My wife and I are attending a weekend marriage retreat in a couple months; it will be the first one we've done in our twelve years of marriage, so I'm hoping it's a good opportunity to have some time together and maybe work on underlying issues we're not aware of.
Twelve years is not a long time in the grand scheme of things, but it's long enough where you've gotten comfortable, somewhat mechanical, and--let's be honest--lazy. It's easy to take your spouse for granted, but as the years go on you assume they'll always be there, always love you, always do the dishes or change the oil.
It's a dangerous assumption, to be quite honest. I find that the times I fall into sin in general are the times I rest my eyes rather than remaining vigilant. The times of relative peace and complacency, as when King David should have been in battle with his men but remained at the palace instead (2 Sam 11:1)
It's easy to love someone when you know they love you. But the real work of sanctification comes when the person you pledged your life to (and vice versa) actually despises you, has betrayed you, or no longer loves you. "If you love those who love you, what credit is that to you?," our Lord says (Lk 6:32).
I'm not sure you can have any kind of authentic love without suffering. That is why the love of Christ is so complete, so full, so redeeming--because he did not fail to suffer for us. He did not stand afar off, but entered into our existence to give meaning to our suffering and to redeem us through it.
My wife told me about a friend who was struggling to come to terms with the fact that her father has picked up a girlfriend when that friend's mother came down with Alzheimer's. It filled me with a kind of indignation towards this man that I didn't even know--"you don't DO that to a person!" How could he? But it is more common than we think--when our needs are not being met, or we make our vows conditional, we start to look for loopholes. So as not to suffer.
I was thinking about this as I was kneeling on the floor without a kneeler at Mass. The first ten minutes or so, I was caught up in praise of the Lord and thanksgiving. But as the minutes rolled on, and the pressure on my knees grew, it sobered up my spirit and I got into squirmy discomfort mode. I imagined the Lord saying,
"If I willed you to remain kneeling for an hour, a day, a week...would you still love me then? Can you love me only when it is comfortable for you?"
The Lord caused Peter pain when he asked him three times, "Simon, do you love me more than these?" Peter felt hurt, as the Lord did not appear to hear that Peter responded affirmatively, "you know that I love you, Lord." And it was true. He did love the Lord. But Jesus addended his admonition to "feed my lambs" with this passage I have gone back to on many occasions:
"I tell you the truth, when you were younger you dressed yourself and went where you wanted; but when you are old you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will dress you and lead you where you do not want to go" (Jn 21:18).
Isn't that marriage? Isn't that being a father? Doing that which you don't want to do, going where you don't always want to go? But that is how we prove our love, to show that we are not fair-weather partners.
As Christians, Christ baptizes our suffering with meaning and purpose. There is a kind of faith in that which is needed to keep us from nihilism--that it is not wasted, not meaningless, not for naught. Christ could not have done that without the cross, and we can't either if we are honest in following him, as he says, "anyone who does not take up his cross and follow me is not worthy of me" (Mt 10:38).
But we also operate on the faith that there is nothing that can separate us from the love of Christ (Rom 8:35-39), that Christ never stops loving us, and that his love is trustworthy. Therefore, we don't have to operate in fear and uncertainty that we cannot lean on him, that he will abandon us, because even when he appears to withdraw for a time, it is for our ultimate good; He does not abandon us.
Just as gold is proved in a furnace (Wis 3:6), our love for the Lord is refined not by what He gives us but by what we are willing to endure for Him. We can apply this to our spouses as well--they are not servants, or business partners, or conditional friends, but spouses for life. They could be taken from us tomorrow, or we could live with them for another twelve years, or twenty, or fifty.
So, let our love be proven by what we are willing to suffer for it, and let our sanctification not come without scars.
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