The Wrestling is the Hope

The Wrestling is the Hope

When faced with the misery of another human, how do we respond?

Not long ago, I found myself in a group of people in prison reflecting on questions of mercy and compassion. What has been our experience when showing mercy? What has been our experience when being shown mercy? In the midst of this, a man started to share about a hypothetical or vague situation and it became increasingly clear that he was sharing his own story with us.

He said that he couldn’t believe that God would forgive some people for the terrible, awful things they had done to other people. It wouldn’t be enough to just say sorry; forgiveness from God would be too easy, too incomprehensible. Though numerous pastors, priests, friends, and volunteers had told him otherwise, he could not fathom forgiveness being offered to himself. It was clear he was repulsed by himself and that he had likely tortured himself by replaying his crimes over and over in his mind thousands of times.

What do you do when you hate yourself so much yet you cannot avoid yourself? While you can run away from everyone else and hide in shame, you cannot outrun yourself. You cannot avoid being with your own tell-tale heart which longs for forgiveness yet cannot imagine ever being reconciled–with God, yourself, or humanity.

Some of his friends jumped in to offer consolation or to compare their wildly different situations as though they were similar. He sadly rebuffed the attempts, clearly seeing the differences and being unwilling to yield any compassion towards himself. Numerous thoughts raced through my mind and I tried to consider what I could say in the face of such despair. At one point, weeping, he questioned why God wouldn’t let him feel forgiven if he actually was and he bemoaned having no hope for himself.

“Perhaps the wrestling is the hope,” I said.

I explained that while he wants to give up, it doesn’t seem like he can. Maybe it is his undying longing for reconciliation and for redemption which is his hope. He wants to despair and yet he cannot fully commit himself to giving up entirely. Perhaps this is the hope the Lord is offering.

“I don’t know why the Lord doesn’t offer more grace in different moments. But I know He always offers enough.”

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Whatever God Sends

Whatever God Sends

In approaching Lent, I am always trying to find the perfect balance. I’ve learned that having a million random things I’m giving up doesn’t seem to be beneficial and it can be difficult to remember. Yet I’ve also had Lents where I did too little and I find myself disappointed in what miniscule things I chose to sacrifice. However, the Lord can use anything we give Him and I have noticed that my failures are often fertile ground for the Lord to help me remember that this a season about Him, not me.

Shortly before Lent started, I began reading When God is Silent: Finding spiritual peace amid the storms of life by Archbishop Luis M. Martinez. As the title suggests, the book offers wisdom for the periods in life when God doesn’t seem to be close and His love doesn’t seem to be a tangible presence in one’s life. There are many beautiful parts of the book, but one section in particular stood out.

What does the journey matter, provided one reaches sanctity? The main thing is to reach it. What does it matter whether we go to God through sickness or through health, through struggle or repose, through consolation or aridity? If we ourselves set about selecting the way, in all probability we would choose sweetness and ease–and the wrong route–whereas our Lord chooses for us what we need at any given moment. The worst thing that could happen to us would be to be given freedom of choice in selecting our own path to Heaven, for our selection would be unwise; we would choose desolation when in need of consolation, and consolation when desolation would be more suitable; we would choose struggle when rest would be in order, and rest when effort would be necessary. We would never make the right selection, because we are too shortsighted to know ourselves, the designs of God, or the paths to perfection….A keen realization of this truth should convince us that the best thing for us at each step is what God sends. Frequently, it is not to our taste, but what does it matter, provided we are sanctified? What means are at hand today for my sanctification? Whatever God sends me–whether it be sickness, temptation, or aridity.
(When God is Silent, p. 100-101)

It was with a little bit of cheek that I thought semi-complainingly in those days leading up to Lent, “But, Lord, how can I know what to do for Lent? According to Martinez, I will always choose to wrong thing when given the choice. Only You know.” Nevertheless, I prayed, reflected, and chose my Lenten penances.

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When Things Fall Apart

When Things Fall Apart

I prefer matters in the classroom to move along pleasantly. Students listening to my directions the first time, papers being turned in on time, and the whole class period moving in a peaceful, cohesive movement would be ideal.

Yet it often when things fall apart that I am compelled to pray more than usual.

Which leads me to still desire the peaceful perfection which eludes while offering a begrudging gratitude for the ways difficulties stretch me. Why can’t the peaceful moments produce as much growth as the moments when I am fraying and grasping after grace? If only I could have a lovely, gentle day of teaching and return home saying, “That was a day of fruitful growth.” Instead, I encounter unexpected difficulties beyond my comprehension or control and I return home battle-weary saying, “I am going to need so much more grace to endure this.”

This week, I had some tense encounters with a student and I found myself at a loss for how to handle the anger which seemed directed at me and yet disproportionate to the impact I could have possibly made on the student. It has been a slow burn from the beginning of the semester, but it seemed to be close to bubbling over this week. During an open period, I found myself trying to unwind, rosary beads slipping through my fingers, as I wondered how I would endure the months to come. And while I didn’t come up with any easy solutions, I was seeing that regardless of the stress and tension this student was adding to my life, there was also the goodness of turning to the Lord in prayer. I didn’t think I needed an additional reminder that things are outside my control, but I seem to be overruled in the matter.

The kind, peaceable students who are a delight don’t generally make me fall to my knees, begging the Lord to offer His guidance and grace. It is the students who push my limits, annoy me to the point of insanity, and lash out at me with their own set of jumbled emotions that cause me to turn to the Lord, recognizing my inability to manage without Him.

A quote from St. John of the Cross came to mind the other day which says, “Where there is no love, put love–and you will find love.” I wrote this on my board and I am already finding myself staring at it, trying to will myself to put love into situations which seem to offer me no good will or pleasure.

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To Embrace Life

To Embrace Life

I’ve been doing prison ministry for several years now, but I have found myself entering into it in a new way over these recent weeks. Washing dishes at a Christmas celebration, I found myself thinking, “I bet some of the guys would really love to be washing dishes with their families right now.” The simple, mundane act of driving to work caused me to wonder, “How many of the guys really missing just driving a car?” As a break from school found me randomly sick, which it often seems to do, I gracefully vomited into the toilet and thought, “I’m glad I have a bathroom where I can throw up by myself and not have an auditory audience of dozens of people.” Numerous other scenarios have come up, too, as I have lit the candles for the Advent wreath, wrapped beautiful presents to gift to family members, had the ‘opportunity’ to shovel snow, and wanted a book so I ordered it online–throughout it all being prompted to remember that these are all things I would feel more grateful for if my life looked a little different.

It isn’t that I believe prisons shouldn’t exist or even that most people are there unjustly or undeservedly. Instead, I have been prompted to recall how the incarcerated are persons and even if the punishment fits the crime, there is a lived experience of it which might make us more compassionate if we were aware. It has caused me to feel a real grief for some of the men and to mourn a bit for what their lives could have been and yet see them try to embrace the life that is now offered to them. There is a strength that is involved in spending year after year in prison, a heartache that is real when you know that you will never get out of prison alive or that your kids will be completely grown by the time you are released. In no way do I understand this, but I have felt a sliver of this grief as I have gotten to know some of the men and I feel like this melancholy has grown a bit in these recent days.

Yet my life is not in prison.

Perhaps oddly, this has been my reflection as we move into the new year. I am not in prison so I should seek to soak up the things that these guys want to do but cannot. (Like, obviously, within reason.) There are many aspects of my life which, like the men in prison, I cannot control or make happen. Honestly, the Lord’s will seems as inscrutable to them as to me. And yet there are things I can do to not just pass the time, to not just look forward to the next weekend or the next break from school. For me, it can be easy to be trapped in moving from one day to the next, wishing for something different and yet seeing the same thing sprawling endlessly into the future. I don’t want to live like that, especially when I sometimes try to encourage the men in prison not to do that.

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It Will Not Delay

It Will Not Delay

The wallpaper of my phone is a picture of a quote which says, “It will surely come, it will not delay.” Next to the plastic, rose-bespeckled skull on my desk at school is another quote which says, “The Lord is not slow about his promise.” I think I feel compelled to post these passages of Scripture around my life because I feel like I’m inclined to not believe them and I know that I must.

I find myself doing similar things in other situations, too. There is a massive paper I need to write (yet which I have done essentially nothing on) and I have a desire to write about the role of hope in suffering as a Christian. This is not because I feel particularly hopeful or because I view myself as a very good suffer-er. And yet there is an attraction to this tension between suffering and hope. Or, as another example, recently, I read the description of a fictional story and it repelled and annoyed me, sounding far too similar in some ways to my own life, and so I bought it.

I’m not sure I love the tension that life offers to me and yet there is something intriguing about it. At times I run from it, not wanting to parse the particular stresses and contradictions in life. Other times, I sprint towards it, wanting one strain of my heart to engage in a head-on collision with another. Or for the misconceptions or untruths I believe to smash brilliantly into the truth or clarity which they don’t want to encounter.

Perhaps it is simply reflected in how I feel about Advent. I love the time of anticipation, the preparations, the slow moving from darkness to light, the delayed gratification. However, I also feel the tension in the season and am quick to see how I also greatly dislike that same tension in my own life, when the end of the journey is not quite so clear-cut and the conclusion unknown. The season of Advent continually calls this tension to mind as we prepare both for Christmas (clearly marked out for December 25th) and the end of our lives (very unclear and uncertain for most of us). It is a delight and a sorrow, a thing of great pleasure and one of profound suffering. Yet it is a tension in which we all must live.

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In The Heart of Our Darkness

In The Heart of Our Darkness

My heart is filled with so much longing.

Is it the season of Advent which fills it with yearning and anticipation? Or is it the state of my being at this time? Or is it simply what it means to be human?

Regardless of the cause, I am left in the agony of waiting during these shortening winter days. In some ways, anticipation is delightful, inviting a sense of looking forward to something and a source of hope for the future. Yet in other ways it can be draining, one’s being filled with a fervent desire for a fulfillment which is not yet here and the remembrance of that lack is persistent. While we cannot change that we wait, we can change how we wait. In recent days, two things have come into my mind and heart which have invited me to consider how I’m waiting even if they don’t completely change my experience of it.

The first was a moment in prayer a few weeks ago. It can be easy for me to feel that while God has a plan for me, He has perhaps overlooked moving forward with the next step. Yet I know that God wastes nothing, forgets nothing, overlooks nothing, and is in no way negligent with any aspect of any person. So what came into my prayer was the image of my whole heart, my whole being, every drop of my present life and circumstances being poured out into His hands. Like a bucket of water, it flowed from me and was captured tenderly, completely in His cradled hands. As individual drops moved toward the edges, seemingly prepared to fall carelessly to the ground, Our Lord managed to keep them all within the crevice of His hands.

Nothing was lost.

No fleeting emotion was unworthy of His attention, no aching wound escaped His notice or care, no mundane moment of my life was devoid of His presence and acknowledgement. I’ve come back to this image many times. My whole life, the complexities of my heart, the things I love and hate are all held by Jesus. Nothing escapes His notice or loving gaze.

The second is the idea of not letting my heart be troubled. It has come up in various ways and in different devotionals I’m listening to or reading. What has caught my attention most recently is the idea of letting my heart be troubled. So perhaps my life is filled with waiting and uncertainties. At least I can strive to not be troubled by the lack of clarity, to receive what is offered from the Lord and trust that He will provide. The storm can rage around us, but we can seek to not let the storm become interior. Not being troubled becomes an incredibly active thing rather than the passive thing it might sometimes seem to be.

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Surprised by Grief

Surprised by Grief

Grief is a tricky thing.

I keep thinking this as the days and weeks have gently rolled by and yet I keep being surprised by it.

Several weeks ago, a man I knew from prison died.

Were we friends? Yes, in a way that I feel inclined to categorize in my head as “prison friends.”

There is almost no chance we would have known each other except for meeting in prison, life and circumstances being so entirely different for each of us. I never quite knew how many of his stories to believe or how to wrap my brain around his understanding of Scripture. I was often unsure what transpired inside his mind, as he would silently survey all and thoughtfully form an opinion which, if asked, would take several minutes to unfurl. How did all of his stories mesh together? What happened in the years he was silent about? How exactly did he end up where he did?

A mystery.

He was very much a mystery to me.

It was in prison that he chose to enter the Catholic Church. At a Saturday evening Mass, he was baptized and confirmed. In a place where touching between inmate and visitor is frowned upon, it was memorable to step up behind him and place my hand on his shoulder as he was confirmed. I prayed for the Holy Spirit to descend powerfully upon him and remain with him even while I also wondered why he picked me as his sponsor.

Over the years, we spent hours talking. He spoke more than I did, but he would remember to follow up about different things in my life about which I had shared. What I was teaching, what I was learning, the paper I was supposed to be writing. He’d share fantastic stories about his youth, about his thoughts on a passage of Scripture, about advice other guys would ask for, about observations about staff and inmates. There was always something formulating, fermenting, bubbling up inside of him.

So it is a bit striking for all of it to stop.

Suddenly.

A surprise death. One which lingered suspensefully for a few days as we sat in the “is he dead or isn’t he?” And even when it was revealed that, yes, he was dead, it was still unbelievable. A memorial Mass was offered and a visit to the gravesite occurred and yet it still seems unresolved. There was a statement from the DOC, a smattering of news reports, and an oversized pile of dirt in a small rural cemetery. But there was no body that I saw, no funeral pictures, no casket, no obituary, no headstone. Just enough to show that he was gone and little enough to force my brain to recognize how absolute it is.

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God is Not Overwhelmed

God is Not Overwhelmed

God is not overwhelmed.

With the myopia natural to humanity, it can be easy to view the present time as the worst time. Or, depending on your temperament and inclinations, to view the present moment as the very best in history. It is very likely that neither is true and that the present age lies somewhere between those two extremes. The perfect vantage point comes, naturally, from God, who sees what would both heartily encourage us and completely devast us.

God sees and knows all. The innumerable pains which are suffered silently within the hearts of humanity are known utterly by God. Yet He also knows the selfless acts of charity, the hidden conquering of vices, and the small but real ways people chose to love Him and each other. He sees the best and the worst of humanity, the pouring out of the hearts’ treasures and the outpouring of blood, the heroic and the demonic, the veiled humility and the brash pride of the world. I would not want to be Him, even with the ability to see how all of this works for the greatest good of each individual and the world.

And yet, God is not overwhelmed. He is not struck down by the flaws and horrors of humanity. What we did not see coming, He knew before the foundations of the world. What causes us to be overly elated, He takes with a peace which surpasses understanding. There is no plot twist, surprise, or cliffhanger for God. He knows everything and everyone completely.

It is not that He is passive or stoic or even distantly removed from our human drama. No, He is intimately involved with the very flutters of our heart, the little moments which cause a burst of joy or a piercing sorrow. He is not indifferent or unable to be moved by our plight. Rather, He is unable to be overwhelmed. The world He embraced and entered into, He has also conquered. It is sustained by His constant will and we exist through a persistent overflow of love which does not question if we are worthy. The Lord is very near and yet, thankfully, He does not get swept away in a million soundbites or the raging of violence or the bitter divisions which wend their way through the human race. He is a firm foundation, a rock, a fortress, a refuge.

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Windows to the Soul

Windows to the Soul

I was struck by their eyes.

Glancing around the table for a moment, I saw several pairs of gentle, thoughtful eyes. Creases radiated from the corners, shooting outward toward countenances which had faced much sorrow, misery, and difficulty. Yet, here, in this moment, these eyes were content, hopeful, seeking a fulfillment which had seemed elusive in the past.

I commented with a laugh that one of them looked incredibly intense as he carefully outlined a design on a poster, adding flourishes and details, colorful letters unfolding in a practiced artistic script. Another had kind eyes as he shared a gratitude for life which was a hard-fought accomplishment, a thankfulness borne of recognizing he could easily be dead if circumstances had transpired differently. Yet another had brilliantly dark and quiet eyes, settled into a fiery calm and carrying tremendous depth and treasured secrets.

One after the other, I am peering into pairs of eyes which have seen things I hope to never witness and have sought a hope I, too, fervently desire. Soaking up the moments, the snatches of conversation between sips of coffee and theological ponderings between deft strokes of a marker on posterboard, I found myself incredibly grateful for this glimpse of humanity. I think people wouldn’t believe what we talk about or what these men are like, I thought to myself as I heard them share their stories and answer questions.

The human person is a many layered being. I am not proposing that at this prison retreat there were only men who have completely repented of their wrongdoing or who will live lives on the straight and narrow forevermore. However, where can we look and see such a group of people? Instead, I am continually amazed at how they are taking their situations, brought on by their own choices as well as circumstances outside of their control, and seeking to grow. For some, this means striving for sobriety and personal betterment during their remaining prison sentence before concluding their time or being released on parole. For others, this means wrestling with a life sentence and how they can be involved in their families while incarcerated or seek personal fulfillment within the prison walls.

From the outside, flipping through tv news reports or online articles, it can be easy to simplify humanity. We hear about horrifying and shocking crimes, quickly bemoan the state of society, and want people locked away forever. Yet sitting at a table with them drinking cups of coffee, handing them slices of toast which are only offered on this retreat, watching their eyes fill up with tears as they speak of how they are seeking to be good fathers despite facing a life sentence in prison, and hearing them push themselves to share a story with the group regardless of their nervousness all makes it much harder to categorize them all as “bad” and slam the door shut on them.

Humans are complex and, thankfully, have the capacity for growth and change.

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This is Life

This is Life

Every now and then, I need to remind myself that this is life. As I wrap up a long day teaching and heft a stack of papers into my work bag (where they will likely remain until I return the following day), I acknowledge that this is life. As I take a few quick days to visit a friend from college and enter into the swirl of activity which is life with young kids, I remind myself, “This is life.” And as the days of summer pass by far too quickly, I consider that this is my life.

Perhaps this stating of the all-too-obvious is something you don’t need to do. However, I find myself needing to do this at various times. It seems imperative to call to mind that I am living, that this is my life, and that I only have one chance at this. Sometimes this is a cause for concern, other times one of encouragement, and yet other times it is a good reality check. This is my life regardless of how different it is than what I expected and I need to make the most of this one chance.

If my life was filled with raising young children, I think it would be more obvious how time passes. Not that I would have all of this idealistic time to consider it, but children have the odd habit of growing, changing, and forcing you to acknowledge that they aren’t what they once were. As adults, this seems to be a bit harder to pay particular attention to since the changes are more gradual and can slip by quietly. So sometimes I need to call to mind that time is passing and, what’s more, that this time is precious and won’t come again.

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