Trust in God, Don't Be Afraid, Be Ready to Say Yes

Easter Week is Divine Mercy Week.

We have prayed the Divine Mercy Novena from St. Faustina's diary every Easter Week of our married life (and me also the year before, in a way that was very significant).

In the Spring of 1995, I was nearing the end of my first year of teaching at Christendom College. I had been through a lot of discernment, spent a year in Rome, and was following the path that Msgr. Guissani and others who were guiding me in my life had indicated. Now, I had a teaching position. It seemed like the time to give my life in a deeper way.

I had once been comfortable as a footloose graduate student, dreaming about great intellectual projects, collecting experiences of life, and generally evading responsibility as much as possible.

That changed when I went to continue my studies in Rome. There I spent a year living at the house of the Fraternity of San Carlo Borromeo, the missionary society of priests (and now religious sisters too) associated with the ecclesial movement Communion and Liberation. I lived with men who were preparing to be missionaries, and I watched them closely. They amazed me.

They were ordinary, down to earth men, and several of them became my good friends. I saw their readiness to commit themselves radically to the mission of the Church. I saw them preparing their hearts to go anywhere in the world they were sent. Africa. South America. Siberia. The Holy Land. And the desolate places of the developed world, to begin anew the mission of evangelization.

I could not watch them live without becoming convinced that I too was called to give my life, in some form. I was not called to be a missionary, although I allowed myself to be shocked and terrified by the possibility of this ideal. But the head of the Society, a priest of great personal sensitivity and deep prayer, assured me that this was not my vocation. I was called to live as a layman and a professor in the world.

But I learned that my vocation was also a Christian vocation, and that in order to carry it out I must give myself, commit myself, take responsibility for something greater than myself. I needed in my own life the kind of "readiness" that these men were cultivating.

I also began to realize that I might really be able to do this, with God's grace. And in my life and circumstances, that grace might very well take the form of "another person." I began to discover that marriage is really a vocation.

And so I kept my eyes and my heart open, during that first year of teaching. I prayed for God's will to be done. I began to become convinced that my vocation was joined to that of another person. But who?

I prayed the Novena of the Divine Mercy that Easter Week, asking God to send me the woman he wanted me to marry, and to send her "soon"! Rather demanding and impatient of me, eh?

About a week later, I got a phone call from my old friend Eileen Balajadia. I hadn't talked to her in some years, although we had kept up a regular correspondence. But as far as I knew, she had put down her roots in Texas, and I was in the process of planting myself in Front Royal.

We talked for a long time. She revealed that she wasn't happy with her teaching position in Texas, and was thinking of moving back to the Northern Virginia area, where we had met five years ago.

Of course, I was sure Eileen just wanted to be my friend....

But something inside me said, in a very simple way, "Trust in God. Be ready. Be open. Pay attention. Don't be afraid. Follow the signs. Be ready to say yes."

We didn't know, when we were talking on the phone in April 1995, that 14 months later we would be married. (I've told that story elsewhere on this blog.) But God knew. God brought us together in His Mercy.

Today we have five children, two of them adolescents. When I fell ill, my wife's work as a teacher blossomed in new ways. Now I am being healed and God is opening up new directions for me. Still, I worry about the future in hundreds of ways. Why? God has promised us that He will take care of us in His Mercy. He has never failed us. He hasn't promised that it will be easy, of course. I think that trust in God is the great and difficult and necessary thing that all of life is trying to teach us.

Eileen and I have to help each other to sustain and deepen that same attitude of heart:

Trust in God.
Be ready.
Be open.
Pay attention.
Don't be afraid.
Follow the signs.
Be ready to say yes.

Trust: Walking in the Hope of the Resurrection

Easter Tuesday. Today I present one of my favorite poems from my book Never Give Up (http://t.co/ddwYeqX). Those of you who know the book are aware of the way in which its narrative is interspersed with poetic prayer reflections, not unlike those I've posted on this blog. I thought this text was appropriate during Easter week, as our daily toil is touched by the glory of a great hope. At the heart of this "Divine Mercy Week" is the aspiration and the prayer for the virtue of trust. We hardly even know what it means to trust. Even this we must ask of Jesus: "Teach me how to trust in You completely." For if we do not know, what else can we do besides ask? But He will answer. He will form that awareness, that simplicity, that spiritual childhood within us.


Trust

Jesus, I trust in You
even in the turmoil of this night:
O let me feel in its wild winds
the breath of Your eternal lips
        enlivening, expanding,
        spiriting dull flecks of my ashy ground
        into form, flesh, body
        of my New Eden everlasting.

For it is You who speak me,
You who call me by name in each moment,
You who penetrate
the spaces within me that I do not know,
the moments of me
        not yet birthed by time,
        nor conceived in the tiny gaps and crevices of my mind,
        nor even beginning to trace dim shadows
               before my near-blind eyes.

It is You who see me.
You who grasp my hand and guide me
in the valley of shadows.
For You have taken every hollow trench
and scaled every slope,
to stand in the fiery sun that has burned me.
You have won the victory
that You proclaim and celebrate each moment,
each day,
when You call my name,
when You call me to awaken
        to the frail pieces of light
        and gray dust of earth’s every morning.

Save me!
For only You know me.
Shut my eyes and stop my ears
from phantom shades who cry out:
        “your name is slave,
         your name is fear,
         blackness is your life.”

Jesus
You call my name.
O open my ear that I may hear Your voice,
clear.
For You carry, whole, within Your Living Light,
the only “me” that will ever glimmer and shine—
        pool of light,
like splendid diamond
clean and cut
with the lines of Your Face.
My real name:
sounding like song, and gushing—
        fresh, cold, sweet water of life,
        that rises up from the deep
        deep well
                of Mercy’s hidden spring.
You call me by a name never spoken before
and never to be uttered again.
Let me live, O Lord, by faith—near blind, near deaf,
        straining the ear of earth to hear the echo of my name
        in gifted speech of hinted truth,
        though shallow like shells:
                Child, Beloved, Likeness, Your Glory
                                              Your Glory.

Lead me,
by the Glory that slips between the crack
of faith’s eye,
        to trust in You,
        to spy the promise of all made new.
Grant me that glimpse,
faint,
firm,
of all earth’s pain and weight.
Of my fighting, faltering,
fumbling heart’s hope
        washed in White Wonder.

                from Never Give Up: My Life and God's Mercy (http://t.co/ddwYeqX)
                [click link to order, hard copy or Kindle available]

Christ is Risen: Happy Easter From The Janaros

"This is the day the Lord has made,
Let us rejoice and be glad."
Happy Easter from the Janaro family.
God bless you!

"It Is Finished"

I do not trust myself. I trust Jesus. Jesus I trust in You. Jesus, save me. Jesus, draw me to Yourself. Jesus, convert me, change what needs changing in me, penetrate the depths of my weakness, heal me and raise me up.

At the center of the event of our redemption there is an ineffable mystery. The grace of the Cross is something we receive in faith, hope, and love. It reaches us in our misery and transforms us from within. And the Cross makes it clear that Jesus has truly loved every human person, from the foundation of the world until the end of time. Somehow, this love makes itself present, in all of its greatness and ineffable generosity, to the freedom of every person.

What a blessing and what a responsibility it is to be entrusted with the task of bearing witness to this love, of offering ourselves in union with it, of praying to the Father that His mercy will prevail, that the human person will say "yes" to this love: For the sake of His sorrowful passion, have mercy on us and on the whole world. He seeks our hearts, and no sin--no matter how horrible--is beyond His reach. Let us say "yes" to Him, trust in Him, and pray that His saving love will break through and change the hearts of others. Let us struggle to make Him known and loved by those He has entrusted to us, and by those He wills us to seek out in the circumstances of our lives. Let us not be afraid of all the opposition of the world, for He has overcome the world. Never give up.

In his unforgettable Apostolic Letter On Human Suffering (1984), Blessed John Paul II goes to the very heart of the redemption, not to explain it but to set it forth in all of its mystery and glory. On Holy Saturday, as we feel with special keenness the whole Paschal Mystery, this stunning passage (from section 18) is worth citing at length, and worth reading:

Jesus's words "attest to this unique and incomparable depth and intensity of suffering which only the man who is the only-begotten Son could experience.... Not of course completely (for this we would have to penetrate the divine-human mystery of the subject), but at least they help us to understand that difference (and at the same time the similarity) which exists between every possible form of human suffering and the suffering of the God-man.... When Christ says: "My God, My God, why have you abandoned me?", his words are not only an expression of that abandonment which many times found expression in the Old Testament, especially in the Psalms and in particular in that Psalm 22 from which come the words quoted. One can say that these words on abandonment are born at the level of that inseparable union of the Son with the Father, and are born because the Father "laid on him the iniquity of us all". They also foreshadow the words of Saint Paul: "For our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin". Together with this horrible weight, encompassing the "entire" evil of the turning away from God which is contained in sin, Christ, through the divine depth of his filial union with the Father, perceives in a humanly inexpressible way this suffering which is the separation, the rejection by the Father, the estrangement from God. But precisely through this suffering he accomplishes the Redemption, and can say as he breathes his last: "It is finished".

The Wood of the Cross Has Brought Joy to the World

Olive wood, hand carved crucifix from Assisi, on the wall next to the front door of our house.

"We worship your cross, O Lord, and we praise and glorify your holy resurrection, for the wood of the cross has brought joy to the world" (Antiphon from Morning Prayer, Good Friday).

"...the wood of the cross has brought joy to the world." Let us not forget the joy that is born from the event of this day. Salvation is accomplished. Blood and water flow forth from the Heart of Jesus. The Church is born. Man is reconciled to God. The mystery of the depth of Divine Love is revealed and given to us. It is the beginning and the foundation of the New Creation.

By faith, we recognize in Jesus Crucified the Glory of the God who is Love. We must not brood in an artificial gloom. Let us instead embrace our own sufferings and the sufferings of others who are in our lives, and offer them together with Jesus. On the Cross we receive that love of God that heals and fulfills the deepest desire of our being, the heart's desire to love and to be loved by the Infinite.

But it is more than this. We are given the possibility of sharing in God's love, of a participation in the Divine life. On the Cross, God the Son marries our hearts, and makes us children of the Father in the gift of the Holy Spirit.

The human person, wounded and broken, but still searching for meaning, for the Infinite, for truth and goodness and beauty and love, encounters an unimaginable joy: the love of God penetrating the depths of every sin and pain and sorrow, taking it all up, transforming, healing, and drawing all things to Himself.

Christ Lives in Me

"We see Jesus crowned with glory and honor because he suffered death, that through God’s gracious will he might taste death for the sake of all men. Indeed, it was fitting that when bringing many sons to glory God, for whom and through whom all things exist, should make their leader in the work of salvation perfect through suffering" (Hebrews 2:9-10).

Jesus embraces the great mystery of His Passion; he "taste[s] death for the sake of all men." Jesus becomes the companion of all our sufferings, and He unites Himself to every person's death.

None of us knows when we will die. We receive every moment of every day as a gift from God for the fulfillment of our own vocations. Each of us is a unique person, a mystery whose life is held by the wisdom and goodness and mercy of God. The moment of death--that final moment in the history of our becoming "who we are"--is also God's gift, designed to correspond to the fulfillment of the unique calling that each of us has received. It is the passage to the whole encounter with the Destiny that defines every moment of our lives.

In Jesus that Destiny embraces our death from within, becomes a presence within its solitude, and transforms it into a moment of hope and self-abandoning love. What might otherwise seem like the loss of "myself" becomes, in union with Jesus, a moment to give myself over wholly to the Father in complete trust. The inevitable horizon of death encourages me to live every moment in trusting self-abandonment, in union with the One who said, "Father, into your hands I commend my spirit."

Being a Christian means that even now "I no longer live, but Christ lives in me. And the life I live in the flesh I live in faith in the Son of God who loved me, and gave Himself for me" (Galatians 2:20).

The Message of Love

"I was offered high government positions and asked to quit my struggle but I always refused to give up, even at the cost of my life. I do not want popularity; I do not want any position. I just want a place at Jesus' feet. I want my life, my character, my actions to speak for me and indicate that I am following Jesus Christ. Because of this desire, I will consider myself most fortunate if -- in this effort and struggle to help the needy and the poor, to help the persecuted and victimized Christians of Pakistan -- Jesus Christ will accept the sacrifice of my life. I want to live for Christ and I want to die for Him."

These are the words of Shahbaz Bhatti, the well known Catholic Christian defender of minority religious rights in Pakistan. Indeed, he made that supreme sacrifice on March 2, 2011, when he was shot and killed by men who called themselves the "warriors of Islam." They issued a statement which included these words: 

"...you put a cursed Christian infidel Shahbaz Bhatti in charge of [the blasphemy laws review] committee. This is the fate of that cursed man." 

Though it is not my task to make the definitive judgment, it is certainly my opinion that these words express clearly the motivation that brought about his death. The Roman rite uses this term: "in odium fidei". It means "in hatred of the faith".

Bhatti was killed because he was considered a "cursed Christian infidel" who sought to defend the freedom of Christians to practice their faith, and also to defend the religious freedom of other non-Muslim minorities in Pakistan. He died defending the Church, and also the principles of justice, charity, and humanity.

And what was his response to this hatred and violence? He saw his destiny. He may be the first martyr to leave us a "video icon," a statement he made in this brief message, and that he wished to be made public in the event of his assassination, because "it is with the Muslim world I want to share the message of love. That is the only message that can bring the Muslim world out of the circle of hate and killings." During Holy Week, it is fitting to remember that in today's world, those who try to break the "circle of hate" are also being judged, condemned, murdered, and reviled as "cursed men." The victory of the Cross is visible in them today.

They bear "the message of love...."

Click the link to see the video, not the picture:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oBTBqUJomRE

A New Form Of Worship

We await in hope what we have already begun to live:

     With Easter

     Jesus initiates 

     a new form of worship, 

     the worship performed by love, 

     and a new temple

     which He is Himself, 

     the Risen Christ, 

     through whom every believer 

     can worship God 

     “in spirit and truth" 

     (Benedict XVI).

Adventures of a Freshman

Who is that guy?

That's the dashing "Captain Denny" from a stage version of Pride and Prejudice.

That's the kid who got straight A's in his third quarter as a high school freshman.

That's the new Chelsea varsity tennis player (they had no baseball team this year, can you believe it?).

That's the kid who is old enough to be within months of getting his Learner's Permit...you know, as in "to drive A CAR!"

He is all of this and more. John Paul is well launched on his adolescent journey. I keep waiting for the walls to come falling down on us, but they haven't...yet.

Certainly, he is a growing boy. The grocery budget has gone through the roof. When he was little it was so cheap to feed him. "Another mouth to feed" just sounded like one of those cliches. In fact, we had to force the kid to eat. Ha! I can't imagine what that was like (but thanks to technology, I don't have to--we have a video of baby John Paul eating his first bowl of hot cereal).

Obviously, he's growing in many ways. A lot of credit is due to the remarkable school he has been attending this past year. John Paul really seems to be blossoming at Chelsea Academy, where he is not only learning plenty of math and science, but also...gosh!...real humanities. The kid is reading Plato. In ninth grade.

I don't think I even knew who Plato was in ninth grade. And I went to a pretty good high school.

He is learning to expand his imagination and developing a more structured approach to logic and abstract concepts. He is encountering great minds and great ideas, and he is gaining a deeper awareness of the horizons of art and philosophy, as well as the profound correspondence between reason and Christian faith.

Of course, we've been trying to give him that since the day he was born. And given his natural gifts and his nerdy parents, no one is surprised to hear that John Paul is "smart." What makes us especially happy, however, is to be able to work with a school that shares our commitment to Christ and the Church, to building a solid and balanced Christian and human environment, to opening up opportunities for sports and other formative experiences, and to real friendships. It has been a good transition from the Montessori educational experience that has already formed him and helped prepare him to be an engaged, interested, and self-motivated person.

It was a year ago that I wrote a blog post about taking John Paul to a hockey game. Already, a year has gone by.

It's been a good year, thanks be to God.

The Bunny

There's the Bunny.

"Daddy, stop!"

You're eating a carrot. You're a Bunny.

"No, I'm a girl."

A girl Bunny?

"No just a girl. Girls eat carrots."

Bunnies eat carrots.

"Stop."

Okay, but I am going to be thinking of you as a Bunny.

[and I just look at her with raised eyebrows and she looks back at me, and then she starts to smile...]

"...stop Daddy!"

The Dawn of a New World

The Church, the living body of Christ, has the mission of prolonging on earth the salvific presence of God, of opening the world to something greater than itself, to the love and the light of God. It is worth the effort, dear brothers and sisters, to devote your entire life to Christ, to grow in his friendship each day and to feel called to proclaim the beauty and the goodness of his life to every person, to all our brothers and sisters. I encourage you in this task of sowing the word of God in the world and offering to everyone the true nourishment of the body of Christ. Easter is already approaching; let us determine to follow Jesus without fear or doubts on his journey to the Cross. May we accept with patience and faith whatever opposition or affliction may come, with the conviction that, in his Resurrection, he has crushed the power of evil which darkens everything, and has brought the dawn of a new world, the world of God, of light, of truth and happiness.                                                                                               

                                                                    Benedict XVI

Crosses At Every Turn

Someone posted a quotation today from St. Francis de Sales. At first it felt like a punch in the stomach. How can I ever have a perspective on life like this?

"I see crosses at every turn. My flesh shudders over it, but my heart adores them. Yes, I hail you, crosses little and great, I hail you, and kiss your feet, unworthy of the honor of your shadow."

And the saints are not kidding. They see it. They really do. Even as they feel the pain, they see the glory. How? Of course I know the answer to that question. It’s God’s grace, and also the freedom that His grace awakens within them, the freedom to love, which means–in this life–the freedom to suffer. I can’t look at the face of Blessed Chiara Badano every day without remembering that this is really true. But how can this become an experience for me. Do I even want it, really?

Do I "adore" the crosses in my own life with "my heart"? Wow. I see crosses at every turn, and I pray, "can you take this one away, please?" At best I manage a "Sigh. Okay, here we go again!" That’s my best...which is not very often.

Most of the time, when I see the cross (which really means when I hear that call–all throughout the day– to love, to give of myself), I try to evade it, sneak away from it, or if necessary just run, run, run. I know I’m not alone in this. Let’s face it: the Gospel verse that describes the way we Christians usually live is the one that tells us what the disciples did when Jesus was arrested: “And they all forsook Him and fled” (Mark 14:50).

I spend a good part of the day running away from my life.

And there are so many places to escape. Of course there are the distractions of technology, the media, and the consumer culture. But there are even better ones: the distractions of my ideas and plans, which are so good and important, after all. It is so much easier to talk or write about Jesus with beautiful words than it is to face that moment when my child needs the presence and the love of her father, even to do something very simple, like make a sandwich!

And I am actually called to raise these children. I am called to witness to them about the love of God. I hide from this in a thousand ways. To look upon it is overwhelming.

And then there is all the pain in life that can’t be avoided, that just digs into me and tries to engender bitterness.

But God does not leave me alone.

I run from the cross and I hide, but He passes through my walls and my locked doors and shows Himself again as the Risen One. He responds to my failure with His mercy. He shows me myself, but He also shows me Himself, and He says, “Do not be afraid. It is I.”

Do not be afraid.

In the end we all must suffer. To find His glory in the midst of our suffering: this is the “narrow road.”

I hardly understand what it means, concretely, for me. So I must pray, I must beg Him to make me more the person He wills me to be. And I must struggle to do good, to continually begin again, to cry out again and again to see the face of God and be changed by Him because I know that He is here. He is Jesus.

 I still marvel and gasp at St. Francis de Sales, but there is, I think, a tiny bit of that “heart” here, a beginning of something new.

In the end, we all must suffer. Is there anyone, really, who is not suffering right now?

And what would I have without Jesus? Just a jungle of suffering and no response except, "Go away, I hate you" as it devours me. Or perhaps, a desperate cry for help lifted to the mute heavens.

Jesus makes all the difference. Jesus is everything

Through The Darkest Places

I hear much about different people's sufferings. How do people endure living in this world? The impetus to keep going says something tremendous about the human person. But the capacity to love from out of the midst of deep personal pain: this is a mystery and a miracle. It is a witness. There is something greater in this world than the implacable misery that wants to suffocate us.

When we pray at 3:00, let us remember that it was at that hour that Jesus cried out to the Father, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" This is very mysterious, but we know that on the Cross, He has taken to Himself and borne for us and is present within every suffering that we endure, even and especially the suffering of feeling abandoned and alone, of the great open wound that is our anguish and that can do nothing but cry out.

Trusting in Him even as we cry out may bring no comfort, but the truth is that Jesus is here, that there is Love, that there is healing, that He has made a way through the darkest places. The very fact that we believe this, even with the smallest glimmer of faith, is a sign that we are already beginning to be transformed.

The Thinker and the Call of Love

There he is. The "Thinker"!

There is a lot to be said for him (or her, of course--but I will use the masculine pronoun here since our exemplar is Rodin's statue).

The thinker is reflective. He tries to understand the world and himself. He looks at the way things are, how they are structured, how they are distinct and how they go together. He tries to understand himself. He reflects on his own experience and he tries also to understand and appreciate from within the experience of others.

The thinker is often not the same as "the debater"...the thinker can get frustrated with arguing, especially in the combative contemporary forum in which it takes place. It is not that he lacks appreciation for disagreement, or for challenges to his own ideas. It is rather the opposite: he values them too much. If he encounters a coherent challenge to his understanding, he wants time to examine it and if necessary alter his own thinking. In the face of a bad argument, he is often more interested in what the "opponent" is really trying to get at, or what genuine insight might lie behind a poorly formulated position.

This means that the most gifted and articulate thinkers can sometimes be the best debaters. They are able to distinguish and clarify. They are not so much interested in "winning an argument" as they are in joining with their interlocutor in a search for the truth. They don't "beat" their opponent; they "win him over"--and in the process often find their own positions clarified.

Such persons are rare, however. Most thinkers are like Rodin's fellow up there. They are plodders. They are often insecure in their own ideas, and find that grappling with intellectual challenges is a painful psychological process of struggling with doubt, with feelings of weakness and incompetence, and with frustration at the sheer murkiness and dimness of the human intellect. Step by step, with many mistakes, and only with a great deal of time does the thinker begin to grasp truths that are really worth knowing.

The thinker is often a peacemaker rather than a warrior. But he has his own kind of courage: he is courageous in his willingness to suffer the long human journey to truth. There is a secret fire that sustains him.

The thinker, however, considers things in the shadow of a great temptation. It is a subtle, but devastating temptation. The thinker wants to understand everything. He craves intellectual synthesis.

He can even have it, up to a point....

If he is willing to yield his mind to the way of similitude and difference, the way of analogy, where knowledge humbly gives way before a certain darkness, where he adheres and affirms a reality whose secrets are too great for him. What he sees is only in a mirror, and what he does not see is always the greater.

To be humble before reality is his greatest challenge. The thinker has a quiet, often unacknowledged, but fiercely stubborn pride.

Perhaps this is why Rodin's fellow is looking down.

The hardest thing for the thinker is to look at reality, at the actual life that greets him every day. The real things in life are given their deepest meaning by an absolutely gratuitious Love that has freely chosen to take up and give itself from within the whole business.

Shocked by this Love, the thinker is tempted to withdraw into himself. He struggles with all his mental energy to incorporate this Love into his synthetic project. There must be categories in which this can be contained.

St. Paul spoke to the thinkers of Athens. He intrigued them with his appeal to the "Unknown," but then a strange thing happened. He pointed to an event, to gratuitous Love, to a man who has risen from the dead. Some of the philosophers just laughed at him, but I have always wondered about those who said to him, "we will hear you on this another day" (see Acts 17:32).

How typical of the thinker.

In front of the explosion of Love, he says, "can we talk about this some more? Perhaps you can explain yourself?"

But Love does not explain itself. It says, "follow Me."

There is a story about Thomas Aquinas. Once he was deep in thought and working on his manuscripts (which of course have so much value for the history of philosophy and theology). The Prior told a young novice to find one of the friars and to tell him that the Prior wants him to go to town and buy fish for the community.

Aquinas was the first friar that the ignorant novice saw. The great scholar, the Magister of the University of Paris, one of the great geniuses of all time, was approached by a novice, who told him that the Prior had ordered him to go to town and buy fish.

Without a moment's hesitation or question, Thomas put down his pen and headed for the fish market.

The Woman

The marriage of heaven and earth,
of eternity and history,
began in silence,
invisible,
under the heart of a girl.

It is the day of the Annunciation. The Father sent His Only Son into the world through a girl. The Holy Spirit came upon her, the Power of the Most High overshadowed her, and the Son of God became the Son of Mary.

Because she said, "yes."

She stood there, on behalf of the whole of the vast universe of creation, holding in her own heart creation's most awesome mystery: Freedom.

Perfect Freedom.

She was a created person. The marvel of the cosmos. And she was truly and perfectly free: attuned to the Mystery of Being, open to cooperation from her very own self with the ineffable wisdom of that Mystery, capable of giving herself as a person, of adhering as a person, a human person, a woman, to the Mystery.

She was a woman.

She surrendered herself in her perfect freedom to Him, so that He might entrust Himself to her virginal womb, taking human flesh and human nature as His own, making each of us His brothers and sisters.

God who creates and sustains the being and the vitality of every human person has united Himself in a new way with every human person. He has begun the great drama by which He will identify Himself with every person and share the burden and the suffering and the death of every human person.

At this Wondrous Intersection of God and man--the foundation of the taking up by God of the destiny of each human person who has ever lived and ever will live--there is the Woman and her freedom.

Her love.
Her maternal love.

At the center of God's glory, of His revelation of Himself, of His giving of Himself in Love:
it is there
that we find
the Woman.

Courage to the End: The Example of a Bishop

God's reign is already present on our earth in mystery. When the Lord comes, it will be brought to perfection. 

That is the hope that inspires Christians. We know that every effort to better society, especially when injustice and sin are so ingrained, is an effort that God blesses, that God wants, that God demands of us. 

May this Body immolated and this Blood sacrificed for mankind nourish us also, that we may give our body and our blood over to suffering and pain, like Christ--not for self, but to give harvests of peace and justice to our people.

These are the final words of the homily of Archbishop Oscar Romero, March 24, 1980.

Moments later, a shot rang out and the bullet pierced his chest as he stood at the altar. Before falling unconscious, he uttered his last words:

"May God have mercy on the assassins." 

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Only a month before, Archbishop Romero wrote these words in his retreat notes:

“I must be ready to give my life for God, no matter what kind of death awaits me. Unknown circumstances will be faced with the grace of God. He was present to the martyrs, and if it should be necessary I will feel Him very close to me as I render Him my last breath. But more valuable than the moment of dying is giving Him my whole life and living for Him.” 

Embraced By Christ

Two weeks until Good Friday. This Lent for me has been marked with a different kind of experience of suffering. It is the stark wonder that I have found in recognizing the depths of Christ's suffering in the life of another person. A window has been opened for me to the realization of how profoundly the Cross impresses itself upon every person's life.

We just don't see it. We don't look at each other and recognize "Jesus suffering." We don't look at each other's pain, limitations, and faults, and see Jesus suffering. We don't look at the way we disappoint one another, abuse one another, and hurt one another, and recognize Jesus suffering in our very broken and scarred humanity.

We don't look at the way we are divided from one another, at the way we make war on one another--whether it's war that spans the continents, or war between peoples, or war in the community, or the workplace, or war in the household--and recognize Jesus, suffering, right there, taking it all up on His Cross.

And we don't recognize Jesus suffering in the center of our own hearts, right inside our own ugly, paltry selfishness and weakness--the very place where we don't want to look.

That is where He is.

This is the lesson that Blessed Chiara Badano is teaching me. The depths of suffering are unfathomable, because they have been embraced by Christ.

In the midst of the body-crushing, bone-piercing pain of her cancer, she says, "I am not asking Jesus to come and get me to bring me to Heaven anymore, because I still want to offer Him my pain, to share His Cross with Him."

What could possibly make someone say this?

Can God's Love really enter into and thus transform a human heart?

It is beautiful, but it is also...gosh...so overwhelming! I admit that I can't breathe here. But it certainly clarifies the reality that everyone of us must face. Either pain is a tragic waste, or Jesus is true, and suffering really has been transformed into love. And this is not just words. It's a real challenge.

How can I even begin to live like this? How can I find this love? How, O Lord?

I believe He makes it possible. He changes us. But we have to keep asking for the grace. We have to pray. God is merciful, and He helps us to walk in His mysterious ways. And there is no other way except God's love. Jesus I trust in You.

So What Happens Next?

I have on this blog more than a year's worth of pondering my life in public, through the medium of words. The blog format encourages the writing of "vignettes" -- presenting a slice of life, or launching a proposal, or uttering a prayer, or outlining an idea that has the potential for extensive development.

So what happens next?

Why do I ask such a question? A blog is becoming a kind of literary genre in itself. In the world of electronic media, this is something very strange for a person like me who has spent his lifetime dealing with print. The fact is that the writings on my blog are already "published" - sort of. Right?

This is kind of like an e-magazine, or at least it's a regular e-column. I originally started it for my friends and former students, and as a kind of "writing project" that could help my recovery. But of course, I immediately began expressing myself in a public "preachy-teachy" persona. Here is my life! Learn something from it! Alas, this is how I am. When I think things through on my own, I find that I am "teaching the air." My mind is moved by the desire to discover the truth about reality and communicate it.

I seem to think that even my spiritual incoherence can serve as a foundation for learning and teaching about God and the mystery of life.

So what happens next?

I've been involved in publishing for over thirty years. I worked on the high school newspaper back in 1980. I published my first book in 1986. I was an editor and publisher of academic journals and books, and the director of an academic press, during the 1990s. Then I managed to publish two books of my own in the past ten years, in spite of the illness and the disability and all that stuff.

I still think in terms of books.

I could collect the prayer-poems I've written here, organize them, and upload them to Amazon Kindle right now, as an e-book. I could probably have a e-book put together by next Monday.

Wow. Strange.

But no. I'm going to hold out for a "real book" - I am going to work, if possible, through my current publisher and, yes, the editors that I so desperately need.

Or, should I put together an e-book? Why not?

It's not like print publishing is making me a lot of money.

According to Blogger, there are people in Russia who are reading this blog. Really? Maybe I should just keep blogging. Or maybe all of the above.

Have you learned anything from these ruminations? (Ha!)

A Little Window

Perhaps I'll start doing some video blogs. Videos open a whole new dimension on things. I often talk about my afternoons with Josefina. Perhaps people might like a peek at how we spend our time. Here is something more than a "picture"--it is a little window into our day.

The fact is, words fail me at the moment. I would like to express something about how precious these moments are that I spend with my children. I want to give thanks for what was, simply, the amazing gift of today (and there was nothing "extraordinary" about today except, maybe, the unusual way that I feel about it).

Anyway, here we are. I hope you are able to watch this.

Someone Else Who Is Really There

Lord, I am afraid of sacrifice. I am afraid of suffering. I can't let go of myself. If I just look at myself and try to find a way to give myself, there is no energy. There is no capacity. I am trapped.

It's when I find You that everything changes. You surprise me by bursting into my life in so many unforeseen ways. "Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world!" Behold, behold, listen to the voice of love that is calling me right in this moment. Here and now, there is the possibility to love. And I find it outside of myself. I find it in the midst of life.

I am so self absorbed. I need to be silent, to be aware, to listen. O Lord Jesus, open my heart. I beg You to draw me away from myself. Draw me, so that I can recognize Your presence, and act with love--give myself away, because I know I am giving myself to You.

But I don't want to look. I want to stay alone, and surround myself with things that are under my control. My only hope is that there is Someone Else who is really there, who takes the initiative, who never gives up on me.

Jesus, never give up on me.

Same Place, Same Miracle

I've thought of a good idea for catching up when I fall behind on the blog: I'll just plagiarize myself! This is something I posted last year at this time, in the midst of the St. Patrick-St. Joseph holiday spree in the middle of Lent. It was a busy weekend, and, like last year, we went to some parties with our friends. I must say, however, that our friends are extraordinary people. They are the special people that Jesus has given us in His great mercy to be companions on our journey toward Him. With all their faults and incoherence, they have met Christ and they try to follow Him in His Church. We are a small fragile group, full of all the problems that afflict ordinary human life, and yet at the same time we are a people. At a simple party, I glimpse again that light that shines in the midst of any community that gathers in recognition of His presence, and in the desire to follow Him. Right here in Front Royal, there is what Msgr. Giussani calls the "different humanity." And it is not a narrow thing. It aspires to the whole world. Here's what I wrote last year, after the St. Patrick's Day party. I can still say the same thing today:

I did not begin to take Christ seriously in my life because I had a mystical vision, or some kind of paranormal experience. I discovered, in a new way, that Christ was real when I met a group of friends who really followed Him, and who also lived life with exuberance, vitality, interest, freedom, and joy. People who were able to be themselves without constraint, who were glad to be alive, who were ready to give and sacrifice themselves and also to have fun, whenever having fun was the appropriate way to respond to the reality at hand. And it is often appropriate, because real human life is full of so much that is ironic, so much that is beyond our control, unexpected, petty, burdensome, so much that is a little bit ridiculous.

In front of real human life, some are cynical, while others are distracted, detached, or sad. The miracle in front of real human life is cheerfulness, an innocent spirit of fun that is not dislodged by life because it knows the place of everything. It is a playful wisdom. It is joy.

This is what converted me to Christ. Not scrupulous religious intensity. Not intellectual brilliance. Not the desire for a safe place to hide. What converted me was meeting a group of people who believed that it might be possible for life to be fun after all--and that the laughter of children was not a deception destined to end in disappointment. Not because life is easy, but because there is Something that makes every minute of it worth living, even embracing with joy.

This is what converted me to Christ: the miracle of human beings who were glad to be alive, who were full of hope, who were not afraid. 

Never Give Up

"Heavenly mother,
I ask you for the miracle of my healing;
if this is not God’s will,
I ask you to give me the strength
to never give up!"


Blessed Chiara Badano

We Do Not Have a Normal Life

Flare up. Don't worry. It's okay. I'm fine.

This is a household in which the husband and father has a disability. People who have read my book have heard all about that (http://t.co/ddwYeqX). It's not the kind of disability people usually imagine: I have two arms and two legs and I can talk and walk and see and hear. I don't have much pain these days and I have a reasonable amount of energy. I am able to do some "productive work," and maintain at least some elements of my profession (even though I am "officially" retired--how odd that is, to be "retired" and have five children under the age of fifteen). Eileen works for love, and for our own children as much as the others, but the school also pay her money for it, and that's a good thing. We patch together what we can and we manage.

We do not have a normal life. We have a beautiful life, but it's not normal. I hope that as they pass through adolescence, our children will be able to continue to embrace the sacrifices of this life. I worry sometimes because I think that, as they grow up, they will be tempted to be ashamed of their father. What does he "do"?

When I wrote Never Give Up ( http://t.co/ddwYeqX), I said to myself, "you realize that by publishing this you are insuring that no one will ever hire you for a 'regular job' ever again...." John Janaro is brilliant, articulate, insightful, talented in so many ways; what a shame that he's such a train wreck!

I have a chronic illness. It appears to be in remission and under control. But late stage Lyme disease is a systemic infection. Nobody knows what role it might still play in the problems that continue to afflict me.

I also have a neurobiological disorder (probably inherited) that inclines me to anxiety, depression, obsessions, and all sorts of mental hangups. Lyme disease may exacerbate it. Nobody really knows. We keep me going with medications and therapy and diet. Sometimes I just have flare-ups of mental disturbance. The doctors say it will probably always be that way.

But still I wonder at my incompetence and my inability to deal with stress, "how much of this is illness, and how much of it is just spiritual laziness, the unwillingness to love?"

Sick people often have this question, "Is it my fault?" It's not a simple question. I know the illness is not my fault. I know there are some things I can't help. But sometimes I use sickness as an excuse to close in on myself, to refuse to love, to refuse to grow, to justify my "I won't!" by saying "I can't!" I know I am doing this. How much am I doing it? A lot!

I should not be so surprised at myself. We all do this. We all have our barriers and defenses that we have built up against God's love. We all have our ways of evading Him; especially, we have ways of hiding from His presence and His invitation to love in the people and circumstances of the life He gives us every day.

We all need to be broken and healed and made new. That's what's happening in our lives. It takes time.

We Can Be Together

We really can't live together without forgiveness.

And the foundation for forgiveness is the recognition of the fact that the other person is not perfect. The closer we are to each other, the more important it is to remember this fact. When we are close, when we live in community, when we live under the same roof, we depend on one another. We rely on one another's help.

And we must challenge one another to love and to give. That's why we've been put together in the first place.

Still, we will encounter one another's limits, and indeed be frustrated by the limits we find within ourselves. In so many places, our own inadequacy runs into the other person's fragility and weakness. These are the especially difficult moments when we must suffer because of one another. Even here, though, we can be together, we can suffer together.

I can make "space" within myself for the other. We can accept each other--even more, we can affirm each other right there where our weaknesses come together; we can say with our actions, our patience, and our discretion, "I love you, right now, in this moment." This requires true sacrifice. But here, especially, we grow in love.

Still there will be failures, every day. If we really love one another, we will be humbled. But we will also find the secret courage to grow in unity and solidarity along the path of daily life.

The Light of Christ: Blessed Chiara Luce Badano

This is the official Beatification image of Blessed Chiara "Luce" Badano, who lived the charism of the Focolare movement, and died from a rare and painful form of bone cancer at the age of 18, in 1990. She was beatified in 2010. I was "researching" on the internet and I "stumbled" upon her story. Here, read about her yourself:

http://www.chiaraluce.org/

I felt like just throwing my silly book in the trash, but then I began to look at its words again, and I said to myself, "No, she understands what you are trying to say here, much better than you do. She understands suffering. She understands you."

Blessed Chiara Badano offered her life in union with Jesus's cry of abandonment on the Cross.

And I saw this face. All the theology books in the world are not worth a single human face. Now, when I look at the faces of my wife and children I feel as though I am seeing them for the first time.

I too follow a charism, an "ecclesial movement." Alas, I have not been a very good follower. But I have seen faces like this, although they are still always new, every time. This is what Msgr. Giussani calls "a different humanity." I recognize the human person, and yet at the same time it is clear that there is "Something Else," there is something new in this person's life that sets everything on fire!

Here the fire transforms the limits of human endurance into joy.

But I have seen this fire in many faces, living and renewing, bringing an energy, a joy, a hope, a friendship. A different humanity. It comes from a living man, a man named Jesus.

There is a glimpse of this light in every human face.

An Affirmation of Reality

This blog is a place where I reflect on my life, and lay it out there for others to have a look. I have no "strategy" here except to write things that are on my mind and in my heart, things that seem important to me and that are leading me in a certain direction. That means Jesus comes up a lot. What can I say? Jesus is the center of my life.

That is not a "pious statement." It is, simply, a fact. It is the truth. It is the truth about my life and about the life of every human being. I'm not trying to "look at my life from a Christian point of view." It is not about my "cultural outlook" or my "Traditional Catholic Ideas" or my "theology."

It is a statement of faith. But faith is an affirmation of reality. It is a way of adhering to the truth.

My life is not meant to be an exercise in trying to apply my theories about Jesus to ordinary circumstances. My life is living with Jesus, really. That is the truth about my actual life, whatever my theories may be.

I'm not trying to say I'm a saint. For me, living with Jesus means ignoring Him most of the time, trying to manipulate Him sometimes, trying to use Him to my own advantage, but also continually rediscovering again and again that He is really here, that He loves me, and that He is the One who is in charge...of everything.

A living faith means bumping into Him again and again, finding Him in reality, finding Him shedding light on things, and bringing joy and strength. It means finding Him in desperation and misery and pain, finding Him suffering with me. It means sometimes feeling that I can't find Him, but still knowing that He is with me in the darkness.

I hope this blog expresses, at least from time to time, something greater than my thoughts and insights and devotions. I hope it expresses, sometimes, the wonder of recognizing His presence.

Winter? What's That?

The weather continues to be marvelous!

This has been the most consistently pleasant winter that I can remember in the middle Atlantic region of the East coast of the United States of America. Sunny days. 50 degree (F) temperatures, and sometimes 60s. Virtually no snow! Barely a hint of the icky, cold, wet stuff that usually covers the driveway and the walkway and that nobody in this part of the country knows how to drive in. I don't think I've had to brush a single snowflake off my car this entire winter (an occasional ice scraping has been necessary in the morning, but no snow).

We had a snowstorm in October. And it would be funny if we had another snowstorm in April. The season of Winter, however, has less than two weeks to live. I'm almost sorry to see it go. It has been delightful.

I know that I should feel bad. We need snow for the reservoir levels. We're going to have a drought this summer. Right? Shame on me!

And where is my empathy? It was all due to a shift in the jet stream that gave Europe a miserable winter while we were playing tennis in January. I should feel sorry for all those poor Romans who had no boots to get around in the snow.

Finally, all of this is a symptom of an impending ecological catastrophe. Right?

Well, I hope not.

Meanwhile, with blissful ignorance and completely selfish pleasure, I have enjoyed my mild Winter.

[If you actually read this, you'll know to mention the password: BLOONK! - haha]

It's March 9, and the Forsythia bush is starting to bloom!

Our Intimate Friend

We should talk to Mary, like the intimate friend she is ready to be for each of us. We can tell her the things in our hearts. She will put our hearts inside her own immaculate heart.

Mary makes things come into focus. She shows the next step, and how to make it, and she holds us as we stumble and move forward. In front of our destiny we are such tiny children.

Alex In The House

Alex is getting bigger.

I guess its time for the kids to do another post on "the kitten" who is becoming a full fledged cat.

Alex, you may remember, is our "outdoor cat," ha, ha, because Daddy is allergic to cats. Of course we've had winter, and even though its been a mild winter, nights are cold. Alex can't be left out in the cold.

As a result, the second bathroom has been outfitted with a cat-bed, and other pieces of cat paraphernalia. It has become, in effect, "Alex's bedroom." This poses no difficulty for anyone else in the house, in the event that it becomes necessary to use said bathroom for other purposes. For Daddy, however, the room had become toxic. But as long as I don't have to fight for the main bathroom, I guess that's okay.

So Alex has established a place in the house. Each night, the children bring her inside, and then take her out again in the morning. As soon as the nights warm up, Alex will return to her outdoor habitation full time. I shall be glad because, unfortunately, I do "notice" when the cat is in the house. But its not too bad as long as I stay away from her.

And I must say, I am sorry that I cannot be more a part of her life. To my great surprise, I have become...well...fond of her. Its nice to come home and find her playing in the yard, or poking around in the carport. I don't know if she has caught a mouse yet, but she does eat crickets, which is very convenient. But she is more than just "useful." A few weeks ago she sprained her foot (or something) and was walking with a little limp. I felt concerned!

You must understand, I've never had any pets in my life except for goldfish.

So I am surprised to find myself bonding emotionally with a cat. And it has nothing to do with the children. I like Alex. When I come home from somewhere, I am disappointed if she doesn't notice me.

I think she even "knows"--in her catlike way--that my keeping my distance from her is not hostile. We have a way of greeting each other; we sort of make eye contact, with a mutual understanding and respect.

For My Beloved Wife, On Her Birthday

Eileen Janaro is a contemplative soul,
a poetic soul,
a receptive soul,
who takes everything into her depths
and holds it in her vast silence.

Every morning she hears Divine love poems,
whispering in the clamor of children
and the struggling man
whose health she needs so much
but whose sickness
she is always ready to bear.

She listens to these secret promises of glory
as she takes the day upon her shoulders
and puts all its parts in place.
She has no time to brood over mistakes,
but puts her trust in mercy,
quietly sets things right as best as she can,
and then keeps going,
taking up the next thing at hand,
embracing it with open heart,
and a practical mind that still
tastes the flavor of the poetry of the day.

At night she is tired.
My lovely woman is tired.
We are both tired
but we are together
and who would have thought
that this could be a modality of love?

When the waking moments draw to an end,
and we stand together before God,
I know that once again
she is saying "yes" to me in my weakness,
and that I am trying once again
to carry her with my broken heart.
The way she loves life is sustenance to me,
and by some miracle I hold her up
as we travel my path of healing.

I see her beauty still.
It is much more vivid after these many years.
I see her beauty inside of time,
a luminous patience
and determination
and hope.
She knows that I cherish
in my soul
this great enduring beauty.

Thus we are held in that mysterious bond,
the Great Mystery of day after day.
And thus we hold each other,
and give each other courage.

"Stay Close To Mary"

It is the First Saturday of March. A day to draw particularly close to the all-pure, loving, Immaculate Heart of Mary. O Mother, obtain for me conversion and trust in Jesus.

The shadow of her heart is visible on her folded hands on the image of Guadalupe. On Thursday, we brought to the Montessori school the large photo reproduction of the Virgin of Guadalupe that hangs in our dining room. I told the story to the students: the story of St. Juan Diego and many of the stories of Guadalupe, including some of my own. I hadn't really prepared anything, but it all came pouring out of me like water, like a torrent that I could not contain.

The Heart of Mary, where every human longing for the Mystery of God is overwhelmed by the miracle of Divine love, the miracle that transforms the universe: Jesus.

The closeness of Mary. The tenderness in the way she looks at us. She understands each of us, and knows how to shape us and foster our growth. She makes our lives into a home where Jesus dwells. The Holy Spirit lives in her. He works powerfully through her intercession. She holds us “in the crossing of her arms,” in her heart, and it is there that the Holy Spirit forms the new life of Christ in us.

I was talking to my son as we were coming back from the church: “If I could say one thing to you, it would be this: ‘Stay close to Mary. Pray to her. Talk to her.’ Stay close to her.”

Holy Spirit living in Mary, fill the hearts of my family, draw us closer to You and to one another.

Veni Sancte Spiritus, Veni Per Mariam!

"Listening" To Benedict XVI

I was doing some research on the internet (a.k.a. "goofing off"), and I came across a quotation that struck me very powerfully. It came from a place that I have come to call "my daily bread," namely, the speeches and writings of Pope Benedict XVI. I seek him out every day, to "listen" to him. I use the word listen very deliberately, because one does not simply "read" Benedict XVI; the words he speaks enter the mind and heart, engender recollection, and inspire prayer and love. He is doing so much more than imparting good information; he is teaching us how to listen, how to be silent, how to remember God and live in His presence. His preaching is a kind of school in Lectio Divina--which is a method of reading and praying the Scriptures that grows into a posture of attentiveness to God's presence in all of the reality and the circumstances of our lives.

I would encourage everyone to listen every day to the words that the Holy Spirit is speaking in the Church, through the Petrine ministry of Pope Benedict XVI. The electronic media at our disposal make it easy to do this. It is enough to visit the vatican website (http://www.vatican.va).

Benedict strikes me every day. Often a few sentences from him seem to put my life "back on the rails." This is a very apt metaphor indeed. The day has been like a runaway train, and then it is suddenly back on track, at the right speed, and headed once again for the station.

Often I find it in his sermons. It can be as simple as the reminder that God exists, and that He is good. The Pope knows well that some who listen to him are agnostics, or people who are confused and searching for the meaning of life. He also knows that people like me, who have been blessed with faith and who have studied philosophy and theology for many years, are not as far from the agnostics as we would like to think. Every day, I need to be reminded--often--that God exists, and that He is transcendent Goodness. People like me, who "think about religion" all the time, can live in forgetfulness of the real God who is present to each moment of my life.

The words I found on this day, which I posted all over the internet, were actually a simple statement that I have heard many times before and know very well. And yet I have to spend time with these words. I have to listen to them. They express a "position" in front of reality, in front of the mystery of God, and in front of the fact of what God has done and what He continues to do, in history, in my history, right this moment. They are worth remembering again and again:

"Being Christian is not the result of an ethical choice or a lofty idea, but the encounter with an event, a Person, which gives life a new horizon and a decisive direction."

Like Falling In Love

The Christian event
does not wait for man to change,
it does not require preparations
or preconditions;
it simply breaks in and happens,
like falling in love.
Thanks to its unique capacity
to correspond
to the original needs of the heart,
[Christ's] presence is able to reawaken these needs
in all their potential,
often buried
beneath a thousand layers of sediment,
and to open wide
all man’s reason,
magnetizing all his affection.
Before the presence of the answer,
the question is unleashed in all its boundless depth.


Fr. Julian Carron
President of the Fraternity of Communion and Liberation