Lent For Losers

When I was around seventeen years old, I was competing in a multi-day stage bicycle race. I was a fairly competitive cyclist as a junior, but I'll never forget cresting one particularly grueling climb and seeing my dad on the sidelines. I pulled over briefly and told him I was having a heck of a time staying motivated to push through, both in this race and my cycling career in general. "Well, if it's too hard, you can always just quit," my dad told me reassuringly, or something to that effect. That was all the invitation I needed. We went home together that day, and the relief I felt washed over me like an ocean. 

I love my dad and how he is always there for me, like the father of the prodigal son. But my wife and I joke about that formative scene in my youth and how it set the stage for future folds. "Well, if it's too hard, just quit," we often joke in various scenarios we encounter. It's funny but kind of embarrassing as well. I want my kids to know they're loved and supported, but I don't want my kids to be quitters necessarily.  

I've noticed some of the greatest "achievers" in life were those who got the least affirmation when young. Elon Musk as one example has this kind of super-human ability to create and execute, but like many top-level achievers, I suspect it comes from a father-hole or a need to compensate or prove someone wrong. When Musk returned home after being hospitalised, his father Errol Musk berated him for getting beaten up by bullies. Errol Musk called his son a “loser” and took the side of the bully who beat him up. We all have those instances from our adolescence that shape us, for better or worse. 

I've written before that I believe the character trait of stubbornness will greatly aid a Christian in his spiritual life, especially were should he be faced with martyrdom. I'm not a stubborn person; I cede easily, so it's something I need to learn or develop. One inspiring saint in this regard is St. Eulalia, who was born in the 3rd century in Spain. At twelve years old, stubborn and bull-headed, she would sneak out of her parent's house in the middle of the night in search of pagans to defy. She would spit at their idols and defy their threats of torture in order to gain the red crown. Or St. Crispina, who refused to sacrifice to idols, was called stubborn and insolent by the proconsul, and was martyred.

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.'

We are now entering into Holy Week on the eve of Palm Sunday, it is no accident that we see the weakness of the flesh highlighted in Matthew's Gospel. If you are like me, you find strong affinity with St. Peter in the courtyard, who of course was just prior to his thrice denial of Christ was brazenly cutting off the ear of those who opposed him in the garden. This has not been an especially fruitful Lent for me--I'm not necessarily failing spectacularly, but I am certainly eating crow in "adjusting" my various personal Lenten observances--quite frankly, because I found them too demanding. Like my father at the bike race, we lovingly reassure ourselves all is well and all is well and all will be well, while we quietly slip out of our hair shirts a few weeks early and go off in search of some soft foods. "I will die (to self) with you!" we proudly profess on Ash Wednesday. When Palm Sunday comes, we self-consciously look around to see who heard us.

One of the most disconcerting parts of lost opportunity when your Lent is more or less a failure is that we fail in loving God more. "As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for you, my God" (Ps 42:1) David waxes. Isn't this the purpose of our observances of the three Lenten pillars--to intensify that longing, that panting for God: in our prayer, in our hunger, and in the poor? 

But even when we have cut corners left and right, we can still finish strong. We should recognize, however, when it comes to the grace of final perseverance at our death, this is complete grace and depends nothing on our merit--even that merit we pride ourselves of obtaining during these sacrificial periods of penance and testing.

What happens when you miserably fail that test? You throw yourself on the mercy of grace, since this is what your salvation depends upon. We don't obtain perseverance through the will alone, but as St. Alphonsus notes, "All those who are in heaven are there for this one reason: They prayed, they asked for perseverance. All those who are in hell are there for this one reason: They did not pray and they did not ask the Lord for the grace of final perseverance." If nothing else, it reminds us that we do not save ourselves of our own merits, and how truly weak we are--helpless without grace.

If you're like me, you are salvaging what's remaining of your Lent to try to finish strong, while realizing it's all a kind of child's play compared to what our Lord endured in his Passion: our little successes, our massive fails, our meager penances, all the while accompanied by complaining and rationalizations for the slightest of discomforts. But we must remember that our Lord never held Peter's sin of denial over his head: it was a setback but not the sum of his discipleship, and one Peter never forgot either since it was the antidote to his brazen bravado.  

If you're having an excellent and fruitful Lent, I commend you; give thanks to God for the grace. If you're like me and having a less-than-stellar month of lost opportunity full of lackluster prayer and feeble fasts, I feel you. Let's try to recognize that in our Christian faith, we do not earn the love of the Father through our works and accomplishments--it is freely given and freely received, an unmerited grace. That doesn't mean we shouldn't push ourselves to pray more, fast more, give more....but even when you haven't, God doesn't love you any less. If anything, he is close to the brokenhearted and rich in mercy for the weak and helpless.

You may have bitten off more than you can chew a month ago, but you still have a week before the darkness-turned-dawn of Easter. Recommit yourself to the Lord, as the just man falls seven times and rises again (Prov 24:16).  Embrace your failures because they are your teacher--teaching you not to rely on your own merits, but on grace. And give yourself a little grace too--if you ate the chocolate or the burger or whatever. You're not a loser, just a human being. God still loves you. He forgives you, runs out to meet you and interrupts your rehearsed script to throw a robe and ring on you. He wants you to die with him, and die well, so that you may live. Final perseverance does not depend on you, but rests with a very competent and loving God who wants to shower you with that grace. 

Let him.

Paper Thin

 I used to marvel at people online who could take hits like Mike Tyson and let it roll off like water off a duck's back. As a budding writer and a generally conflict-avoidant person, I was much more sensitive to saying the wrong thing and getting push back for it. I never went looking for a fight but sometimes I found myself in one. My skin was paper thin.

One of the advantages of getting older is that I'm now finding myself less and less susceptible to the opinions of others, whether I'm liked or not someone's cup of tea. The more I write and the more I try new things, the more inclined I am to shrug my shoulders--if something works or sticks, great. If it doesn't, no big deal. You can't please everyone, nor should you try to. 

I also find myself trying to simplify my life more. One of the reasons I started taking cold showers every morning was because the hot water would take forever to reach our upstairs bathroom. So now I just turn it on to the coldest setting every morning and step in. It hurts, but it's not complicated.

Because I'm not catering my writing to this group or that group, I write what I feel God is leading me to write and let the chips and seeds fall where they do. If people glean something useful from it, great. If not, there's no shortage of other content out there. Negative comments I just kind of shrug off, which I would never have done in the past. I had someone reply in all caps (I assume, to underscore the point) UNSUBSCRIBE when I sent out a yearly personalized email to those who subscribe to this blog, which is fine as well. I've learned to trust my voice, something I never thought would happen. I've seen some fruit, but not an overwhelming harvest, but maybe at some point my day will come. In the meantime, we have to keep doing the work--the hard work of mercy.

Recently I had to do something very hard for me, something I didn't want to do, when it would have been easier and less troublesome to keep my mouth shut. I realized that keeping silent would have been easier, but my conscience kept nagging me, even when the consequences may potentially be losing a good friendship. I turned it over to God, tried to trust my instincts, and was given the grace of indifference and detachment--if it cost me the friendship, so be it. In a marriage or a friendship, in public office or in ministry, it's best to be transparent with nothing to hide, since our secrets can eat us alive. If nothing else, for simplicity's sake.

It's honestly refreshing to not care too much what people think--if you are a writer, you're probably in the wrong business if you're too susceptible to it anyway, since there will always be critics and detractors. In a friendship, if you can't be honest and truthful in charity with someone, even when it's hard to do, what is that friendship based on? 

Because our time is our most valuable currency as we age, we learn to be more discerning with it. More energy spent worrying about the opinions of others, or people who don't agree with us, is just wasted time. I've gotten a little crankier too--more patient in some things, and less in others--and so I'm more inclined to say what I think though I could do a better job doing so in a spirit of charity. If people are pruned from our lives, maybe it's because God is doing something in and for us that we can't do ourselves, and for a purpose we can't see. 

In any case, I'll continue the slog, continue trying to be truthful, continue trying to learn charity and not be so preoccupied with the opinion of others. As St. John Vianney said, "You cannot please both God and the world at the same time.  They are utterly opposed to each other in their thoughts, their desires, and their actions."

As my skin gets tougher (not a bad thing), I pray it is always seasoned with truth, but tenderized with charity. 

Your Dreams Are Like Love and Love Lies

 

Well, maybe not lies outright. But dreams, like love, bends the light of truth on the prism of expectation.

As I get older and crankier, I'm less inclined to stay out late, hold my tongue, or indulge fantasies about how my life could or should look. That last part is important. Accepting your state in life and your mid-life/mid-career expectations can be an excuse for ennui and complacency via resignation. But it can also be a lens that you view life through based on cold, hard experience. I'll never be an NBA all-star. I'll never make partner. I'll never have the boat. When you know that's the truth--not a concession of defeat--it frees you up to focus on where you're at and make the best of it--the game of pick-up with your forty-five year old buddies (my knee!), the riding out your career as an run-of-the-mill attorney, going to the Poconos to rent a yurt for a weekend. Etc.

My dreams have always had a way of not turning out how I expected; that's why they are called dreams! "Dreamer" is used as a sweet pejorative, not something to aspire to. 

Some people do actualize their dreams, just as some guys make it into the NBA. Some write the best-seller, score the trophy wife, land the six-figure salary, build a family business. But most will tell you, there's a lot of blood, sweat, and stress behind the scenes. Instagram is a dreamer's paradise where anything is possible; Reddit is a refuge camp for the disillusioned to share the r:/harshrealities of living them out.

What the hell am I talking about? Well, by way of example, I always wanted to build my own house. I didn't have land, money, or skill, so I bought a school bus instead. This was when the #tinyhouse movement was just budding, and I got in on the ground floor. I broke my lease on my awesome 1 bedroom apartment, plopped down $1,500, and drove away with a green Eagles-tailgating shorty skoolie. I ripped out all the seats, floored and painted it, installed cabinetry, a bed, sink, and yes, the infamous "bucket toilet." I was living the dream!

But now I had no permanent address, no roots, no land or parking spot, my friends started to drift away, and I was faced with the prospect of number-twoing in a bucket (which I also had to find a place to empty). Like I said, living the dream!

I tell myself I had to find out for myself--I had to go through that disillusionment that what I expected and what I endured did not square. I could then put it out of my mind and for a brief time and say yes, I followed my dream. I wanted to do something all my life and I did it. Carpe Diem. 

If people would ask me practical questions like, where do you poop? or where do you park? I would kind of brush them off. "That stuff will work itself out." But then you're on day one of your homeless adventure, and realize that they were right--you do actually have to deal with these things. 

I have so many of these stories I could write a book; failure makes for good stories. 

Listen, I don't want to make a business of shooting down the dreams of dreamers until they are belly up in the water. Like falling in love, you're not seeing clearly, and that's ok! We are human beings, not Perfectly Logical Rational-bots. When you're in love, it's a variation of narcissism--the other person reflects back to you the idealized version of yourself. And you elevate them to an ideal as well. That's how we're tricked by divine nature and hormones to sign on the dotted line for LIFE and the propagation of the species.  If you said to someone: "Look, she's going to gain 20 lbs, you're going to sleep 5 hours a night on average, you'll have no money, the flame will die, you can't do what you want when you want, and you have to pay taxes every year until you die" people will say "Er, no thanks" and then we are DONE as a species. So, we need love and we need dreams and we need emotions to accomplish what God wants--to be fruitful and multiply.

There's a funny thing about getting what you want, though. The hungry man who eats his fill of ribeye suddenly pushes his plate away and can't look at it. Amnon was obsessed with Tamar and satiates his desire forcefully, only to hate and despise her afterwards. Actors get a lead role in a coveted film, and yet their being propelled to fame leads to loneliness and the allure of drugs. Lottery winners become paranoid and go broke within a few years. 

What can this teach us? No life is perfect, and Instagram is a witch's brew. "Bloom where you are planted" is not a kitschy as it sounds. We can grow from our perceived failed indicatives. It's good to dream and there is nothing in the world like falling in love. If you're a dreamer, leave a little room for the words of some old curmudgeons, which might spare you some headache at some point. And if you're an old curmudgeon, don't stamp on people's dream with too much force in your heel; the dreamers may not rule the world the way cold hard pragmatists will...but I'll be damned if I want to live in a world without them!

Success And Failure In the Christian Life

 People often wonder why those with "everything" in this worldly life--money, success, recognition--would end their lives, or fall into depression or loneliness, or turn to drugs or alcohol. These are sometimes seen as "first world problems" by those who struggle with things like putting enough food on the table, or political instability, or violence. 

For the Christian, this should be obvious--we were not made for this world, and as St. Augustine famously said, "our hearts are restless, until they rest in you" (ie, the "God-shaped hole"). It's why I am deeply suspicious of and find offensive the "health and wealth" prosperity gospel, as well as, to a degree, Christian Nationalism. "God alone" should be our anthem, and all else secondary and subject to the first clause. 

Erik Erikson is the oft-quoted psychologist who laid out our human needs in eight fundamental stages (Theory of Psycho-Social Development). Interestingly, each stage of human development is judged in terms of "success" and "failure," and advancement to subsequent stages is predicated upon "success" in each stage. If an infant "fails" to develop trust in the early years of development, this will thwart their ability to be move on and be "successful" in the next stage (Autonomy/Shame) and harbor fear and axiety in the present stage of psycho-social retardation. 

In the Christian life, this development is somewhat inverted. When we put God first, and turn ourselves over completely to His divine will (loving God with our whole heart, mind, strength, and soul), our human needs for affirmation, bodily fulfillment, and industry are subjugated. We find ourselves able to not only endure loneliness, hunger, and poverty, but thrive and find joy despite these earthly misfortunes. We do not find God by setting ourselves up in comfort and security, having all our needs met at which point we can seek Him. We are essentially working backwards by putting "first things first," first of which is God. 

Of course, this first "stage" of abandonment can only take place by the virtue of humility (which comes by way of unmerited grace), the bedrock and cornerstone for all other virtues to build upon. What does humility entail? Admitting that we have "failed" to be masters of our own destiny; failed to find happiness in this life; failed to overcome concupisence and be "good" on our own.

Of course complete abandonment to the Divine Will (the Unitive) does not happen in the initial stages of Christian spiritual development. It is hardly achieved by even the most ardent Christians here on earth in this life, even after years of prayer and mortification of the senses. As long as we live, we will be continually falling and failing. We may have momentary periods of virtue or fortitude, but we are quickly snapped back like a rubberband into lives of selfishness and egotism. We can get stuck in this "purgative" stage, for years even, when we know what we ought to do, but find our will weak and unformed. 

For those who do learn self-mastery, the "illumantive" stage that follows is one marked by trial and testing, demanding continual growth and eschewing resting on one's laurels. Detachment, prayer, mortification...these are not easy things to maintain. It is called the "exercise" of the will for a reason, and this period of testing of one's intentions and motivations to move closer to God is not always uniform. We are aided along the way by grace, via consolations, but may also experience great desolations as a means of testing before advancement to the final stage, that of the "unitive" stage.

We sometimes neglect to realize that prayer, and the practice of virtue, are really habits. The more one habituates to discomfort, to prayer, to solitude and contemplation, to charity, the more it becomes second-nature. The unitive stage is marked by this "habit" which was developed in the Illumanative stage, and results in a continuous union in which one is not pre-occupied with their suffering, but transformed by it in light of the Divine Presence. This is not easily achieved, and is the mark of saints.

We have to ask ourselves "why?" though. Why do so few achieve this state, the most natural state of being for creatures created by God. The Lord certainly gives freely to all who ask for the grace to live totally for him, who knock in order to find Him (Mt 7:8). He bestows on us aid through the Sacraments, and arms us with sacramentals to fight against our selfish-nature and transcend our mortal senses and deficiencies. Grace is transformative, but it does depend on the co-operation of the will, and faith. This is why Christ could not work many miracles in Nazareth, because of the people's unbelief (Mt 13:58). If we do not become saints, we must be honest--it is because we did not wish to bad enough, or we lacked the faith that God could make it possible for us.

This is why the Cross is the ultimate sign of contradiction to the world. Christian perfection demands it, that we take up our own cross in order to follow him (Mt 16:24). It is also why the crucifixion is the ultimate "failure" in the lower order, the world--it failed to achieve the immediate restoration of Israel; it failed to spare Christ from bodily death; it failed to ensure that his followers would be spared from suffering and death themselves. 

Even today, the Cross does not promise "health and wealth." It does not promise to make sure all of our worldly needs are met. In fact, it often ensures that they are not, for if they were, we "may have too much and disown you and say, `Who is the LORD?'" (Prov 30:9). The Cross is truly "foolishness to those who are perishing." But to those who are being saved, it is the power of God (1 Cor 1:18).

This is why only those who persevere to the end will be saved (Mt 24:13). It does not mean we will not fall, not fail, as we make our way on the road carrying our tree. The weeds grow with the wheat, and a rolling stone gathers no moss, as the saying goes. But if the Enemy convinces us that we are only the sum total of our failures, he ceases our steps, and we do not advance but become stagnant and complacent, seeking fleeting bodily comfort, security, and the assurance of others. And then he wins. 

 It is not easy getting up time and time again after failures and setbacks in the spiritual life. It is hard, and often tiring. But isn't that the point? If sainthood was easy, everyone would achieve it. But the way to life is narrow, and few find it (Mt 7:14). As St Paul says, "to live is Christ, and to die is gain" (Phil 1:12). 

Our development as Christians is not about satisfying our own human needs or on achieving external milestones, but continually dying to self and living for Christ so that he might live in us. It does not depend completely on our own self-determination, but works in co-operation with grace, a grace freely given when asked for. The Lord did not, and will not, leave us orphans. Our failures in the world should always be seen in the light of Christ, and in the shadow cast by the cross. The fools who live for Christ will be the ones laughing in Heaven when this world has come to pass. 

How Do You Talk Someone Off The Ledge?

 

Though I have thought about staffing a suicide hotline as a volunteer, I don't think I could do it. I wouldn't know how to answer that question were it posed to me on the other end of the telephone line, "Why shouldn't I kill myself, right here, right now?" I'd probably end up saying something like, "I don't know...from what you've told me you have every good reason to. It doesn't really make sense to go on living. I mean, you shouldn't, but I can't tell you why you shouldn't." And that wouldn't be good.

Suicide is the "out" when you feel like there's no way out. When everywhere you turn, you hit a wall. It's an out we shouldn't allow ourselves, sure. You shouldn't get the abortion. Have the baby. You shouldn't throw in the towel with your marriage. Stay married. You shouldn't end your life. Just...I don't know. Just don't. I'd be so unconvincing.  

But for the person in it, what is real? Are they seeing through all the bs of unfettered optimism: "People care about you!" Yeah, prove it. "Your life is worth living!" Why? Are they seeing life as it really is with the blinders off? Or is it skewed, darkened, subject to temptation?

Maybe in a pinch, I would just let someone speak. Listen to them. Sometimes people just need someone to really hear them. We're always getting sold to, manipulated, exploited by advertisers, tugged by manufacturers for our attention, talked down to, talked at...but never really heard. Maybe someone on the ledge just...wants someone to listen. Again, I don't know. I'm afraid if someone wanted to kill themselves I'd probably say something to the effect of--"it's true. People really aren't there for you the way you may need them to be. It gets worse before it gets better. I don't know how you're ever gonna pay off that debt. Life really does just suck sometimes." People who are suicidal often have an acute bs meter, when you are blowing smoke up their ass. Then again, I've never been trained in this kind of counseling. I'm just speculating. 

The thing that sucks for people who know the system, who find themselves feeling hopeless, is you are even more trapped when that hopelessness veers towards suicidal ideation. Because you can't say that, of course! Because then it's a whole mess. No one wants to take responsibility for that. Better safe than sorry ( *dials 911). Then the cops show up, social services. What a mess. So, just better not to say anything. But that's hard too! What a heavy burden, what a condundrum--damned if you do, damned if you don't! 

People are so lonely. I mean, I do see faith as an innoculant of sorts. If anything just to put a fence up, give a hard "no" when you have no other reason not to pull a trigger or tie a slipknot. Sorry, not an option. You gotta suffer. I'm glad I had that. So many people don't. But faith doesn't cure loneliness. It doesn't put a rose tint on life all the time. It helps you make sense of things just enough to give hope which keeps us alive. In it's truest form, it helps us grow, love, thrive, work miracles, raise the dead. But yeah, it can be a real grind, and you have to go on faith that it's worth going on when things get bad, I mean real bad, like no way out bad. 

But yeah, I wouldn't know what to say to someone on the bridge. They're there for a reason, and it may be a valid one...though they shouldn't be there, and there may be a more valid reason for climbing down. Maybe just listen, and don't feed them trite bs. I don't know. Maybe the devil is whispering in their ear to take the step. But maybe they've been stripped of the blinders, too, and are seeing their reality and the reality around them for what it really is--hopelessless burdensome, and very, very lonely.

I'm Sorry, But No One Has Your Back

Our vacation last week was a nice reset--we swam at the local pond, cooked, lay in the hammock, read, and spent time together. Some friends and family came to visit a couple of the days, but largely we were removed from our normal work and social routine. It was overdue. And one of the surprising side-effects I found was that I didn't want to see, text, or talk to anyone even after we got home.

Please forgive my slightly cynical mood at the moment. I have been pouring myself out at work, with little regard or recognition. In the works of charity, this is the desired approach to build humility and merit; but at work, I get chaffy and resentful. I've felt similarly in other areas of my life, and other circles--I shouldn't be surprised at this point how quickly people can turn their backs on you, social relations can sour, and how our expectations of reciprocity are often frustrated. I'm  human, and am tired of pouring into things when I often feel empty myself. 

In Genesis 18, Abraham negotiates with Yahweh, who is looking for 50 righteous men to stem his wrath against Sodom and Gommorah. Abraham talks him down to 45, then 40, then 30, then 20, and they finally settle upon 10. He only needs to find ten righteous men to spare the city. In the end it doesn't matter, for by the time the perverts hit Lot's door and want debauchery, not hospitality and charity, Yahweh has prepared His arm to destroy it all. You can only take so much.

Ten men...not even ten righteous men in the city. I often think about the bishops, the men of God: "Give me ten righteous bishops," the Lord asks, and you realize you have trouble numbering them all on one hand. Sure, you might get a "bold" tweet or some kind of stand that should have been made fifty years ago; the bar is so low we are impressed by even a modicum of so-called bravery. And I guarantee that any of the faithful to put their neck out to pay the price on any issue would not get backed up by one of the bishops with anything other than a standard dicoesan statement on the matter. As has been proven time and time again, they'll often be the first to throw you under the bus.

Words are cheap. We see it in scripture as well: on Palm Sunday, when the crowds chanted Hosana to the King of Kings only to quickly change their tune before Pilate. We see Peter offering to die for Christ, and then disowning him. The disciples couldn't even stay awake for one hour in Jesus' greatest time of need, his most desolate hour. We see it at the Cross, when only his mother and a handful of others stay at his feet.

Christ's abandonment can be spoken of in two ways: his complete abandonment to the Father's will, and his being almost completely abandoned by men in his hour of need. He is stripped and scorned, with no human solace. His cry from the cross is a worthy meditation: Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani? ("My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?"). For the pain of abandonment had gone so deep as to echo David's cry that his own Father had left him. The cavalry isn't coming, because the Father willed that Christ go through, not around, the suffering and abandonment. Which, of course, is straight to the Cross, the loneliest of lonely sufferings and humiliations.

We don't often do the same. We seek human comfort and understanding, a shoulder to cry on or an ear to listen to your lament. But the longer you are in the grind, the more you realize the establishment (from the Holy Father on down) is a in-name-only set of reinforcements. Maybe it's unrealistic to expect otherwise. The Church has been made weak and a laughingstock not to be taken seriously. Because the saints and those willing to pay the price of discipleship among them do not number in the 50, or 45, 40, 30, 20, or even 10. As the sheep are led to slaughter, those willing to lay their lives down for them can be counted on one hand; the rest are simply weak men and pious administrators. 

 You will have a few friends (hopefully) in your lifetime who will sit with you in the Garden when you are sweating blood, come to your Cross, and not leave when it's dinnertime. I haven't found those friends yet, and I haven't been one either, so I don't even blame them. One can't expect too much. 

Even family, as thick as it can be, is not absolute. Otherwise Christ would not have subjected the Fourth Commandment to the call to hate father, mother, wife, children, and breathren for the Gospel (Lk 14:26). Children turn on their parents, parents disown their children. Many converts know this pain, and it cuts absolutely deep. 

There is one who does have your back, though, and that is Christ, our God, our deliverer in whom we have our hope. Zion said, The Lord has forsaken me! And yet,

"Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child she has borne? Though she may forget, I will not forget you! See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands; your walls are ever before me" (Is 49:15-16).  

I think entering into this sadness, this desolation, can be a fertile burial plot for our spirit. No one would choose it, but when we find ourselves feeling alone and abandoned, sucked dry and empty with nothing left, the love of the Lord has room to fill us, bathe us, and comfort us. Our spirits are often crowded with the coming and going of men, of engagements, of sweet encouragement and contingent affection. 

But at the end of the day, everyone goes home to their own house promising to come back in the morning, and the sweaty dark of night seeps into your cell from beneath the door jamb. We can meet Christ now, because he has now found room at the inn. When no one else has your back, when the reinforcements aren't coming, when you are hung out to dry and have no consolation and your tears become your bread...I think then you will taste a little bit of the loneliness of Christ, who had nowhere to lay his head in this world.

We Are All A Mess

 ...some of us are just better at masking it than others.

I was texting with a buddy tonight and he asked how I was. I responded that I am in a good place, but given that I am 60% pessimist / 40% realist, I figure it's just a matter of time before the other shoe drops and everything goes to pot. Let's hope not, but you never know. 

There have been times when I've been totally dependent on God and others to get me through just living day to day. It's at these times when you appreciate the Simons that are drawn out of the crowd to help you carry your cross, that you have someone else to ease your burden, if nothing else by just being there with you in the suffering. 

And there are other times, like now. where I feel like I'm on stable ground and can pay forward some of that mercy that was shown to me. 

It's a hard balance to strike at this stage in life to prevent being leveraged too severely with sports, activities, social events, work, and everything else. There is no shortage of "stuff" to keep us busy and our calendars covered with dots. The Devil loves idle hands, it is true. But to the degree we find ourselves so busy--sometimes by circumstance and sometimes by our own hand--that we don't have the bandwidth to absorb unplanned things that come up, enjoy time to take a walk or play, listen to a friend, or simply be unproductive, then maybe it's worth taking a look at what we can cull to make some space for life unscripted. 

We all have our preferred way of communicating with the Lord. Some guys I know feel they need their missal, the Office, and formal prayers to do that. Others prefer the rosary, novenas, and devotionals. These are all laudable practices, as long as it is what the Lord is asking of us and we are giving Him. 

But sometimes, we find ourselves a complete mess, and compensating for the chaos and lack of control in our lives by holding ever more tightly to 'adult' prayer that is respectable and well-presented. When what we really need to do is let ourselves be a mess, collapsing in the lap of the Lord.

My preferred place to do this above all the rest is at Adoration. Don't let the lack of line and form fool you--it's not easy to just 'be' for an hour with nothing to 'do.' It's not always easy to give up our well-guarded time. And believe it or not, it's not always easy to let yourself be loved as you are.

My dad will occasionally walk from his house at lunch time and sit on the bench outside my office. He'll text me to sit with him. I oblige him, but I'm always checking my watch or trying to think of things to talk about, when really, he's just content to be with me for as long as I will give him. "Easy for him, he's retired. He's got all the time in the world," I think to myself. But that's not it. When I think of all the time I piddle away on the things that don't love me back, and how little I give to the ones (and the One) who do nothing but love me, it's something that doesn't make sense in the Divine Economy. God doesn't ask for much. Just our whole heart, mind, strength, and soul. lol

I know quite a few people going through some very hard things right now. They find themselves a mess. One friend after Mass just burst into spontaneous tears from how hard life was for her at that moment. Others carry the burden more internally.

But what does our Lord long to communicate to us? "Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble of heart; and you will find rest. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” (Mt 11:25-30) 

I find the spiritual hot springs to find that rest is Adoration. It is in this space where we can stop pretending for a time; where we can lay down our egos and our defenses, and just. be. loved. I don't know if trads have a harder time with this than others, since it's kind of "squishy," but no matter. It is the Lord truly present--body, blood, soul, divinity--what can be more 'trad' than that? 

He is on the altar before us, in the humble form of bread. Were He not, it would be like staring at a solar eclipse with the naked eye. Have you ever noticed that as He sits on the altar before us, there is no room on the altar for us to offer our burnt offerings, our oblations, our sacrifices? Not here, because as David recognized,

"You do not delight in sacrifice, or I would bring it;

    you do not take pleasure in burnt offerings.

 My sacrifice, O God, is[a] a broken spirit;

    a broken and contrite heart

    you, God, will not despise." 

(Ps 51:16-17)

Many of us are carrying around broken hearts, keeping it to (and for) ourselves. But the Lord wants it. And I find the place best to drop it beating and bruised before him is at the foot of that altar in Adoration. 

Here's the thing, though...it takes a little time for the engine to warm up. An hour is best, and I find that the first forty minutes of settling gives way to fruit that bears heavily in the remaining twenty minutes, when things have thawed and softened enough to hear Him speak, in the recesses of the heart. Some days you feel like you have to chain yourself to the pew, the chair, to keep from "doing something," anything, to distract you from...well, yourself. 

The Devil is well aware of this. He will convince you you have better things to do, more productive things not "wasted" in this way. That you should get up and leave because, "you know....things gotta get done. We can't sit around all day." It takes discipline and fortitude to just be, without an agenda, without a mask, sitting with your mess of a self, before the God of the Universe. 

This is what He wants. This is where He has made Himself available to you. And so in those moments, when you find yourself in the dimly lit chapel at 2am, or early in the morning, or after work, just say quietly, "this is where I'm to be. This is where He wants me for the next 60 minutes." If all you have is 30 minutes, give 30. If all you have is 15, give 15. But shoot for an hour. Highway miles are good for an engine. 

We think others have it all together. They don't. Everyone is carrying something they'd be better off laying down. But they don't always know how. Adoration teaches you how--without words, without instructions, to lay your burden down. It's a true grace to not have to pretend, to be offered rest and respite from everything we think is so important. We tend to forget from time to time, and slip back into our old ways. But the more we can set aside time to let ourselves be loved in this way, learn to let ourselves be loved, and trust that it's ok we don't have it all together, the more fertile ground our Lord will have to plant in. 

One hour in adoration. No agenda, no words, no self-judgment or condemnation. Just giving God the gift of time, and a broken mess of a heart. Give it a try. I guarantee we're all a mess. But before the Lord, there's no need to hide it.

No One Wants To Be A Fool

When we were growing up, we would go out to dinner as a family occasionally. My dad was pretty frugal, and so we were never allowed to order drinks or sodas with our meals, just waters. I always figured it was just a way to save money, but years later I learned there was more to it.

When he was a waiter in Atlantic City in his early twenties, he told me, the maître d'hôtel would tell all the waiters to push the drinks--alcohol, sodas, coffees, juices--because that's where their largest profit margin was. I don't know why it stuck with him, but the way he saw it, the people ordering drinks were unaware they were being used, getting fleeced in a sense by people just trying to extract maximum profit from them. And so from then on, my dad never ordered anything but water in restaurants. He refused to be used and treated as a fool that didn't know any better, since he felt he now did.

This may be an extreme example, but I think the fear of looking foolish, the fear of being used, runs deeper in our psyches than we give it credit for. And it is unique as well. I have absolutely no fear of public speaking, for instance, whereas this may be crippling for others.

I didn't get a car until I was twenty nine, and never drove much prior to that. I biked most places, took the bus and train, and got rides with friends in high school and college. I lived in the city at the time, and driving was a hassle and a little stressful when you didn't do it a ton, but with my job I needed it to visit clients. I was dealing with a good deal of anxiety at the time, and I found that the fear of looking foolish in public was at the root of this anxiety. It was the fear of not being able to do or perform something that everyone else took for granted, like driving a car. I also had this fearful scenario that played out when I had to park in parking garages, a kind of claustrophobia, that the lever would not go up and I would not be able to get out and cars would be lining up behind me and honking and I would be trapped for all eternity and ashamed. It was an irrational fear, but it was deeply rooted in that fear and shame of looking foolish.

The more miles I logged, the more comfortable I became, and the fear eventually subsided. It's been replaced periodically by other fears, but none that are debilitating. They usually have the same root--I don't want to be a fool. My dad's approach to this when it came to finances was always being in control and being savvy, never being in a position of being taken advantage of and always having more than he needs.

For me in this life, my main concern is how to live the Gospel. But when you are living the Gospel fully, there is an element of foolishness there that is unavoidable. Rather than being ashamed of the Gospel (Rom 1:16), Paul owns and relishes in his status as a fool and in the foolishness of the Cross (1 Cor 1:18; 1 Cor 4:10). It is not something to be squirmy about, but to embrace with gusto.

I think being married has helped with a sense of comfortable security, that I can be myself and not be rejected, and that has built confidence in a willingness to look like a fool in many other things, including being a fool for Christ. My wife knows many of my deepest secrets, and has seen me look like a fool in many situations. She's still here. She gets it, and gets the Gospel.

I mentioned earlier the issue of looking foolish is at the root of many fears, but I have also experienced being a fool by being taken advantage of. A few months ago a young man from my men's group called me after I had sent out a prayer request for more opportunities to provide for my family. He said he had a partnership opportunity I might be interested in, and would my wife and I like to meet him and his wife for coffee to discuss the matter more? I said sure, sounds great! There was a friendly vagueness to his answers when I asked him what kind of opportunities he was talking about. He met together on two occasions before I realized that I was being roped into a multi-level marketing Amway ponzi scheme. But they were so nice! It didn't get to any point where I committed to anything, but I felt like a fool, used and foolish. I felt completely betrayed, and did not trust myself or my insights for a while after that.

We must be willing to take chances when it comes to living in obedience to Christ, and be willing to look foolish for his sake. Because his will is often opposed to that of the world, as it is written "Friendship with the world is enmity with God," (James 4:4). I think the more you look like a fool for His sake, the more you get comfortable with it. It's scary for most because it is so unfamiliar. the though that we will lose friendship with the world and no one with flesh and bones will stretch out their hand and take their place. That is faith, the hope of things unseen. In God's economy, not looking like a fool, looking like we have it all together, counts for very little. And so let's be rich in the things of God, take a chance, and be fools for Christ, having little regard for the things of this world.