What It Means to Suffer

The question of human suffering casts a long shadow on the human experience. If you talk to people long enough, they’ll get around to telling you that the issue of suffering has profoundly affected their spiritual journey. Either they’ll tell you it has brought them deep into the heart of God, or it has been the end of their relationship with Him. We all experience suffering. We all wrestle with it. None of us fully understands it, including me.

In my experience, suffering is oft misunderstood in Catholic circles. “He’s my cross.” I once heard a rather cranky older woman complain about her even crankier husband of many years. I’ve also heard illness, hurt, hardship, and any number of other maladies described in this fashion. Listening closely, time and again, I’ve heard the lie slip into the conversation. While not this blunt most of the time, it comes down to “this is the cross God gave me to bear.”

Comments like these betray a belief about the origin of suffering. While it may allow them to make religious sense of their pain, it is in the end a devastating lie against the very identity of God. St. John Paul II, in his encyclical Salvifici Doloris, clearly reaffirmed the Church’s constant teaching that suffering is always an evil. Let that sink in for a minute. Suffering is ALWAYS an evil. It does not have its origin in God. God, in His mercy, works all things to good, including evil (Romans 8:28).

A New Paradigm

Recently, I became acquainted with Fr. Sean Kilcawley, a priest from the diocese of Lincoln, Nebraska. As our conversation wandered across a number of topics, he brushed across the subject of pain and suffering. He said, “Think of pain as a physical experience. If you are working out in the gym, you endure physical pain. Suffering is a completely different experience. Suffering may include physical pain, but it is an internal experience. I suffer when I experience the gap- the gap between what is and what should be.”

I interrupted Fr. Sean at that point, dug out my notepad and asked him to repeat what he’d just said. We lingered over the subject for a few minutes as he explained in a little more detail. Suffering, he went on to say, is the experience of evil, of living in a fallen world that we instinctively know should be something other than what it is. Hence the suffering occurs in the areas of our lives where we do not experience God.

As I pondered this new construct, I first thought of Jesus and all of the theology around His suffering. Jesus, I believe, endured profound suffering, not only within the context of His passion, but every day. As the God-man, His entire human experience existed in the most acute awareness of the gap, living, in a metaphorical sense, with one foot in Heaven, and one on earth. In every person He encountered, He knew their heart in its brokenness, and knew His Father’s original intention for that person. Imagine Jesus, speaking to the 5,000, and experiencing the gap, the suffering, of each and every person there, individually and collectively. In His passion, I wonder if He was touching the gap, the chasm between what is and what should be, of every person who had, or would live across the span of salvation history.

When I Am Suffering

I don’t know about you, but there are days that dealing with my own suffering is almost more than I can bear, let alone take on someone else’s. I experience the effects of evil, and I know that it is not how it is supposed to be. I experience fear, loneliness, rejection, abandonment, powerlessness, shame. Sometimes I am willing to sit in the middle of it, experience it, bring it to Jesus. More often, I am inclined to run from it or medicate it. Who wants to suffer? Not me. In my flesh, the ache is just too much!

But now, I have a very tangible understanding of another piece of theology- redemptive suffering. Jesus, the Lord of all creation, became a man so that He could experience suffering, the gap between what is and what should be, in exactly the same way that you and I do. Not only did He experience it as an individual human, but His divinity exposed Him to the suffering of the entirety of humanity. Jesus forged into that deep abyss known as suffering, of evil, of the separation within ourselves, between us and God, for the very purpose of meeting us there.

So now, when I experience suffering in my life, I am still inclined to run or medicate. But I also now understand something that I didn’t understand before. Jesus lives in the gap. In my hurt, I do not experience Him there. But He is there already. And that gives me (on my better days) the courage forge into the darkness, to stand in the gap in my own heart between what is and what should be. After all, He is there already! He is waiting to meet me there, and to take me deeper with Him.

Wrestling With the Restless Heart

One of St. Augustine’s most oft-quoted writings,  “…our hearts are restless until they can find rest in you.”, was penned after more than a decade of  the great saints personal wrestlings, as he looked for meaning in his life.  Those words are profoundly important, echoing the long teaching of the Church.  The human ‘heart’, which carries the very imprint of God, is only at rest when it finds itself in communion with God.  Apart from Him, we are restless, wandering searchers.  
The Catechism sheds light on Augustine’s comment, telling us “the heart is the dwelling-place where I am, where I live… The heart is our hidden center, beyond the grasp of our reason and of others; only the Spirit of God can fathom the human heart and know it fully. The heart is the place of decision…   It is the place of truth, where we choose life or death. It is the place of encounter, because as image of God we live in relation: it is the place of covenant.” CCC 2563
A Broken-Hearted People?
As I ponder Augustine’s statement, and the Catechism’s profound teaching, I’m left wondering, “Why are so many Catholics leaving the Church?”  And, “Why are so many Catholics staying, yet barely practicing?”  I wonder these things, because these very facts are in evidence.  More than 80% of those receiving Confirmation leave the Church by their 23rd birthday.  Few ever return.    Of the 25 million people who have left the Church in recent decades, over 17 million of them state that the Church did not meet their spiritual needs.
These two realities seem to be incompatible at face value, that the heart is restless until if finds God, and that people are exiting the Church (and active participation) in record numbers.   The conclusion is almost inescapable, and quite sobering.  Apparently, something of western Christianity, and more particularly American Catholicism, is wanting.  Something of this particular representation of the Church, instead of drawing the restless heart of searchers “in” from the garbage dump of a secular culture, would appear to be pushing people “out.
As I listen to people who have left the Church, or the frustration of those in the Church, this is what I routinely experience- “their broken hearts”.  The deep longings of their heart, of which the Catechism speaks so intimately, have gone unmet within the walls of the local church.  They yearn for a real and intimate relationship with the living God.  They hope, maybe only in the deepest places within them, to actually encounter and know the God of the scriptures, the One who heals the sick, raises people from the dead, and walks on water.  
Simply put, our hearts are broken because we do not know Jesus.  On far more than one occasion, I have had a priest tell me, “My people don’t even know Jesus!”  Fr. Larry Richards, speaking at the North Texas Catholic Mens Conference last year, stated flatly, “Most of you don’t know Jesus, you just don’t…”  He wasn’t joking…
A Poor Substitute
If we aren’t introducing people to relationship with Jesus, and bringing them into intimate encounter with him, what exactly is it that we are offering them?  You might be thinking, “Come on, Ken, we offer people the Sacraments.  That’s what we offer.  And, that’s AWESOME!”  Well, yes, sort of, that is true.  
We certainly HAVE the Sacraments, but how are we bringing people into the PRACTICE of the Sacraments.  What does a broken-hearted world see?  In Confirmation, do they witness the power of Pentecost come upon our youth, or do they witness the confirmation of “don’t expect to experience anything when the bishop anoints you.”  Does mass look like the book of Acts, where the people worship with one heart and mind?  Or, does it seem more to be a collection of people, who may or may not know each other, practicing a tradition of their family and church?  When was the last time you saw somebody receive healing?  Have their life transformed by an encounter with God?  Bishop Barron recently stated that a church that is divorced from the supernatural is a dying church.  He went on to state that the western church, instead of miracles, encounters with the divine, and the power of the living God, often offers social justice, service to the poor and environmentalism- activities any good atheist could do.
Rabbits Foot Christianity
The Church has a word for this type of Christian expression.  It’s called “Superstition”.  The Catechism states, “Superstition is the deviation of religious feeling and of the practices this feeling imposes… To attribute the efficacy of prayers or of sacramental signs to their mere external performance, apart from the interior dispositions that they demand, is to fall into superstition.” (CCC 2111)
To say it plainly, to expect our religious practice to be fulfilling (efficacious) when our hearts are not disposed toward God, is to practice superstition.  Without a heart disposed toward God, we might just as well rub a rabbits foot, expecting some magical outcome. Fr. Marko Rupnik, in his book ‘Discernment, Acquiring the Heart of God’, offers a profoundly sobering insight.  The enemy attempts to separate the content of faith (sacraments, devotions, ritual) from the person of Jesus.  He asserts that this separation essentially makes one an “unbeliever”.
The Beautiful Antidote
The late great John Paul II understood this problem, and he consistently proclaimed the antidote to this illness in the Church.  The answer is a singular word- Jesus.  He understood, along with Augustine (and the entire teaching of the Church, that Jesus is the answer.  Relationship with Jesus- personal, intimate and powerful.  He is the answer to our restless hearts, and He is the antidote to superstition.  It is Jesus who is the life of the Sacraments.  Encounter Him and you will find the resting place for your restless heart.  John Paul summed it up with these words…
“It is Jesus that you seek when you dream of happiness; He is waiting for you when nothing else you find satisfies you; He is the beauty to which you are so attracted;… it is He who urges you to shed the masks of a false life; it is He who reads in your heart your most genuine choices…  It is Jesus who stirs in you the desire to do something great with your lives, the will to follow an ideal…”

My blogs can also be found on www.catholicstand.com

The “Cuban” Miracle

It had been a good regatta for my boat, K3.  We sat atop the 25 boat fleet going into the final day, 3 points ahead of the nearest competitor, an out of town boat whose skipper had nicknamed us “the Cubans” (K cubed).  Although the winds had been light and shifty, we had the boat dialed into the conditions and had sailed well.
Racing a sailboat in light winds can be grueling.  When the wind is really, really light, a sailboat tends to be uncomfortable.  The sails flop around, you constantly readjust your weight to squeeze every bit of forward momentum out of the "nothing", and you bob up and down like a fishing bobber, at the mercy of the waves and wakes of passing motor boats.
The final day of this regatta was under way, and the first of the two scheduled races had been cancelled- no wind.  The race committee squeezed off the final race in a light little whiff of breeze that wandered across the race course.  It quickly faded.  Occasionally, a little streak of wind would make itself known by gently wrinkling the surface of the water.  Any boat near that streak benefited.  We seemed to miss every one of those streaks, and eventually found ourselves buried deep in the fleet, a least 1/4 mile behind the race leader and our nearest competitor in the standings.  The 18 boats between us would easily erase our thin 3 point lead.
Rounding the final downwind mark, we turned back upwind for the finish.  The entire fleet had gone left, heading parallel to the distant shore, looking for whatever wind they could (or couldn't) find.  But, it was the favored side of the course, closest to the finish.  The advantage appeared to be all theirs.
We decided to head right, deeeeeeep right, directly toward shore- following the fleet would just cement our place in the cellar.  We went so far to the right that the race leader asked his crew. "Where are the Cubans?"   His crew had trouble finding us at first.  Once he located us he responded to the skipper- "They are gone".
Leaving the fleet and sailing to a far corner of the racecourse is not typically viewed as a smart tactic.  Sailing well requires executing in the “ordinary”.  Staying on the favored tack, keeping close to the competition, proper sail trim and boat balance become second nature.   We were atop the standings because we had done very well in the “ordinary” of the previous day.
Yet, here we were, fully committed to a tactic we didn’t like, doggedly bobbing our way toward the right (actually wrong) corner of the course, farther and farther from the fleet, seemingly headed for dead last finish.  Even the 5 boats behind us at the last mark went the other direction!  At the rate we were going, we’d have trouble getting back to shore before the visiting boats had their boats packed and were on the road home.
Then, directly ahead of us, and only in our little corner of the lake- the surface of the water wrinkled a little- WIND!  Not a lot, but definite ripples on the smooth glassy surface of the water.  We waited for it to reach us, hoping that precious breeze wouldn't lift off the surface and leave us in our current state.  First came a little whiff of fresh air, not enough to even fill a sail, but enough to feel on your face, and just enough to feel the boat move under us.  And then it arrived.  We were on the move!  The ripples on the water in front of us looked darker, a sure sign of increasing wind.  Three knots, then six, and finally a private 8 knot wind, as if out of nowhere, and intended only for us!
Being so far inshore and to the right side, we had to come back to the middle of the course to finish.  The rest of the fleet, deep to the left, saw the breeze and was slogging their way back toward us.  Looking over my shoulder I thought to myself, "They they might be too late..."  We snapped off a crisp tack, all three of us now sitting on the high side of the boat to keep it flat and moving fast in the fresh breeze.  Settling onto the new course, it was clear- they WERE too late, we would win!
It had taken a full day of disciplined sailing to work our way to the top of the leader board the day before.  That morning, it had taken us less than 1.5 hours of that same disciplined sailing to find ourselves at the rear of the fleet and completely out of contention.  And, it took mere minutes in a favorable fresh breeze to retake all the distance that had been lost and win the race (and the regatta)  by a very comfortable margin.
So, what does this have to do with the spiritual life, or life in general?  Well, everything.  Life is a lot like sailboat racing.  You can execute well, do the things you should do, when you should do them, and you still find yourself buried, far behind the rest of the pack.  Sometimes, you need more than the “ordinary”.  Sometimes, life requires a dose of the “extraordinary”.    
That morning, we eschewed doubt, despair and hopelessness (foregone conclusions in the ordinary) in favor of the miraculous!  We abandoned “common” wisdom and struck out boldly and radically, knowing that redemption and salvation would require something completely outside ourselves, something over which we had no control, and something we certainly could not see in the moment.  Had we idolized the “ordinary” that particular morning, we would not have contended for the ”extraordinary” with steadfastness and determination.  We would have accepted our circumstance and refused to leave it or look beyond it, forgetting that miracles are possible.   And my silly little sailing “miracle” a quarter of a century ago, still inspires, encourages and points me to the greater reality within it- God is bigger than my circumstances.  God comes through.  Miracles happen.

The Spirituality of Work

Since the fall of Adam and Eve, work has gotten a bad rap.  Work was an essential dimension of God’s plan prior to the fall.  God told Adam that one of his “jobs” was to tend the garden.  And God, of course, tasked Adam to name all the animals of creation.  But, somehow, it’s the post-fall scripture we remember best, “By the sweat of your brow you shall toil”.  The industrial revolution, and more recently a materialistic culture that rather schizophrenically prizes leisure and hard work at the same time, has helped to drive the spiritual dimension of work from our daily lives.

Spirituality, unfortunately, has often become perceived as belonging to those who have quiet minds and bodies, and substantial amounts of time to pray, contemplate God, go on retreat, etc.  Those of us with kids, sports, careers, and active lifestyles seem somehow left out of the opportunity to experience the intimate communion with God experienced by the great saints, contemplatives and mystics.  We are left to chew on the crumbs of 5 minutes of quiet time between when we lay down and when we fall asleep.

Those of us who love and find joy in activity and work, often find a certain dryness and restlessness in quiet and inactivity.  This of course, is good for us, to wrestle and quiet our hearts before God on occasion.  But, it is not the only way to find intimacy and communion with God.  Since work belonged to the order of original creation when Adam “walked with God”, shouldn’t we be able to find intimacy with God in our work?

Not too long ago, I stumbled across the few writings of Brother Lawrence of the Resurrection (1614-1691).   Brother Lawrence did not practice any particular spirituality, or devotion, except by obedience to his superiors.  He, instead, focused completely on “Practicing the Presence of God” in every circumstance of his life.  As I read his writings, it resonated and explained the joy that I often experience in the hustle and bustle of the workday.  In a series of interviews known as the Conversations, a biographer wrote:
“That the most excellent method he had found of going to GOD, was that of doing our common business without any view of pleasing men, and (as far as we are capable) purely for the love of GOD.
That it was a great delusion to think that the times of prayer ought to differ from other times.  That we are as strictly obliged to adhere to GOD by actin in time of action, as by prayer in its season.”

“That he had so often experienced the ready succours of Divine Grace upon all occasions… when he had business to do… he found in GOD, as in a clear mirror, all that was fit for him to do.”

“That he was more united to GOD in his outward employments, than when he left them for devotion in retirement.”

In reading Brother Lawrence, it is clear that he found the meaning to St. Paul’s admonition to “pray unceasingly”.  His words have given me a tool to use in my work, where it can be as easy to operate “in” the presence of God as “out”.  I can check my heart with a couple easy questions.  “Am I pleasing God or pleasing Man?”  “Am I united to God in this moment, in this activity?”  “Does this please Him, no matter how trivial or mundane?”

My work has found a deeper meaning, and a certain sense of justification, that God desires to be with me in the midst of my activity, not waiting for me to finish.  I will leave with one sweet final quote from Brother Lawrence, a prayer for spirituality of work…

“O my GOD, since Thou are with me, and I must now, in obedience to Thy commands, apply my mind to these outward things, I beseech Thee to grant me the grace to continue in Thy Presence; and to this end do Thou prosper me to Thy assistance, receive all my works, and possess all my affections.”

Cry "FREEDOM!"

“I see a whole army of my countrymen here in defiance of tyranny. You have come to fight as free men, and free men you are. What would you do without freedom? Will you fight?...Aye, fight and you may die. Run and you'll live -- at least a while. And dying in your beds many years from now, would you be willing to trade all the days from this day to that for one chance, just one chance to come back here and tell our enemies that they may take our lives, but they'll never take our freedom!!!”

William Wallace- Braveheart

Almost every great movie carries some echo of the Gospel.  This single scene from the movie Braveheart captures a deep and profound truth, that liberty (freedom) and dignity are inseparable.  Wallace is speaking to men during the wars of Scottish Independence.  The Scots have lost their freedom to the English King, and under his heavy hand, their dignity.  Freedom, properly understood, is essential to human dignity.

The Compendium of the Social Doctrine of the Church says it this way, “The right to the exercise of freedom, especially in moral and religious matters, is an inalienable requirement of the dignity of the human person."  To say it from the other direction, the dignity of the human person is always compromised without the exercise of freedom in moral and religious matters.  For Catholics, it is (or should be) deeply troubling to see advocacy for “human dignity” in the absence or reduction of “freedom and liberty”, and equally troublesome to hear the rally cry around “freedom and liberty” absent the imperative of “human dignity”.

Under the guise of “human dignity”, the Department of Health and Human Services has attempted to pry these imperatives apart.  HHS has essentially posited that a woman’s fertility is somehow antithetical to her dignity as a person, mandating that most health plans provide contraceptives, including those that are abortifacient (along with abortion counseling services).  The mandate represents a kind of “tyranny” against the religious freedoms of those who see a woman’s fertility as normal, natural, beautiful and God-given.

Pope Francis recently stated, “Religion must not be relegated to the inner sanctum of personal life, without a right to offer an opinion on events affecting society.” The narrowness of the HHS exemption (which applies only to houses of worship) is exactly the action Pope Francis warns against- relegating religion to the inner sanctum of the personal life, and by extension, subjecting all of public life to arbitrary governmental standards of morality.

While this is not new clash, the pitch of the battle has a new urgency and intensity.  The ramifications of the loss of religious liberties, and with them, the loss of personal dignity, are far reaching.  The unintended consequences could be tragic for the faithful, and for the culture at large.  Abraham Lincoln stated in response to a reporters question, “Sir, my concern is not whether God is on our side; my greatest concern is to be on God's side, for God is always right.”  Modern government would do well to heed the wisdom of this great president.

The Beauty of Bad Theology

Good theology leads us into a deeper understanding and trust of the nature and persons of God.  Bad theology, on the other hand, distorts our understanding of who God is, fostering distrust.  So, how can there be “beauty” in bad theology?

My experience in ministry has shown me, time and again, that bad theology is an expression of our wounded hearts.  The steady stream of thoughts that bounce around in our heads are jam-packed full of theology, some of it good, and some of it not-so-good.  In many parts of our lives, the theology of our hearts is good theology.  We know those places through intimacy with God, others, and of course, fruits of the Spirit.  Where I experience interior peace, hope, love, joy, etc., the theology of my heart likely matches up with the truth of who God is.  Good theology, all around.

And, here is the beauty of bad theology.  Where I do NOT experience interior peace, hope, love, joy, etc., the theology of my heart reveals my distorted understanding and relationship with God.  It shows me exactly where I have been wounded and attacked by the enemy, and exactly where God desires to touch my heart and soul.  It shows me where I do not trust God.

Since our emotions are really the language of our hearts (not our hearts, just the language they speak), try this exercise for yourself.  Pay attention to the emotionally charged thoughts that come into your mind, and the issues in your life to which they are attached.  Listen for these kinds of statements/emotions:

·        I’m all alone.

·        Nobody understands me.

·        Everybody hates/rejects me.

·        It will never get better.

·        I can never have what I desire.

·        I am forsaken/abandoned.

·        I’m not good enough.

Each of these statements represents bad theology that resides in the heart, which ultimately, represent distorted beliefs about ourselves and God.  The scriptures, of course speak truth directly to these beliefs of the heart.  After all, I “know in my intellect” that I am not alone, that God understands me completely and loves me as I am.  You may well even hear the scripture citations in your head, “I knew you before you were born”, “I will not leave you orphaned”, etc.  But, the scriptures also tell us “As a man believes in his heart, so is he.”  So, while our heads may “know” good theology, the wounds in our hearts often “believe” bad theology.

So, the next time you hear one of these rotten theological apples, resist two key temptations.  Resist the temptation to “kick it upstairs” to your intellect at the expense of your heart.  And resist the temptation to shame and self-loathing.  Instead, recognize that Almighty mercy is knocking at the door to your heart.  It is the overwhelming goodness of a loving Father saying, “Let me into this place where you don’t trust Me.  I want relationship with you right here.  In this pain and hurt, I want to bring healing and mercy and grace.  My heart for you is deep and abiding intimacy- with Me.”

Paul writes in Romans 8:28, “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him…”.  Yes, even in the bad theology in the deepest places of our wounded and scarred hearts.  Especially in the places where we do not trust Him, where we may not even love Him, He is working for our good.  He is working for your good.  Pay attention to the beauty of that bad theology, for that is His fertile ground.

Was Ever Thus

"…Pope Francis is a man of discernment, and, at times, that discernment results in freeing him from the confinement of doing something in a certain way because it was ever thus.”  Cardinal Sean O’Malley

As Catholics, we are steeped in a deep religious tradition that is filled with meaning and symbolism.  Step inside one of the great cathedrals (even in America), and you will feel the weight of holy history.  Pick up the Catechism, and be amazed at the beautiful, almost lyrical, communion of Grace and Truth. The Church, in her wisdom, gives us countless ways to encounter God. 

Yet, Cardinal Sean O’Malley, among the most influential and respected of American prelates, points out that the Holy Father has consistently challenged a certain something in our tradition, devotion, and practice.  This “challenge” has already made more than a few Catholics uncomfortable, perhaps even irritable.  Could it be that Francis has a desire to make many, many more of us uncomfortable?

What he wants to make uncomfortable within us, I believe, are those devotions, practices and traditions that fail to move our hearts into deeper communion with God.  A devotion practiced for the sake of familiarity or sentimentality, but lacking in true meaning and intimacy would seem to be what Cardinal O’Malley categorizes as “was ever thus”, something done because we’ve always done it that way.

Francis’ own words consistently call us out of the practice of routine for its own sake, and into intimacy.  Said another way, Francis is calling us out of a certain complacency, a certain deadness of heart for deeper life in Jesus.  In a recent homily on Jesus' return to Nazareth, Francis said of the Nazarenes, “they are so confident of their faith, their observance of the commandments, that they did not need another salvation.”  The Holy Father went on to say, “This is the drama of the blind observance of the commandments…”

I believe that this pope is rebuilding the heart of a Church squarely laid on the foundation of his predecessors.  John Paul II and Benedict XVI have provided an accessible theological, anthropological and philosophical foundation on which Catholicism can speak to the world, and speak to its own, in this tumultuous post-modern era.  Francis is building a home on that foundation, where the human heart finds life and communion with God. 

In that, though, he calls us out of our comfort, our complacency, out of inertia, and into the deep.  Our observance of tradition and devotion should always take us somewhere, else we are simply practicing something because it “was ever thus”. 

In striking words, the Holy Father speaks clearly, 

“An authentic faith always implies a deep desire to change the world. And this is the question we should pose ourselves: do we too have great visions and zeal? Are we bold too? Do our dreams fly high? Are we consumed by zeal? Or are we mediocre and satisfied with our theoretical apostolic plans? Let us always remember that the strength of the Church does not reside in herself or in her organizational capacity, but is instead concealed in the deep waters of God. And these waters agitate our desires, and our desires expand our hearts.”

So, I invite you to ponder these questions:

Do I have great visions?

Am I bold?

Do my dreams fly high?

Am I consumed by zeal?

Am I content with the “was ever thus” in my life?

What desires is God agitating within me?

You can find additional blogs, resources and material at www.jpiihealingcenter.org

Stepping Into the Storm

It looked to be a good day of fishing in the Gulf of Mexico.  The weather forecast was for coastal thunderstorms- welcome to Florida.  Thirty minutes after leaving the dock, and ten minutes after running out from under some dark clouds, I looked over my shoulder, back toward the safety of land, and I had a bad, sinking feeling.  It was barely 9 am, and those dark clouds had gone to ugly menacing black.  The only safe water was further out, further from the safety of the shore!  Within a couple hours, those “coastal thunderstorms” had ballooned and pushed us 25 miles offshore.  Even there, the lightning and cold threatening wind was enough to unnerve all of us aboard the boat.  The waves built into these blockish , close together three to four foot tall walls of water, slamming into the hull like heavyweight punches, causing the boat to take on this eerie lurching shudder.  I’d spent enough time on boats to know that the voice in my head that was saying “Not good” was right on the money!  Every boater knows that there is an inverse correlation between boat size and wave size.  A 30’ boat feels quite spacious on a calm sea.  In 5’ stacked seas, that same 30 footer feels like a teacup!

And so I come to think of 2 Gospel accounts involving boats, men, and waves.  The first is Matthew 4.  Crossing the lake, the disciples are left to sail while Jesus takes a nap at the rear of the boat.  A violent, nasty storm comes up.  The disciples, some of whom were pretty “salty” and veteran sailors, with years of experience on the water, were hearing a warning go off in their heads that sounded like “Not good”.   “Bad storm”.  “Danger”.  It was an “I could die out here today” kind of storm.  Meanwhile, Jesus snores… 

This, as the story recounts, becomes a kind of embarkation point for faith.  Jesus quiets the storm, asserting his dominion, and points out how little is the faith of his disciples.  The message is clear and simple, even if not easily learned.  Jesus is always with us.  No matter the circumstances, even when we think He’s asleep, He is always, in a certain sense, “in the boat”.  That is a difficult lesson, all by itself.

Next, in Matthew 14, Jesus ups the ante.  Jesus actually makes the disciples get into the boat and head across the lake.  Jesus, essentially, sends the disciples into harm’s way, into the storm.  I can relate to that!  How many times have I felt like God actually exposed me to harm?  At least, that was (and sometimes is) my perception.  But, besides the “keep your eyes on Jesus” message that is blatantly obvious, there is a deeper message.  While Matthew 4 is the starting place of faith- believing that Jesus is with me, Matthew 14 is a place of maturing in faith.

Maturity is not about weathering the storm, enduring the buffeting, and clinging to Jesus in a sinking boat (although I admit I have felt like this a lot in my life).  Rather, it is about leaving the boat, what appears safe, and stepping into the storm.  Now, walking on water is miraculous all by itself, even on calm water.  But, stepping into a storm takes WAY more faith than stepping onto flat water.  Calm water offers, at least, a momentary illusion of stability.  And if it doesn’t go well, treading water on a calm day isn’t too hard.  But, when the waves are taller than your head, and the wind is so strong that it blows the tops of the waves off, sinking equals drowning.

And that is the place of mature faith.  Ultimately, “Stepping into the Storm” is our call as Christians.  Wherever that storm is, whether in our hearts, in our families, or in our culture, we are called to step right into storm! 

So you aren't left hanging, we ran upwards of 70 miles that day, dodging lightning, wind and rain squalls.  In the end, we found a little gap between 2 nasty thunderheads, and shot through it to a beautiful afternoon, a beautiful sun-drenched shore in the distance.

3 Rocks for Christmas

Growing up, the Charlie Brown “Peanuts” specials were a household staple.  In the Halloween special, “It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown”, Charlie Brown goes trick-or-treating with all his friends.  While all his friends receive candy and treats, Charlie Brown leaves every house saying, “I got a rock”. 

The Church, in her wisdom, gives us rocks, too.  Not for Halloween, but for Christmas!  And not just one rock, but three!  In the gift of the three rocks, I believe the Church, and our Lord, are trying to communicate a deep truth to us.  It is a truth that can help live a life that is deeper in intimacy with the Lord, with greater freedom and greater joy.

The first rock appeared on Christmas Eve, in the sweet Gospel readings that echo to us from a different Charlie Brown special, as Linus recites, “For born to you is this day, in the City of David, a savior, Christ the Lord.  And this shall be a sign unto you.  You shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, laying in a manger.”  A manger…  A manger, if you don’t know, is used in a stable or barn to hold feed for animals. As a kid, I used to help my grandpa shovel feed into the manger for cattle on his farm.  In Jesus time, a manger was a rectangular piece of rock or stone, with the top hollowed out to hold feed for cattle and other livestock.  Of course, that hollowed out piece of stone worked well as a makeshift crib.

The gift of the second rock appeared on December 26, the feast of St. Stephen, the first martyr, who was stoned to death.  Really?  From angels and nativity sets and “Joy to the World” to being stoned to death?  That’s a pretty big transition in 24 hours.  Talk about squashing your Christmas cheer!  The final rock appeared on December 27^th.   It’s the gospel account of Peter and John racing to the tomb, bearing witness to the empty tomb and the risen Jesus. 

Three rocks in three days, and a great lesson.  God’s desire is to birth new life in us, more Jesus, into our hearts of stone.  When God births something new in our lives, what comes next is death.  New life in Christ, whether it is healing, desire, hope or anything else, requires death.  It might be death to self, death to expectations, or death to sin, but it is certain death.  And, after that death, after the pain, after the suffering of letting go of flesh and sin and worldliness, there is resurrection.  There is life, abundant life.  Peter and John understood what an empty tomb meant.  We should too.  We suffer not for sufferings own sake, for suffering is always an evil.  We suffer, though, willingly and joyously for the resurrection- that is the joy that is set before us.

What's in Your Ritual?

In a recent conversation, a friend said (more or less), “What the Seven Sacraments have in common is death.”  Each Sacrament calls us into the cross, into suffering, into dying to self.  Ultimately, they call us into resurrection life- but only AFTER death.  No shortcuts, end runs or free passes.  Jesus is clear.  “The man who holds onto his life will lose it.  The man who loses his life for my sake, shall live.”  In case we miss that, Jesus also says, “Pick up your cross and follow me.”  Simple, unqualified and without nuance.  Where did Jesus carry His cross?  To Calvary, where He gave up everything that was within Him as a man, complete death to self.
In the Catholic Church, we are blessed by the gift of the Sacraments, rituals that are laced and loaded with meaning.  Every word, every action within the ritual has meaning and is designed to point us and anchor us to the reality!  But, that reality is a hard reality.  In Baptism, we enter into the family of God, but we reject the enemy and all his evil ways.  Death to self.  In Matrimony and Holy Orders a man covenants himself to his bride, pledging to place her ahead of his own fleshly desires.  Death to self.
Yet, let’s be honest.  Most Catholics are hardly aware that the ritual calls them into such a radical reality.  And even when they do, they often dare not go onto that ground!  I’ve lived much (if not all) of my life avoiding the cross.  And this is what it looks like.  It’s easy for me to trust God in the places where I trust Him.  But, oh, I will pass on trusting Him with the areas of my life where I think He has abandoned me, rejected me and failed to come through for me.  “Thank-you very much,” I say in my flesh, “but I’d rather trust me with this.”
And here is the sad, sad reality that occurs, either by my ignorance, or by my will.  The ritual no longer reflects and points to a reality.  Instead, it becomes a routine, just another mindless check-box item to take care of in a busy life.  Baptism carries the same weight as my birthday, or brushing my teeth.  I am not speaking here to the conferral of grace within the Sacrament, but the human experience and understanding.
Yet, the only place I truly experience life, is where I’m willing to die.  The only vibrant Catholic, the only vibrant Christian, the only vibrant church, is the one that is willing to pick up a cross, drag it to Calvary, be crucified upon it, and die.  And having done that, we shall find only one thing.  Jesus. His life.  His freedom.  “So I set before you life and death.  Choose life.”  So, what’s in your ritual?

When Your Foot Goes in the Jordan

In the book of Exodus, Joshua and 12 spies crossed the Jordan River into the land that God had PROMISED to Israel.  For all but Joshua and Caleb, the report back was a big “No thanks.”  The giants were too big, the natives too many, and the armies too strong, blah, blah, blah.  Fear ruled the hearts of Israel instead of trust, and into the desert they went- for 40 grueling years.
For those 40 years, Joshua sat outside the Tent of Meeting where Moses met with Yahweh.  For those 40 years, Joshua waited patiently for the thing that he knew should have already been.  For those 40 years, Joshua pitched a tent every night instead of living under a roof.  So, when the Lord spoke to Joshua about entering the Promised Land, he was ready.  No more fear.  No more deserts.  No more dust in his face.  No more lack.
But, oh, wait just a minute.  What about the obstacles?  “Darn it, the Jordan River is flooded!  How will we get across?  Jericho is a fortified city!  How can we possibly win?”  Joshua didn’t know how to cross a flooded river, but he knew that God did- because God told him they were going across!  As for Jericho, God would deal with that as well.  Because Joshua knew God’s voice, he trusted.
My life, and yours too, probably, is a lot like ancient Israel, fearful and mistrustful of God.  We do what they did- avoid their deepest fear in favor of another spin in the desert- cactus, scorpions and thirst.  We are more willing to make friends with the enemies of our heart and souls (sin, despair, fear, abandonment) than we are to step into the River.
To put your foot in the Jordan River is to face the enemy that lurks deepest within you.  Each of us has a deepest fear.  It’s the place within us that we trust God the least.  The voice that protects this fear sounds like, “God won’t come through for you here.”   “You’ll try and fail, and then you will know that you are all alone.”  “You can’t trust God with THAT!”  It is a dark, lonely, shame-filled place.
Find that place, and you’ve found your Jordan River, your barrier to the Promised Land.  1 John 1:5 tells us that “God is light; in Him there is no darkness”.  Invite Jesus into that darkness.  Have the courage to ask Jesus to speak to it.  Trust Jesus to minister to that hurt, and darkness will flee.  The flooded Jordan will recede before you, and you will pass into your own promised land as if on dry land.
I recently put my foot in the Jordan.  I stepped into my deepest fear and the most mistrustful place of my heart toward God.  Jesus has met me every step of the way.  I’m fighting some battles along the way, but He has met me where I didn’t believe I could be met.  He showed up where I was sure he wouldn't.  His light has dispelled the dark place of fear and mistrust in my heart.  And, I can honestly say, “My life will never be the same again”.  The sweet milk and honey of intimacy with our Lord in the parched desert of my wounded heart?  I can’t even describe what happens in my soul.
So, where is your Jordan River?  What are the giants that threaten you?  What are the strong fortresses that you believe are too strong for you to overcome?  Be Strong and Courageous- Joshua 1:8

Who's the Master of Your Heart?

At the end of chapter 7 of Luke’s gospel, Jesus is the guest in the home of a Pharisee.  Jesus is reclining at table, when a woman, a reputed sinner, enters the home and bathes Jesus’ feet with oil.  The Pharisee is, of course, appalled.  We all tend to wag our finger at the self-righteousness of the Pharisee, but there’s another level to this story.  This is the story to the brokenness that is in each of us, and a key that helps to unlock the grace of God’s healing.
In each of us, there are parts of our hearts that we have given to the Lord…and places we haven’t.  Where we carry hurt, where we’re wounded, where we resist God, where we are out of communion with Him, these are places we have not given to the Lord.  These are places of pain that we all experience- fear, abandonment, rejection, despair, hopelessness, hurt from others.  To protect ourselves from this pain, we build structures around our pain to protect ourselves.  Those structures often look a lot like the Pharisee in our story- rigid, hardness of heart and skepticism.  So, this story is the story of God’s redemption and healing, and how to get there.
As I read the story, I found myself asking, “Why is Jesus at the Pharisee’s house?”  It doesn’t appear that Jesus has a particular affinity for this Pharisee, and the Pharisee has no affinity for Jesus at all.  The Pharisee thinks to himself, “If this man [Jesus] were a prophet….”.  So, he is testing the proposition that Jesus might be a prophet.  But, when he speaks to Jesus, he calls him by the rather generic term, “Teacher”.  Yet, Jesus is “reclining at table”, apparently relaxed and quite comfortable.  Then, it hit me.  Jesus is waiting.  He is waiting for HER.
Jesus could have met her anywhere, in the street, in her home, anywhere.  Why here?  Not, as you might be inclined to think, to shame or humiliate her.  Instead, Jesus was drawing out her heart, to help her desire Jesus (healing) more than anything else, to press through shame, self-condemnation, rejection, isolation into healing, into the presence of Jesus.
The Pharisee, and what he represents, stands between the woman and Jesus the healer.  The healer was in the house, waiting, reclining at table.  When we pray for healing, we sometimes say, “Come Lord Jesus, into my hurt and pain.  Heal me.”  We might do better to realize that He’s already inside the house, reclining at table, waiting for us to come in.    It is we who have to step into the interior of our own house, walk through the door of condemnation, rejection, or abandonment, whatever that door is for us.
And waiting on the other side, right there, is Jesus, the healer of my heart and the lover of my soul.  He embraces my brokenness and ministers to my hurt and pain.  As we bring the abject brokenness of our lives to Jesus, he gives us a new identity, the truth of who we really are, the value of our relationship to Him.
In each of us, there are parts of our lives and hearts that belong to God.  And there are parts of our lives and hearts that belong to a Pharisee who we may think is protecting us.  But he is not.  And in each of us is the woman, sinful and hurting, with only a Pharisee standing between us and the grace of healing.

The Death of Convenient Catholicism

Convenient, Comfortable, Cultural Catholicism is dead in America.  The body may still be warm, perhaps even a post mortem twitch or two.  But it’s dead.  Soon enough, and perhaps sooner that you think- you’ll agree.  Why do I assert such a thing?  Simply put, there is no longer a place for it in the culture.   Soon, “Catholic “will be incompatible with comfortable or convenient.  You need only follow my premise to its logical outcome to understand why.

First, the New Evangelization is under way in earnest in this country.  The Church’s leadership, and numerous apostolates, anchored in the person of Jesus Christ in fidelity to His bride, the Church, abound.  Jesus is remaking His Church, transforming the faith-life of countless Catholics.  The New Evangelization is breeding Catholics who love Jesus, are bold in their faith, and courageous in their convictions.  The call in the New Evangelization is serious and not for the faint of heart.  And if I’m right, we will need every bit of that mettle.

Secondly, our own government has become hostile to all who subscribe to differing beliefs.  The HHS mandate has effectively pushed the matter of faith out of the public square and into the confines of “private life”.  Religious liberty has been deeply damaged.  The IRS scandal has demonstrated that the government will use its legal muscle to pursue political ends.  The fact that any specific demographic would be targeted is unconscionable.  And then, there is the rest.  Homeland Security is running terrorist drills with Christians and homeschoolers as the terrorists.  The FBI, who was apparently too undermanned to keep an eye on the known radical Muslim brothers in Boston, did find the time to visit some of the same people harassed by the IRS.  

A Texas business woman, who applied for tax exempt status for two political organizations, not only found herself under scrutiny for those, but subsequently the target of IRS audits of her personal and business returns.  Then, the FBI paid her several visits regarding her “political” activities.  In the end, she also found herself visited by the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms, since her company holds a license to manufacture firearms, even though it doesn’t.  

Our own government has clearly crossed the threshold of a willingness to intimidate its own citizenry in order to achieve its purposes.  The Church’s voice will speak for the rights of individuals, for the common good, and against injustice and evil.  The trajectories of our culture and (apparently) our government are incompatible with the Gospel of Jesus Christ.  The government has already put pressure on the Church.  The Church (and Christianity in general) is already viewed as an obstacle to be overcome.  Catholicism will soon cease to be a prop, and then, the convenient, cultural, comfortable Catholic will find it too inconvenient, too dangerous, and too uncomfortable.

A smaller and more vibrant Church is being birthed in our midst.  And She will be the light in darkness.  She will share in the trials and persecutions of which Paul spoke.  She will shake off her slumber, and will run and not grow weary.  These are exciting times for the Church, but it will look different than we expect, perhaps quite different.

The American Death Camps

Margaret Sanger was a fan of Adolf Hitler’s eugenics program, a plan that would rid “Aryan” Germany of the socially and genetically inferior.  Hitler’s program began by marginalizing and restricting the rights of Jews in the early 1930’s.  As the years passed, the marginalization of those seen be inferior, increased.  By the time Hitler’s “Final Solution” was implemented, the culture was anesthetized to the persecution of these groups.  It was easy to hide the murderous atrocities “in plain sight”.  The horror was so great that even many Jews did not believe what was occurring in the death camps until the evidence was overwhelming.

The stench of Margaret Sanger’s own special death camps is wafting in the wind of the American landscape.  Just as the atrocities at camps like Auschwitz and Treblinka occurred, for a time, with little public notice, and under the cover of “greater good”, so has been the case with America’s abortion industry, and men like Kermit Gosnell. 

Kermit Gosnell, who butchered live born babies by snipping their spines with scissors, who put live babies in plastic bags to die, who allowed babies to drown in toilets, and who stored the bodies dozens (and perhaps hundreds) of aborted babies in his clinic,  is not an aberration among abortionists.  Reports are beginning to pour in about similar practices and conditions across the country.  This horror has been occurring in our cities and communities for decades, right under our noses.  The reality has been there for anyone to find if they cared, but also “hidden in plain sight” by euphemisms and political and legal maneuvering.   

 And this, of course, brings me to a question to which I, sadly, cannot answer.  Will we, like Germany, refuse to believe the horror of the Auschwitz’s and Treblinka’s in our own country?  Will we even have the courage to look at it?  Or, will we turn a blind eye and a cold shoulder to those on the margin and unable to protect themselves?  The choice is ours.

"Dreamliner" or "Dreamliner Experience"

We all know the worst seat on a plane-  the middle seat in the very last row of coach,  the non-reclining one gainst the bulkhead.  Directly behind your head is the…well, head, where the aroma of blue bathroom juice swirls in the air.  Add the constant rattling of accordion bathroom doors and cattlecar service, and you have a sensual experience worth forgetting.  Oh, to be a first class passenger, sitting in a cushy wide seat, with warm hand towels, complimentary drinks and the intimacy of personalized service.
Now, the new Boeing Dreamliner is a beautiful airplane.  She oozes grace and style, even sitting on the tarmac.  She is a technological marvel.  She is arguably “THE” airplane!  Yet, if you hold the boarding pass for the middle seat in the last row, it won’t be a “Dreamliner” experience.   Give me a first class seat on a commuter jet instead- anytime!
You see, the sensual experience is an important thing.  As Catholics, we should understand this.  The Catholic faith is meant to be lived sensually, where the lived experience in our body connects to our soul and spirit.  Viewing Michelangelo’s frescos on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel is a sensual experience of art that moves the soul.  The soaring architecture of cathedrals is a sensual experience of architecture that inspires awe.  Matt Maher’s music is a treat for worshipful ears.  Incense touches our sense of smell.  Yes, Catholicism is, and is meant to be, a sensual experience.
But, when you ask fallen away Catholics why they’ve left the Church, it’s almost never a matter of theology.  It’s about the experience.  Common complaints are bad preaching, bad music and uninspired liturgies.  The architecture of many churches is pitiful, and sacred artwork almost non-existent.   Essentially, nothing in their EXPERIENCE of the Church connects them to their soul and spirit.
You might be crying, “Foul.” at this point.  “We have the Sacraments, and we have real presence of Jesus in the Eucharist.”  On behalf of my non-Catholic brothers and sisters, I have only one response to that- “Dreamliner”.  She may ooze grace and style.  In Pope Francis’ words, “a tidy Church… a Church that is nice to look at.”.  But, if the experience of her is the center seat on the back row, many will opt for a first class experience on a commuter jet.
It is to our shame that we excuse poor preaching, pathetic music, uninspired liturgies, bland architecture and amateurish artwork (think banners) because we “have” the Sacraments.  We do not own the Sacraments- they are a gift from Heaven.  Because of the Sacraments, because of the real presence of Jesus in the Eucharist, because the sacrifice of the mass is the source and the summit of our faith, we should accept nothing less than the best.  It should be a sensual experience of music and word and sight that agitates the soul to worship, directing our entire being toward a more intimate communion with God.
The Catholic invitation should not merely be to “Fly the “Dreamliner”.  The Catholic invitation should be nothing less than “Have a “Dreamliner Experience”.  Big, beautiful, bold, expressive, and every seat first class.

God is My Enemy... Part II

It’s a scary thing to admit that you’ve made God your enemy.  I can almost hear the internal denials as I write this.  But, that makes it no less true.  Every man makes God his enemy, and every woman, as well.    Pope John Paul II put his finger on it when he said, “...the key to interpreting reality...Original Sin, then, attempts to abolish fatherhood...”  The implications are staggering, but create an amazing lens through which to view our relationships with God.

I make God my enemy, following the Holy Fathers’ logic, because I do not believe that God is a good Father.  Because we do not believe in His goodness, we do not trust Him.  For a woman, her mistrust may look like a belief that God does not “see” her- she is invisible to God.  For a man, it is often a belief that God will not come through for him if he surrenders it to God.  In that case, a man’s failure is complete- he didn’t have what it takes on his own, and he didn’t have enough for God to respond to his plea for help.  When you think like this, the thought creeps in, “Well, who needs a God like that anyway?” So, how does a man (or woman) arrive at such a place in their heart? 

First, they have forgotten where they live. Especially in this modern world, we tend to think that “Life’s a Beach!”, and the beach is bathing suits, manicured white sand, umbrella chairs and pina coladas.  And indeed, life is a beach, or more accurately, a BEACHHEAD.  Like Normandy Beach on D-Day- bombs, mines and bullets, blood, death.  The world you and I were born into is a battle zone, the result of sin.  The enemy has been dug in and waiting since he was cast into the world from heaven (Revelation 19).  His singular purpose is to kill your soul and condemn you to his own fate- eternal isolation, eternal abandonment and eternal loneliness.

Second, people forget who they are.  The enemy projects his ill intent and malevolence onto God.  This leads us to mistrust.  Since we do not trust God, we do not trust what He has to say about who we are.  God says that we are beloved sons and daughters, but we do not belief because of the difficulty of our person circumstance.  Instead of viewing our circumstance in light of God’s nature, we belief our circumstance reveals God’s nature.

In this desolation, it is important to understand God’s nature.  Is He the punisher and withholder, the maker of trouble?  In Genesis, we learn that God placed Adam and Eve in the garden, a place of perfection.  They were “naked and unashamed” because purity and holiness was their experience.  After the fall, shame and the awareness of being naked came in.  They went from being physically “uncovered” and spiritually “covered” to physical covering and spiritual exposure.  Despite the loin cloths that we see on Church crucifixes, we know that Jesus was stripped naked when he hung on the cross.  Jesus was tortured, shamed and humiliated, including the indignity of being naked before others.  This act of selflessness untwists Adam’s sin, restoring us to righteousness (right standing).  Jesus sacrifice demonstrates that God holds nothing back, not even His own divinity. 

It is the enemy that has made your trouble in this broken world.  As you grasp this truth, you can examine your life from a different perspective, through a completely different lens.  The painful memories and experiences of your life will look different.  You might even find yourself thinking, “Now I get it.”  As these lies are revealed, you are ready for healing.  Say to Jesus, “I see now where I have believed wrong about you, where I didn’t trust you.  I repent, and I reject the lies about you, and the lies about myself.  Jesus, I invite you to speak your truth to me.” 

In the deepest, darkest recesses of your heart, where you’ve been hurt, God can heal, God can restore.  I’ve seen it and experienced.  Burdens and lies, carried for decades, wash away in an instant under the touch of Jesus’ hand.  There is hope, despite hopelessness.  There is healing, despite hurt.  Because, as it turns out, God is not my enemy, nor yours.

God is My Enemy...Part I

I had a disconcerting epiphany recently.  I know where I strive, where I hold on and grasp, where I don’t trust God.  Every man (and person) has at least one place where this is true.  Just look for your repetitive sin,  insecurities and fear- that’s where you'll find yours.  For me, the lifelong struggle to trust God has been in my professional life.  While grace seems to flow in my marriage and many other areas of my life, trusting deeply in the Lord in the area of provision has always been a challenge.
Not surprisingly, this striving in my professional life is related to a deep wounding that left me believing that I was “on my own”.  From that grew a deep seated self-sufficiency, trusting only myself to take care of things.  Even as I’ve come into deeper relationship with the Lord, I viewed this self-sufficiency in a benign way.  I knew I didn’t fully trust God, but it didn’t seem like too big a deal.  Then came the revelation of how insidious and scary this really was.
I found three distinct levels in my mistrust.   Level 1:  God is not actively engaged and advocating for me (in my case- material needs).  My life experience (or my perception of it) tells me that God’s goodness has not been overly abundant.  Now, there is truth in this, but not the one I perceived.  The truth is that God’s grace has been pretty hit and miss in this part of life.  But,not because He doesn’t care or isn’t engaged.  It is because I’ve locked him out.  I’ve largely taken care of it on my own, consulting my own wisdom, my own desire, my own strength.  I’ve left Him without much room or opportunity to bestow grace!
Level II mistrust is a bit deeper, a little more malevolent.  Not only do I not trust God to “do me good”, neither do I trust Him to protect me from harm.  Basically, He is an absentee God.  The scripture that says God goes before, stands beside, but I do not believe.  He has abandoned me to my fate.  You may recognize this as a “heresy” in theological terms.  It’s also a heresy of the heart.
Finally, the deepest mistrust of all is the place in my heart where I have made God my enemy.  First, He’s benign, giving me little or nothing that is good.  Then, He’s absent and fails to protect me from bad.  Finally, I impute ill-will or evil to Him.  He is the ‘Withholder’, the ‘Punisher’, the ‘Maker of Trouble’.   At a deep heart level, God is the author of my hardship.  He’s on the other side.  He’s the one who is responsible for my hardship.  Here, in the deepest recesses of my heart, I have found God, and He is my enemy.  He is, in my heart, the author of my pain and suffering.  He is not my “strong fortress”, but the very source of my pain.
Find your own deep pain, your own mistrust, your deepest fear, your own wounding that time and again unsettles you, and you will find the place where you treat God as your enemy.  And when you find it, you’ll know…because you will want to run!  But once you find it, healing and freedom can finally come.   That, in Part II

The Sweet Smell of Sheep

If you think sheep are cute, white, fluffy, cuddly, Little Bo Peep type creatures, you’ve missed the meaning of Pope Francis’ admonition to clergy to “know the smell” of their sheep.  In short, sheep stink!  Cows, pigs, and chickens are downright “aromatic" compared to the smell of sheep.  And for a shepherd, the smell of the sheep becomes a part of him.

And this is just the point of the Holy Father’s comment.  In essence, he is calling his brother priests to live close to the lives of those they serve.  He is calling his priests to live in an intimacy with their people, to know them, their hurt, their pain, their brokenness.

The New Testament tells us, definitively, that Jesus is the Good Shepherd, and that we are His sheep.  And, this is true so far beyond the caricatured imagery we often see in church.  Jesus did more than live among His sheep, He experienced His sheep.  He lived in intimacy with “the smell” of our sin, brokenness and woundedness.  More than that, He took the smell of sin onto Himself.  His humanity suffered the full weight of our broken world: doubt, pain, hunger, fatigue, despair.  He even bore our sin, the full weight of our “smell”.  Jesus lived in the smell of His sheep, never turning up His nose or running from the ugliness.  Instead, He pressed in, drew closer, loved more deeply.

As men, we are called to be Jesus: to our wives, to our children, to our friends, to those we serve in ministry.  That means, knowing the smell of our sheep.   The truth is, most of us don’t particularly care for the smell of our own sheep.  We’d rather keep our distance from the messiness of others’ lives, and we’d rather keep others out of the messiness of our own lives. 

Smelling our sheep means stepping outside ourselves.  It requires getting close the brokenness in others, and a willingness  to let others to “smell” you.  I’ve seen men in accountability groups who don’t smell each other.  Sure, they “check in” and hold each other accountable, but they don’t truly live in the messiness of their brothers lives.  I know men who don’t know the smell of their wife, fearful of deep intimacy, afraid they won’t understand her heart and know how to love her.  I routinely see men who don’t know the smell of their children, held back by their own inadequacy as men.  

To smell your sheep takes courage.  It takes strength.  You have to be willing go out and kill the lion, as David did.  You have to be willing to fight off bandits.   If you want to know the smell of your sheep, you'll experience pain, despair, fatigue and doubt.  But, it will never be empty.    When you smell your sheep, Jesus happens!  Healing happens!  Encouragement happens!  Freedom happens!  Love happens.  It’s the only life that is truly worth living. It is, indeed, a sweet, sweet smell.

Bullets, Bombs and Babies

Adam Lanza, the Tsarnaev brothers, and Kermit Gosnell all hold something in common.  Much has been made of Adam Lanza’s shooting spree at Sandy Hook Elementary and the Tsarnaev brothers bombing at the Boston Marathon.  Kermit Gosnell, of equally gruesome repute, if not notoriety, is an abortionist on trial for conducting horrific abortions, and killing at least one woman.
These four men, contemporaries of each other in history, hold a single proposition in common.  All of them rejected the notion of the sanctity of human life.  Lanza believed that the lives of elementary school children were not valuable, not sacred.  The Tsarnaevs believed that the lives of whomever happened into the blast zone of their bombs were not valuable, not sacred.  Kermit Gosnell used scissors to snip the spinal cords of aborted infants who were born alive.  He’s even accused of leaving an infant to struggle for its life, and eventually drown, in a toilet: not valuable, not sacred.
As a culture, we have allowed and embraced a commoditization of human life.  For well over a generation, we have measured human life against the value of other things: money, convenience, comfort, ideology.  While the deeper roots of this commoditization preceed Roe v. Wade, that decision, and our willingness to embrace of killing unborn infants, is a clear point of demarcation that anyone can see.  The message is unmistakable, regardless of how you try to argue, nuance or position the argument.  Not all human life is sacred.
The value of human life is no longer assumed.  Instead, some person, whether court, or politician, or whomever, is now the arbiter of what human life is valued, and what is not.  Those without value may be disposed of for good reason, or for whim, it matters not a bit.  In a culture where “man” obviously set the criterion by which human life is valued, Adam Lanza simply, and if I might be so bold, logically applied a different criterion.  The Tsarnaev’s decided to apply a different measure of value to human life than the courts, or the prevailing law.  Kermit Gosnell decided that unborn infants, even when born alive and viable, were not entitled to life.
We have made a commodity of the human person, and human life.   We should not be surprised then, that some among us choose to measure the value of life against their own criterion.  In the heart of God, for whom all human life is equally sacred, these events are all equally horrific, equally evil.   When our utilitarian and capricious valuing of human life is replaced by an awe and holy respect for every person, we can begin to rest easier and feel safer. Until then, we should expect more of the same, and sadly, worse.

Tossing Rocks from the River- Living into Healing

When Jesus heals, we must engage it and appropriate it. I learned this valuable lesson while riding down the interstate on a rainy Monday evening, while returning from a retreat.

As I talked and prayed with my travel-mates, Jesus brought healing to a deep hurt in my life.  That hurt, and the lies I believed as a result of it, had been a source of pain and a hobbling fear throughout my life.  As Jesus spoke His truth to me, I knew immediately that He had done a deep work in my heart.  I could feel the ‘river of living water’ running through this part of my life where there had been a dam, blocking God’s grace.  The stagnant, stenchy wastewater of bondage was was blown open and FREE!

I rested in that healing for a couple weeks, feeling the grace and freedom.  But then, I heard Jesus say to me, “There are still rocks in the river.”  I knew EXACTLY what he meant.  No hiding behind a feigned “What Lord? I don’t understand.”    That hurt, now healed, had accomplices that wanted to steal Jesus’ gift: broken behaviors, broken emotions, broken thoughts and broken beliefs- all of them, rocks in the river.

Jesus had blown open the dam, but there were still rocks in the river- the remnants of a previous life, previous beliefs, previous expectations, previous lies, previous vows.  All of them, creating eddies, whirlpools and diversions to the River of Life.  

So, I’m tossing rocks from the river.  Tossing out the behaviors (and lack of them) that used to keep me frozen…silencing the voices of condemnation…living more boldly...relying more deeply on Jesus.  Day by day, I’m applying my healing.  I’m gaining confidence, faith actually.  I woke up this morning, looking for the next rock to toss from the river.  And everyday, the current of God’s healing grace runs a little stronger, a little truer, and a little sweeter.