer."

In On Avoiding True Friends, I noted the lack of true intimacy and transformation in online-friendships because it removes the risk of vulnerability and replaces it with keeping the locus of control within one's grasp:

"By placing a screen between yourself and the friend, while retaining ultimate control over what appears on that screen, you also hide from the real encounter--forbidding to the other the power and freedom to challenge you in your deeper nature and to call on you here and now to take responsibility for yourself and for him" (Scruton, 96).

I often wonder why some of my prayers for miracles go unanswered. If I'm honest, there is probably a degree of pride, self-assurance, and doubt laced in with those petitions. Of wanting to retain control, save face. In short, I have not learned to pray in a spirit of self-abandonment. "And he wrought not many miracles there, because of their unbelief" (Mt 13:58).

We can see Peter's self-heavy bravado in the Gospels: "Even if I have to die with you, I will never deny you!" (Mt 26:35). And yet he does deny him before men not once, not twice, but three times (Lk 22:54-62). What is the fate of such a denial? "But whosoever shall deny me before men, him will I also deny before my Father who is in heaven" (Mt 10:33). 

Peter was filled with shame, and repented. But more importantly, he learned a valuable lesson: one cannot rely on their own strength to endure the test.

One of my favorite modern disciples (hopefully on the path to sainthood) is Fr. Walter Ciszek, who grew up in the hard-scrabble coal country of Pennsylvania and had a tough-as-nails character. This character would serve him well as a priest. However, when he joined the Jesuits and found himself in a Siberian prison after sneaking into Russia to minister to Catholics there, he similarly learned a lesson in relying on his own strength when he was put to the test. From WAU:

"Initially, Fr. Ciszek wasn’t too worried. He was innocent, after all. And he had "a great deal of confidence" in his ability to stand firm against any interrogator.

His strength, discipline, and habits of prayer certainly helped. But Lubianka wore him down with its constant hunger and isolation and the all-night interrogations, with their mind games and agonizing afterthoughts. After a year—brutalized, drugged, threatened with death—Ciszek did what he had been sure he would never do: He signed papers that gave the impression he had been spying for the Vatican.

Afterward, burning with shame and guilt for being "nowhere near the man I thought I was," he finally faced the truth.

'I had asked for God’s help but had really believed in my ability to avoid evil and to meet every challenge. . . . I had been thanking God all the while that I was not like the rest of men. . . . I had relied almost completely on myself in this most critical test—and I had failed.'

The interrogations continued, and Ciszek fell into black despair. Terrified, he threw himself on God, pleading his utter helplessness. Then, in a moment of blinding light, he was able to see "the grace God had been offering me all my life."

'I knew that I must abandon myself completely to the will of the Father and live from now on in this spirit of self-abandonment to God. And I did it. I can only describe the experience as a sense of "letting go," giving over totally my last effort or even any will to guide the reins of my own life. It is all too simply said, yet that one decision has affected every subsequent moment of my life. I have to call it a conversion. . . . It was at once a death and a resurrection.'

St. Paul learned one of his greatest lessons in humility and abandonment not because of his great fortitude, but in his weakness.

"Therefore, in order to keep me from becoming conceited, I was given a thorn in my flesh, a messenger of Satan, to torment me.  Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me.  But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong" (2 Cor 12:7-10).

In humanist psychology, individuals are taught they are stronger and more capable than they give themselves credit for. For the Christian, however, we know that self-reliance can only take one so far, and will ultimately be our downfall if we rely on it when put to the test.  

I know for a lot of guys I know, they will be facing some hard decisions of being put to their own personal test with regards to vaccine mandates and their jobs in the ensuing months. Though I'm reticent to attach an objective religious or spiritual dimension to these decisions myself, for the individuals facing these difficult situations in conscience, that may be the case for them. They may find themselves saying "I will never get the jab" and staring down the barrel of a proverbial gun as a result. They will either have to face the consequences of these decisions, or perhaps be delivered from them. 

'I had asked for God’s help but had really believed in my ability to avoid evil and to meet every challenge. . . . I had been thanking God all the while that I was not like the rest of men. . . . I had relied almost completely on myself in this most critical test—and I had failed.'

In reality, none of us are "near the men we think we are." We will all be put to our own personal tests. For Fr. Ciszek, his strength became his weakness, and in his weakness he found his strength. But in it, he learned a powerful lesson: "Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight." (Prov 3:5-6)

Ora Pro Nobis.