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 choose my Lenten penances.
The Lord wasted little time in showing His hand. Yes, I choose things to add and subtract from my life which I thought would help me grow closer to Jesus. Yet He had surprises to shower upon me. Tensions and stresses which I could not foresee, disappointments which were small and yet keenly felt, and a wrestling with my will which seems a never-ending cross to bear. What I chose for myself would have stretched me and caused me to grow. What Jesus chose for me caused me to fall to my knees and beg for every ounce of grace He has for me.
In the present moment, what Martinez says feels so wrong–it does feel like matters enormously the pathway to Heaven. I don’t want to experience agony and distress for a prolonged period of time. I am loathe to suffer repeatedly because of the disorder, sinfulness, or immaturity of others. And yet, begrudgingly, I can see the truth of it. The crosses which are placed heavily upon our shoulders, from which we cannot wriggle out, are often the ones which crush our self-will and cement in our hearts the counter-cultural truth that I absolutely cannot do it on my own. I would rarely choose to be so crushed or to have poisoned daggers thrown so neatly into my little heart. When would we ever choose to feel defeated and overcome? Not today, Lord, but perhaps next Wednesday? Who would say this and then not renegotiate when one realizes that next Wednesday also doesn’t seem like a convenient time for the cross?
For this first week and a half of Lent, I have been meditating daily on the agony in the garden. Near the end of this week I realized that I was in my own little agony of the garden and Christ was repeatedly encouraging me to drink the cup which was offered to me. There is a niggling fear that my weeks will continue to conform to the sorrowful mysteries of the rosary, something which I feel may beyond the capacity of this little heart of mine. Yet perhaps this is exactly where the Lord wants me–not running ahead of His will, not confident that I can do things on my own, not relying upon my own goodwill and small virtues. No, perhaps He wants me in a state of absolute certainty that I cannot manage on my own, aware that my heart is too small, my will too weak, and my virtue too tenuous to do this apart from Him.
Maybe kneeling beside Him in the garden, cradling a bitter cup I don’t want to drink, calling out to the Father for His will not mine to be done is exactly where He wants me.
Pray that I say Yes and drink the cup, filled with all of the bitterness I don’t want and yet coming directly from the heart of the good and faithful Father.
What blindness of heart! Do you not understand the ways of God? He loves you more than you love yourself. He loves you more than anyone else loves you. He is unceasingly solicitous for your good. If He sends you this cross, it is exactly what you need for your sanctification.
(When God is Silent, p. 102)
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Seeking After His Heart 