The Key to Happiness

I came across a posting on facebook yesterday that made me laugh out loud, long and hard. This is what I saw:

Pardon the profanity, please.

Boy, I thought, if it were only that easy! But how can you tell the *ssholes from the "normal" people - the good ones, the healthy ones, the trustworthy ones? I seem to get into the most trouble when I trust people who appear to be trustworthy, but later find that they are not who they appeared to be. Some of them behave like *ssholes, and I do indeed wish that I had stayed "the h*ll away from" them.

As I thought further about this, I realized that it isn't quite the Christian perspective on the key to happiness - and I am a Christian, so I need to contemplate this. 

Jesus went out of his way to interact with those on the margins of society - I'll call them outcasts - the lepers, the poor, sinners, tax collectors, prostitutes - and, even among his own disciples, betrayers. If I look deeply and honestly, I've got some *sshole in me, too - some leper, some things that aren't so pretty, admirable or desirable.

Richard Rohr posted something about this a few weeks ago, and it came back to me yesterday:

"Isn’t it wonderful news, brothers and sisters, that we come to God not by our perfection but by our imperfection?...Deep within each of us lives both a leper and a wolf, both of which we are ashamed and afraid of. In Franciscan lore, they are our inner imperfections...If we haven’t been able to kiss many lepers, if we haven’t been able to tame many wolves in the outer world, it’s probably because we haven’t first of all made friends with our own leprosy and the ferocious wolf within each of us. They are always there in some form, waiting to be tamed and needing to be forgiven." - Richard Rohr, adapted from Radical Grace: Daily Meditations, p. 276

Hello...we can't stay away from *ssholes, because each of us has one, and perhaps, is one - a wolf - in some way, at some time. If we are really honest with ourselves, we can admit this. Though I have suffered my share of betrayals, and I would never intentionally do harm to another, I must admit that I have made mistakes, and am sure I will make many more before I leave this earth. If I am to avoid *ssholes, I would have to avoid my own wolf, and leper, too - and that's not possible. They are part of me. I need to tame and forgive those parts of myself before I can offer that kind of grace to another.

Dang it.

Fr. Rohr posted further: 

"There is a cruciform pattern to reality. Life is filled with contradictions, tragedies, and paradoxes, and to reconcile them you invariably pay a big price...It eventually becomes evident that you’re going to get nailed for any life of real depth or love, because this upsets the world’s agenda of progress. This is not what the world wants, and not what the world understands. Any life of authenticity will lead to its own forms of crucifixion—from others, or, often, leading to various forms of self-denial. [The Gospel of] Mark constantly brings us back to the central importance of suffering. There’s no other way we’re going to break through to the ultimate reality that we call resurrection without going through the mystery of transformation, which is dramatically symbolized by the cross." - Adapted from The Four Gospels

So the cross is a symbol, a "note to self," a billboard, a banner, a memo, a reminder that this is the way life is; suffering is the way humans tend to experience transformation. We are not transformed by surrounding ourselves with a select group of people who will never hurt or disaappoint us (do such people exist?), but by mingling with whoever and whatever crosses the path of our life - including betrayals. Everyone has within him a wolf and a leper (or, if you prefer, an *sshole). You might not see that part of him right away, but you are likely to encounter it in someone. This doesn't necessarily mean you have made a mistake; it may be that this is your learning, your cross, your suffering, your transformative experience - at this time. Dang it!

This has been a lesson of the past 10 months, for me. I have regrets. I have spent a lot of time wishing I had been wiser about who to trust, but I was vulnerable, and did not see clearly. It helps to remember that this is the pattern of the cross - it is not personal; it is universal.

The following prayer in the book "Praying Our Goodbyes" by Joyce Rupp has been of enormous comfort to me recently (p. 114-116), and I hope it will be to you, as well:

"Keep my heart open to loving others and to being loved by them, God. Do not allow me to close off my life because of the scars of this painful rejection. Lead me into peace of heart. Help me to believe in my own goodness, so much so that I can reach out to others with confidence and receive their affection with trust. I pray for all those who have been brutally and harshly betrayed...and I pray for the one who has rejected me. Jesus, you continued to be a loving person even though you had been so painfully treated. Please help me to be a loving person, too. Amen." 

I believe that kind of prayer is a real key to happiness...but the one posted on facebook did make me laugh!

You Can't Make This Stuff Up

My dad asked me recently if there was something else I wanted to write about. I told him that I can only write about what I know. However, his question stirred my thinking. My dear blogging friend, Elizabeth likes to say, "You can't make that sh*t up." It always makes me smile when she says it, and when she said it recently, it made me think about one of those things from my own past that I couldn't - and wouldn't - make up.

I don't often refer to the fact that I was married before. One reason is my respect for Gregg and our marriage, which is the great love of my life. Another reason is courtesy to the parties who were involved in my past, and yet another reason is the knowledge that those things are in the past, and are best left there. However, as I was going through my old photos in search of good ones to submit to the slideshow for Bob's memorial service, I found some pictures of my first wedding. They brought back a memory that I had forgotten until I came across the photos of the wedding party at the church in 1982.

When I was about 10 years old, I met the son of my mother's friend for the first time - at least, that is my first memory of him. He was a delightful young boy - just a couple of years older than I. It was as if lightning struck me - what the French call "coup de foudre" - and that was it, for me. I wanted him, and him alone. For years, he was the ultimate young man in my eyes, in both his looks and his personality.

Although he was always courteous, he didn't have the time of day for me - he thought of me like a sister or a cousin, I'm sure. I was his sister's friend. We saw each other every Sunday for years, had brunch every week after church, took vacations together with our families, spent holidays like Christmas Eve and New Year's Eve together...and still, he took no notice of me - he remained unaware of my attraction to him. In the olden days, perhaps our parents would have arranged a marriage for us; I know that his mother loved me, and I loved her, too - she was like my second mother. I would never have made a move toward him, though - I wasn't raised that way. It had to come from him, and it never did.

In high school, I had your garden-variety, age-appropriate romances. I went to college in California for two years, and then to Illinois for my junior and senior years. I fell in love with someone there, got engaged, and then broke the engagement - it turned out that my fiance was not faithful. This experience had a devastating effect on me; I had never been involved with a liar before, and it shook my world to its foundation.

Heartbroken, I graduated from college, moved to Boston, got a job, and met a man at work who became a good friend. He eventually asked me to marry him; I accepted his proposal. Was I in love? In retrospect, no - but I thought I was doing the right thing, at the time (to explain my convoluted logic about the situation would make uninteresting reading for you, so you will have to trust me when I say that my intentions were good).

About 6 weeks before the wedding, when all of the invitations had been sent, dress and flowers ordered, reception site reserved and menu selected, showers given and gifts arriving, honeymoon planned and joyfully anticipated, I experienced what is known as "cold feet" - a strong premonition that this was not the right thing for us. There were various signs that we were not well-suited, and I could not ignore them any more. I tried to break it off, but my fiance soothed my worries away - he wanted to go through with the marriage. I allowed myself to be talked out of my concerns.

On the day of the wedding, photographs were taken with the wedding party and family. Guests were ushered into the sanctuary and took their seats. My father and I were standing in the foyer, waiting for the wedding coordinator to straighten my train and signal that it was time for us to begin the processional...and in raced the man of my childhood dreams - late. He made a hurried, quiet entrance, took a good look at me, and my heart lurched. Looking at his face, I knew:  I knew, right then, that I was making a mistake. It was like a nightmare - or something in a movie - not something that really happens to normal girls like me.

It wasn't that this man would ever love me...it was the fact that I could be so upset, just by seeing him walk in the door of the church, as I was about to promise my heart and my future to someone who shouldn't have had either one.

He went into the church and sat down, and my father and I started our walk down the aisle together shortly after that.

The honeymoon was disastrous; in fact, the entire marriage was a disaster. In my naivete, I had not understood a vitally important thing: although this man loved me, he did not love me in the ways that mattered to me. Three years of difficult, humiliating disagreements and misunderstandings followed. Separation, reconciliation, counseling (for me - he refused to go on his own, or with me, saying, "I'm happy; you go get help"), and then, finally, the day came when I knew - I KNEW - that I could never have a family with this man - could never, ever be happy or at peace with him. I left, for good.

As Elizabeth says, You just can't make that sh*t up.

This is why I am so, so, so thankful for my relationship with Gregg, for our children, and for the fact that we share the gift of a full, happy, loving, passionate marriage. I do not take it for granted.

Acknowledging Heaven & Hell, Here & Now

"Compassion means to suffer with, to live with those who suffer. When Jesus saw the woman of Nain he realized, This is a widow who has lost her only son, and he was moved by compassion. He felt the pain of that woman in his guts. He felt her pain so deeply in his spirit that out of compassion he called the son to life so he could give that son back to his mother."  - Henri J. M. Nouwen

When I read this, I immediately thought of Jesus' mother, Mary, and how he saw the pain of the woman of Nain. I wondered if he saw his own mother's suffering before it happened, and raised this woman's son in solidarity with what was to come to his own mother. Then, I wished that he could have done the same for me, for so many of us who are grieving our children's passing. It's always difficult to live without Katie, but the holidays are especially painful for grieving people.

Then I thought about growing up in Christian Science, and how much I loved reading about every healing that Jesus did for those he met. We read those stories in the gospels over and over again (as well as stories of the prophets healing people in the Old Testament). We were taught that the healings were the proof that God is Love, is perfect Principle, and would enable us to heal as Jesus did. When we experienced spiritual healing (without medicine or material aid), it was considered proof that God is good, and that Christian Science is Truth. That's what I used to believe with my whole heart, and I had many years of healings to show for it.

But many people's illnesses were not healed; people died, and some of them died in a state of a sort of ignorant neglect. That always bothered me, and it was somewhat hidden - not openly questioned or discussed.  Accepting medical intervention was considered to mean failure, giving up the faith, and a sort of adultery towards God. I did not use medicine until David was born. After I submitted to many hours of labor-inducing drugs, he was delivered via emergency surgery; and then, all of my questions broke open afresh. I asked and asked and asked why prayer alone had not been able to help us through his delivery, and NO ONE could answer to my satisfaction. No one was even willing to say, "It's a mystery that we don't understand." I was told by a church elder to "turn the page on it." But how do you turn the page on a near-death experience without first trying to understand it? Sweeping unanswered questions away doesn't lead to peace, growth or trust.

The Christian Science religion has its roots in the 19th-century intellectual freedom of New England; it was considered by its followers to be a real Science, like mathematics, and science was deemed infallible. Well, my own experience showed me that that just wasn't true; it failed, and it failed spectacularly. Nowadays, we see science as having aspects of art, and the more we know, we see just how little we know.

I had to move on from that belief system. I didn't find answers to all of my questions, but I found relationship with God. I found God as Presence, as Love, as One meeting me where I am, and that is infinitely more comforting than an imaginary Principle which doesn't bend, or care about us as individuals. I also found a suffering God, a God who allows suffering and participates in it (Jesus on the cross), and I am still mystified by that. But so is everyone else, and they are admitting to it, thanks be to God. It just IS. When bad things happen, it doesn't necessarily mean that we made a mistake; it is the way of the world in which we are living, the "human condition." In order to live in any kind of integration, we need to be free to see and to ask questions. That is the way of the scientific method.
So we come to Richard Rohr, a Catholic monk whose words and whose take on God and Jesus make sense of the mysteries for me. He doesn't pretend to have answers to all of the questions, but he is unafraid to look at them openly and to name the reality he sees. Father Rohr's work speaks to me, has helped me through the hardest parts of my life thus far, and is helping me now. I will never cease to be thankful that I was introduced to Fr. Rohr well before Katie became ill with cancer. Here is today's message from him, regarding Advent, and life:

"When we demand satisfaction of one another, when we demand any completion to history on our terms, when we demand that our anxiety or any dissatisfaction be taken away, saying as it were, “Why weren’t you this for me? Why didn’t life do that for me?” we are refusing to say, “Come, Lord Jesus.” We are refusing to hold out for the full picture that is always given in time by God.


"When we set out to seek our private happiness, we often create an idol that is sure to topple. Any attempts to protect any full and private happiness in the midst of so much public suffering have to be based on illusion about the nature of the world in which we live. We can only do that if we block ourselves from a certain degree of reality and refuse solidarity with “the other side” of everything, even the other side of ourselves."

-Adapted from Preparing for Christmas with Richard Rohr, pp. 5, 7

So the suffering of the woman of Nain (which Jesus alleviated), the suffering of his own mother (Mary), Katie's suffering, our suffering over Katie's illness and passing, and the suffering of so many others with the tragedies, illness, disaster, corruption and death that occur in this world, are to be seen and understood as part of the deal. We live here; it's like this. What will we do about it? Try to secure our own happiness at any price, even to the point of denial of what is in front of us? Or try to alleviate that suffering by doing whatever we can for good with what is put in our path, this day?
 
If we try to keep ourselves "safe" and "happy" what (or who) are we worshipping? Does it work? Has it ever worked?
 
Spending months in the hospital, co-existing with an illness that had the potential to take our daughter's life away at any moment had a profound effect upon me. I stopped looking far ahead. I had to live in the present, because (I learned) it was all I had. We didn't know if she would die in this moment, or the next, or in a year, or after we were all old people. We didn't know; the doctors didn't know. They didn't even know for sure what kind of cancer she had; they just knew that it was threatening her life, NOW. So we suffered in love, in fear, in hope, and in efforts to alleviate her suffering. We bore it with her. Practicing that for months on end created a kind of endurance.
 
This isn't talked about often nowadays, but human beings need to learn how to bear suffering. It is part of the school of life.
 
 "³ ...we^[c] also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; ⁴ perseverance, character; and character, hope. ⁵ And hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us." Romans 5: 3-5
 
To be honest, I love my cozy spot here on the yellow couch; I don't like suffering. I don't toil in a coal mine or labor in a field in the heat of the midday sun. I do not pretend to suffer as the world's oppressed and poorest people do, laboring in unsafe and corrupt conditions. Some of the "hell" of this world is here, however, in grief and broken dreams and lost savings and confusion as to what is next. And much of the "heaven" of this world is here, too, in love, peace, friendship, gifts, purpose and meaningful work. Both are present; both must be acknowledged. I am thankful for the heaven, as I work to lighten the hell. And I am thankful for the work that God has done in me through my suffering.
 
As one of my favorite books is titled, "Everything Belongs."

"We continually ask God to fill you with the knowledge of his will through all the wisdom and understanding that the Spirit gives, so that you may live a life worthy of the Lord and please him in every way: bearing fruit in every good work, growing in the knowledge of God, being strengthened with all power according to his glorious might so that you may have great endurance and patience, and giving joyful thanks to the Father, who has qualified you to share in the inheritance of his holy people in the kingdom of light. For he has rescued us from the dominion of darkness and brought us into the kingdom of the Son he loves..." - Colossians 1: 9-13

Willingness to Look, and Not Turn Away

Richard Rohr has posted recently about taking a bit of an illness to help in curing it, sort of like a vaccination. There is biblical precedent for this in the book of Numbers (Chapter 21:4-9). If you would like to know more about the history of this symbol, there are articles about it on Wikipedia.

"How can gazing upon the crucified God transform us?

"This deep gazing upon the mystery of divine and human suffering is found in the prophet Zechariah in a very telling text that became a prophecy for the transformative power of the victims of history, and for those who identify with them.

"He calls Israel to 'Look upon the pierced one and to mourn over him as for an only son,' and 'weep for him as for a firstborn child,' and then 'from that mourning' (five times repeated) will flow 'a spirit of kindness and prayer' (Zechariah 12:10) and 'a fountain of water' (Zechariah 13:1; 14:8).

"I believe we are invited to gaze upon the image of the crucified to soften our hearts toward God, and to know that God’s heart has always been softened toward us, even and most especially in our suffering. This softens us toward ourselves and all others who suffer.

"Today we experience it in grief. Grief, like few other things, allows us to open our hearts to the pain of others, and even to our own deep pain. Almost like nothing else. Grief is often God’s medicine for people who are otherwise closed down."

-Richard Rohr, adapted from Things Hidden: Scripture as Spirituality, p. 192

It's amazing to me to think about how far I have traveled, away from the "denial" culture of Christian Science. There are two illustrations that stand out, for me. The first was during the illness of a beloved mentor, Marie Poulsen. Marie was a mother and a Christian Science practitioner who helped me on my spiritual path after David was born by Ceasarian section. To a devout Christian Scientist, having a surgical delivery was a BIG failure of faith. That's one reason why I didn't give in to the idea of surgery during my 36 hours of labor, until David showed signs of distress in the womb. THEN, I allowed them to deliver him via surgery. But  I felt a huge burden of guilt, as if I had been totally unfaithful to God - literally guilty, as if I had had an affair.

 

After Marie helped me to sift through all of those toxic emotions, she prayed with me daily while I was pregnant with Katie, and through Katie's delivery. She was a huge comfort. She was also helping to care for one of her daughters, who was suffering through cancer at the time. Marie's daughter died, and then Marie herself fell ill.

 

I visited her at her home, brought a meal, and wondered how to help a devout Christian Science practitioner who was clearly very sick. My mom and I visited Marie when she eventually moved into a Christian Science "nursing home." That visit changed my life.

 

I had never felt so powerless, horrified and angry at the helpless feeling of seeing the suffering of someone I loved. From my perspective, she needed much more help than she was getting. I had been in some kind of denial until I saw Marie at that care facility. Head out of the sand, Ostrich! I felt deep intuition that she was dying, and it came as a horrible shock. Lesson number one: certain choices allow suffering to go untreated. I wanted no part of that kind of life. I left Christian Science shortly after that, and began to attend Bible Study Fellowship classes, and then, a Presbyterian church. We joined the church, and David, Katie and I were baptised there.

The second experience that changed my life forever was the death of my mother-in-law's twin brother and his wife in an auto accident. This was caused by a drunk driver who had committed several other offenses. Uncle Buddy and Auntie Joyce were killed just before midnight, on the night before Father's Day. I had begun learning about the "Paschal Mystery" by that time. I learned about standing at the foot of someone else's cross, as Mary had stood at the foot of her son's cross, and not looking away in denial. It was the opposite of Christian Science.

 

Seeing Buddy & Joyce's adult children's grief at their double memorial service was so deeply tragic, and so hurtful that I became very ill. But it was a lesson in compassion; I knew that I needed to learn how to be with people who were in trouble, without looking away. I wanted to be a trustworthy and reliable comforter. I took six months of training in Stephen Ministry shortly afterward, and served for several years as a Stephen Minister at our church. It was a deeply rewarding and humbling experience.

Today's reading from Father Rohr reminded me of these experiences. I am thankful that I had preparation and training, before Katie's illness, to help me learn to look into painful situations and not turn away or deny them.

I am thankful that I was taught about the mystery of suffering, and was able to stay right beside Katie throughout hers, knowing that God was present in it with us, even when I couldn't always see or feel Him. Now, as the mother of a daughter who has died, I'm thankful that I can face what is, what was, and work to try to make things better here on earth. If I face into the truth, perhaps I can be part of a healing movement. I pray that I can.

Transformation

Richard Rohr has written a new book called, "The Naked Now." I haven't read it yet, but I have heard him speak, and some of the ideas in the book were introduced to me when he spoke in Portland, OR. I want to share this with you, because it so perfectly relates to, and explains, the way it felt to be plunged suddenly into the world of pediatric cancer with our previously healthy, 11-and-a-half year-old daughter (with an unknown carcinoma, stage 4) and the daily living of suffering through the horrors of illness, treatment and its effects.

"Question of the Day:  What have I done with my pain?


"Great suffering opens us to transformation in a different way. Here, things usually happen against our will—which is precisely what makes it suffering! Over time, we can learn to give up our defended state, but it is never easy. This is surely what we mean by spiritual warfare.


"The situation is what it is, although we will invariably go through the stages of denial, anger, bargaining, resignation, and (hopefully) on to acceptance. The suffering might feel wrong, terminal, absurd, unjust, impossible, physically painful, or just outside of our comfort zone. We must eventually learn a proper attitude toward suffering, because many things every day leave us out of control or outside of our comfort zone (even if it is just a stop light).


"Always remember: if we do not transform our pain we will surely transmit it."

Excerpted and adapted from “Opening the Door: Great Suffering and Great Love” from The Naked Now: Learning to See as the Mystics See

Now the work is to continue, daily, to try to transform the pain- to let it be transformed by God- into something that can bless. I certainly don't want to live my life transmitting pain into the world.

Father Rohr on "Surrender"

I've been saving this quote to share with you since before Thanksgiving. You know how I love Richard Rohr's viewpoint, and how much I refer to him. His writings have been instrumental in my Christian education (since well before Katie became sick), as I was studying them in church classes. They have been, and continue to be, part of my life-raft in the sea of grief.

"Question of the Day:  How am I ready to surrender?

"I believe profoundly in the necessity of surrender, but I don’t think we can chart its course ahead of time. Our own private salvation projects seldom do the job. Surrender is something that is done to us, more than something we do ourselves.

"In Joseph Campbell’s book on the hero’s journey, he says that the only way to be a hero is to prepare and be ready for when the moment comes. You might say that is the point of all spirituality.

"Someone else must determine the timing, the circumstances, the shape of the ordeal. None of us can engineer our own transformation—or it would not be transformation at all, but merely cosmetic surgery to make us 'think well of ourselves.'

"You can’t choose ahead of time which dragon you’ll slay or how you will slay it. It will probably slay you. So just make sure you are well-practiced in dying."
     -Richard Rohr, Adapted from Near Occasions of Grace, p. 112

I am beyond thankful that I was on a spiritual path, years before Katie was diagnosed with cancer. I don't know how I would have survived her illness, the circumstances surrounding it, or her passing, without the years of intentional study and spiritual direction. That is what gave me a framework, strength, community, reference points and eyes to see God's goodness - in the midst of what felt like horrendous evil. It hasn't been easy:  I didn't escape the pain, and this path hasn't removed the pain. Yet having an intentional practice, giving myself to God over the years, has given me something to draw upon - a place to rest - when I am exhausted from the changes and demands of this "new life." My relationship with God endures, and He is Love, a "refuge & strength, a very present help in trouble."

I am thankful for the freedom to receive a spiritual education, and for the education that I received (and am still receiving). It's one of the greatest gifts of my life.

GriefHaven is a group that supports grieving parents through their website, chats, publications, etc. They put out a wonderful monthly newsletter, and they have a DVD ("Portraits of Hope") that helped to give me hope, back in the beginning of this journey. Their current monthly newsletter talks about grief from the perspective of a grief therapist, who also happens to be the mother of a stillborn daughter (born 22 years ago). It's excellent.

Staying Open

Here is a gift from one of Richard Rohr's CAC daily emails:

"Question of the day: How have you seen God use pain for good in your life?"

"Pain teaches a most counterintuitive thing — that we must go down before we even know what up is. In terms of the ego, most religions teach in some way that all must 'die before they die.' Suffering of some sort seems to be the only thing strong enough to destabilize our arrogance and our ignorance. I would define suffering very simply as 'whenever I am not in control.'
"If religion cannot find a meaning for human suffering, humanity is in major trouble. All healthy religion shows us what to do with our pain. Great religion shows us what to do with our pain. Great religion shows us what to do with the absurd, the tragic, the nonsensical, the unjust.
"If we do not transform our pain, we will most assuredly transmit it.
"If there isn’t some way to find some deeper meaning to our suffering, to find that God is somewhere in it, and can even use it for good, we will normally close up and close down. The natural movement of the ego is to protect itself so as not to be hurt again."
from Things Hidden: Scripture as Spirituality, p. 25

"Current mantra:Prayer and suffering are the two primary paths of transformation"
"Copyright © 2009 Center for Action and Contemplation
PO Box 12464, Albuquerque, NM 87195-2464 (505)242-9588"

So here is the core of all of that, for me, right now: to not "close up and close down...so as not to be hurt again." Oh, how much this tempts me, daily, even moment by moment. My heart hurts; my body is tired. My mind hurts, my soul feels old. I have seen things I never wanted to see, heard things I wish I had not heard, and lost that which is beyond price. It is hard to move through some of these days with the weight of this pain in my being.

I do not want to be a closed woman. I want to be a translucency for God to shine through, a window, a place where Love enters the world. I don't think I could leave a better legacy than that, but it is hard on some days to simply do the chores that I set for myself. It is hard to, because of the pain of missing Katie and the life we shared.

A friend and I were talking recently, and she expressed her concern about sharing her problems with me. I told her, You aren't ruining my day; my days have already been ruined.

Not that I don't have good moments and good days; I do. But, in essence, my life is diminished, and it always will be.

This sounds like complaining, but it isn't. It is a FACT, and I have to think about it, in words, sometimes, so that I can understand what is going on inside of me. Yes, there are symptoms of depression, and yes, they are to be expected. And YES, God continues to care for me and my family, to provide what we need (not to be confused with what we often WANT); I am thankful for God's faithfulness and Love. I live because of His/Her faithfulness and Love; we derive our lives from Him, we came forth from His Love, we are sustained by it, and when we die, I believe we return to His Love.

But I suffer on a regular basis, wrestling with the temptation to just close down. Just pull over, put the brakes on, put it in "park," and sit. It's hard work, overcoming that pull.

I am thankful that there are people like Fr. Rohr who are writing about this, so that I know it's not "just me," and that I'm not alone. I know that God has done some of the greatest work in my life, so far, through this horrible experience. Isn't that an awful paradox? "The worst thing has become the best thing," is the quote that I've heard about the crucifixion, and I suppose that it applies to our personal crucifixions, too.

I believe that He is with me and for me, and I believe that He has the power to transform this and to use it for good, for me and for others. It just hurts as it is being done; the price is so very high.

May God's Love give meaning to my suffering, and to the suffering of all mankind; may He help my heart to remain open to His Love, transform this pain into blessing, and may He comfort our hearts as a mother comforts her children. Amen.

Prayer, Suffering, Love & Football

I don't watch much in the way of professional sports, but last night, I saw a snippet of a pro football game. I don't recall who was in it, but it was in a snowy climate.

I was brought to tears by the sight of a huge crowd of players huddled on the field, surrounding a pair of fallen teammates. One of the boys (they are young boys, in my mind) was able to get up and walk off of the field with assistance. The other remained lying down until a motorized cart was driven over to carry him off.

The most beautiful thing, the thing that made me tearful, was the sight of several large, gladiator-clad young fellows, kneeling, obviously in prayer, for their colleagues. In public, on national television, these men were so concerned for their teammates/opponents that they responded to their suffering by kneeling down spontaneously and praying on their behalf. The juxtaposition of their football-warrior-in-armor image and the supplication in their humble, loving position of prayer was so great and so beautiful that I am still thinking about it.

How often in our workaday world do we see someone kneel in humility and loving concern, wherever they are, and pray when they see or hear something that moves them? It made my evening; it made me grateful. It renewed my faith a little; it made me love those young football boys (okay, they are young men).

I have been thinking about suffering, lately. Personally, I have always wanted to avoid suffering.
I've been pretty creative in the methods I've employed in avoiding it, but it happens anyway; everyone suffers. We will not always be given a way to escape it. Suffering and joy, (and the gray area in between, that seems to make up a lot of human living) are facts of life, as far as I can tell. Spending a lot of energy to avoid suffering feels like a normal response, but it proves futile in many instances. Today, I read this passage in Hebrews 5 (The Amplified Bible):
"7 In the days of His flesh [Jesus] offered up definite, special petitions [for that which He not only wanted but needed] and supplications with strong crying and tears to Him Who was [always] able to save Him [out] from death, and He was heard because of His reverence toward God [His godly fear, His piety, in that He shrank from the horrors of separation from the bright presence of the Father].
8 Although He was a Son, He learned [active, special] obedience through what He suffered
9 And, [His completed experience] making Him perfectly [equipped], He became the Author and Source of eternal salvation to all those who give heed and obey Him..."

I have come to believe that, in this life, one of the most important things we learn is how to bear suffering. It seems as if human living is designed to offer us countless opportunities for this. Suffering is part of this life; learning how to endure it creates strength of character, and it takes away a lot of fear. It enables us to be loyal and strong on behalf of ourselves or others in the face of adversity. It gives us courage & understanding, based upon experience. Some of the people who I admire the most are those who have suffered, deeply. It's not the circumstances of the suffering that matter, or the age, gender, race or era in history of the person; it's their response to suffering, -- the way they decide to live through it, and with it. And in a time and space of suffering, my response to it is probably the ONLY thing that I can control or affect. But what a difference that response can make in my life, and in the lives of those around me! So perhaps the good news is that we can learn to endure it, with the help of God, our loving Companion.

Here's a related passage, from Romans 5: 3-5 (also from the Amplified Bible):
"...[let us also be full of joy now!] let us exult and triumph in our troubles and rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that pressure and affliction and hardship produce patient and unswerving endurance.
4 And endurance (fortitude) develops maturity of character (approved faith and tried integrity). And character [of this sort] produces [the habit of] joyful and confident hope of eternal salvation.
5 Such hope never disappoints or deludes or shames us, for God's love has been poured out in our hearts through the Holy Spirit Who has been given to us."

It seems to me that there is a reward for suffering, but it is, as they say, "an inside job." It seems that it is our submission to God's re-creation of us, in the situations that we most want to avoid, that allows us to receive this gift.

In the magazine Good Housekeeping, I read the following by Geneen Roth:
"Hearts break and then mend; it's in their job description...
"...if our hearts are closed because we don't want to suffer, they won't be open enough to recognize the joy as it flies by.
"Hearts are made to be resilient. Think about it: Is there one thing that's happened to you that you haven't survived? Here you are, right now, reading this article despite all the heartache you've had in your life. Something in you is still awake, alive, eager to learn, ready to be moved.
"And once you know that your heart is resilient, once you accept that part of being here on earth is, as a friend of mine says, living among the brokenhearted, then you can take in the huge streaks of delight, joy and happiness as well."

As painful as it may be, learning to endure suffering may be one of the keys to wisdom, and ultimately, deep joy in living.

May your suffering ultimately produce joy, and love, in your life.