How Do We Pray for Enemies? And Why?

MT 5:44  You have heard that it was said, "You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy." But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be sons of your Father who is in heaven. 

One of the most difficult things Jesus commands us to do is to love our enemies and pray for those who hate us. Most recently, the "debate", if you can call it that, has been prayer for Usama bin Ladin, the madman behind the mass-murder that was September 11, 2001, among other acts of terrorism throughout the world.

Enemy? Indeed! Persecutor? Absolutely!

Love him? Uh....WHAT!?

PRAY for him? HUH!?

Right. Jesus doesn't flinch at our objections to this teaching, and He gave it with full knowledge of the horrible things humanity did and would do to each other. Yet, He, knowing human nature so perfectly, knew that the only way for us to grow in holiness, to be perfect like our Father in heaven is perfect, would be to cooperate with Grace in order for Grace to change us.

Let us explore a few terms used in this very short passage, so that perhaps we may better understand WHY Our Lord gives us such a difficult commandment.

First, Jesus said to LOVE our enemies. 

He is not speaking here of gooshy puppy-eyed sappiness. He is speaking of the virtue of Divine Charity; the very love of God, the theological virtue we are given at Baptism, that is sealed at Confirmation. Divine Love is not the warped idea of "love" we humans have, but it is a supernatural gift from God to will the good of the other. To have it implies a connection with God that is stronger than our own will, choosing an active desire to conform ourselves to Him even though we may not know exactly what He wills for us...or for those for whom we pray.  We don't merely love others with our own emotions, but with the fire of Divine Charity. It means we can look upon another who has deeply wounded us and still recognize that human being as a willed and beloved child of God.

We do know that it is God's will that all enter heaven, that not a single soul be lost. We therefore pray for others with this in mind, for ultimately, all prayer is about salvation: for us, and for others. Even if we, in our fallen humanity, do not will certain people to go to Heaven.

Say what?

That's the crux of our human nature, isn't it? We are offended and we stop willing the good for another because we've decided, perhaps unconsciously or even subconsciously, that the one who offended us should just rot in hell.

Well...that isn't God's will, is it? Still, He, in His faithfulness to Himself and His creation, allows each and every one of us to choose, for Hell is not a place, but a state of eternal separation from God. God wills our eternal union with Him but He will not take back His gift of Free Will.

Prayer

You have probably heard many prayers end with "in Jesus' name, Amen".

What does this mean?  There are those who misunderstand and think that just the words "in Jesus Name", means that He absolutely endorses what we have just prayed about, and therefore, it must be true.

In fact, to pray in Jesus' Name means that we are praying with the intention to conform ourselves to HIS will...not to bend His will to match our own deformed will.  We do not see as God sees, and often, we pray from a position of self-love, telling God what WE want, without giving thought as to what GOD wills for us.

Therefore, before we say, "In Jesus' Name, AMEN", we should be praying, "Not my will, but THINE be done!"   In that way, we are reminded that we may be desiring something disordered, but we are still, in humility, bowing to God's almighty will, knowing He will bring about our good with our cooperation, even if that good contradicts something we think we really want.

 What has any of this to do with Prayer for Enemies?

A lot.

When we are ordered to pray for our enemies and those who hate us, we are supposed to be praying for their good: their conversion, whether in this life or even when they stand before the Almighty in judgment. We also know that if a soul is not open to God, we desire that their hearts be opened in order to receive the grace we are asking for them.

And you know what? It's HARD to sincerely ask for someone we despise to be blessed with something so great as eternal salvation. It's HARD to sincerely ask for people we can't stand, or hate or want revenge against, to be blessed by God in some way.

It's dang near IMPOSSIBLE!

This is why, when we pray for our enemies, (or any prayer, for that matter), we step aside in humility by intending, "Thy will, not mine, be done", and praying also "In Jesus' Name", for in this way, we are recognizing that we can't forgive, we can't forget, we can't, in and of ourselves, carry that Divine Love we have received to another. It is Christ who forgives, who died for that enemy of ours, and it is Christ who died for us and allows us to struggle to be conformed to Him.

Prayer for Enemies is not Just About Them

It's also about US. Prayer changes US by conforming us to God's will, and the more difficult the prayer, the greater struggle and the greater growth in holiness; if we will allow ourselves to be changed.

Prayer and forgiveness of enemies does not mean "forgetting", but rather, to simply allow God to bring about the good in that person's life (or death), and to purify us by removing hatred from our souls. It is one thing to be angry, it is another to allow that anger to so damage us that we turn into the object of our hatred.

Prayer prevents that. Prayer helps us to see with God's eyes and act with His Love. It conforms us to His will and makes us holy, as Our Father in heaven is Holy.

Always remember: it's never too late to pray for someone. We as humans are bound by time, but God is not, and He knows best how to apply all graces. Grace is never lost. If we are praying for someone we believe to be in Purgatory but they are actually already experiencing eternal beatitude, that Grace from our prayers will be passed to another in accordance with God's will. And yet, we grow in Divine Charity, Faith, and Hope simply through the act of praying for that other - especially if that other is an enemy who has deeply hurt us.

As Jesus said, it is easy to love those who love us. But loving those who hate us calls us to perfection.

Final Thoughts

Because I often explain things badly, I thought I would allow a Saint to speak, and so I leave you with the words of St. Jerome from his Commentary on Matthew:

"But I say to you: Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you."
Many who measure God's commands according to their own feebleness, rather than by the strength of the saints, think the things that have been commanded here are impossible. They say that in view of our strength, it is sufficient not to hate one's enemies; but to be commanded to love them, well, this goes beyond what is experienced by human nature. It needs to be known, therefore, that Christ does not command impossibilities, but perfection. This is what David practiced with respect to Saul and Absalom. Stephen too, the martyr, prayed for his enemies who were stoning him. Moreover, Paul desires to be accursed on behalf of his own persecutors. And Jesus both taught and practiced this when he said: "Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do."(p. 85)

On Forgiveness

A few days ago, a reader queried,

I want to ask you about forgiveness. It's such a basic and integral part of our Faith and yet many people, like me, aren't entirely sure what it means. What are the steps for forgiveness? . To recieve forgiveness from the Almighty I must Repent, ask forgiveness and make penance. Are we to ask this same process for those seeking OUR forgiveness? It often seems by the way that people talk about forgiveness that it should be a simple thing...I am not always so sure.


One more thing. When does Forgiveness become Enabling?


Thanks for your questions, Jose!

You're not the first to ask, and you won't be the last. Let's break it down and get to the heart of the matter.

1. What IS forgiveness?

That's a great question! Perhaps, through common knowledge of both God and ourselves, we can come to a definition that will make the term more clear.

We know that we are fallen creatures and as such, we don't just offend God, but we frequently offend each other, and sometimes we do so on purpose.

How many of you are familiar with the cry of surrender from childhood games, "OK! I give!"

Some would say "UNCLE!" which is similar but the a heartfelt "I GIVE!" does a lot more both for we as the one who succumbs, and we who are victors. "I GIVE!" is a cry of humility, of surrender, and is a universal appeal for mercy. It is also an expression of implicit offering: "Whatever it is you want...I GIVE!" and often physically expressed by open arms and hands, showing that there are no hidden weapons, be they sticks, stones, M-180's or cream pies.

Forgiveness, then, belongs to the one who reigns, the one who is in control.. Forgiveness anticipates the surrender of the "enemy" and makes him a friend through the divine virtue of charity which wills the good of the other.

We as humans "forgive" when we recognize that we are all fallen, we all fall short, and we all merit Hell. When we are faced with an interlocutor, in knowing our own final end, it is much easier to gaze upon the faults of another and even if they don't ask, to surrender ourselves to their own faults in recognition that they have likely accepted our own as a foregone conclusion of our basic humanity. Even if they have not, we know that our own faults give us greater cause to accept the offenses of another.

John Paul II wrote extensively about the mercy of God, and in his Encyclical on that topic, Dives in miseriacordia, he discussed how mercy begets mercy. When we have experienced mercy, we learn also to extend it to others.

This is not a true definition but perhaps just an illustration.

2. How does one forgive? What are the steps?

Forgiveness is not so much a matter of "steps" as a matter of interior disposition.

In our fallen nature, we tend to turn even the simplest of things into a "process" and think that if we put that "process" in place, everything will go well. The first thing to realize is that we are human, not machines.

Forgiveness has, at it's core, relationship. In order for us to be offended, we must have some kind of relationship with the one who offended us. Certainly there are degrees of relationship, but for the most part, if we're hitting the confessional on Saturday afternoon to speak about forgiveness or the lack thereof, it's because of a real person we know and have injured in some way...or perhaps we have been injured by them. When we go before Our Lord with contrition

When it comes down to it, there are no "steps" to forgiveness.There's nothing complicated about forgiveness unless we make it so. It's what we choose to do...or do not.

Sometimes people are deeply, deeply wounded by the sins of another; so much so that they may believe they can never forgive the person who hurt them. An example of this might be a family whose daughter was abducted and murdered, or those families who lost loved ones in the September 11 terrorist attacks.

In cases where the offense is so great, that is where we need to lean on Christ and pray for HIM to forgive those who have hurt us. Perhaps when we begin that prayer, we may not truly desire it, but the willingness to hand it to Him can transform our own souls and heal our own wounds until one day, perhaps that forgiveness will become our own as well. We have to forgive others through Our Lord, who can bear all things on our behalf and on behalf of the offender.

3. The Sacrament of Confession follows a process of Repentance, Confession, and Penance. 

Yes, it does. If we are asking God for forgiveness, we'd better be sorry for what we have done. If we aren't...the Confession is invalid, no matter what the Priest says. God knows our hearts and souls and we can't fudge Him.

So, yes, we must be truly sorry and intend to do better. We must confess our sins, and then we must "make satisfaction" which is the penance given by the Priest. Have you ever noticed that no matter what horrible things you have done, the prayers you are told to offer don't even TOUCH the offense in most cases?

There is a reason for that: it is because we can NEVER make satisfaction for our sins. Only the Son of God can do that, but we are called to participate in that offering. I can give this concrete example:

One day after an hour of my regularly scheduled prayer in the Perpetual Adoration chapel I went to Confession, and I had things to do afterward, but decided to go to Confession anyway in a brief window open to me. I confessed sins relating to impatience, but had no mortal sins. Overall, it was a pretty benign Confession!

The Priest gave me the penance of an entire Rosary, which was HUGE for this particular Priest who was known for his...uh..benevolence.(very Holy priest, very lenient penances).

I accepted my penance and returned to my place, actually grumbling about it! I'd been there an hour, I'd already prayed a Rosary and I hadn't had anything serious to confess! I had to get this over with, and quickly as I had to GO!

And that's when it hit me:  uh...yeah. Impatience.  In my own immediate sin of impatience after confessing impatience, I couldn't even complete my assigned penance without complaint! That lesson hit me right where it counted:  heart and soul.

Do you see?

4. Does what God asks us to do apply also to those who offend US?

Yes, He does, although not necessarily in the same way.

This question is best answered by the Catechism of the Catholic Church in the section on Christian Prayer on the topic of the Lord's Prayer, the "Our Father".

First, we are called throughout scripture to be holy and perfect as our Father in Heaven is holy and perfect. It is made clear that a facet of His perfection is His forgiveness and mercy for sinners; that teaching is a living reality. Jesus stated very clearly that we must pray for those who persecute us, to love our enemies, and to "turn the other cheek." If our Father in heaven forgives us, who are we to refuse to do the same?

If we are to be like Him, we must be willing to suffer much and still stretch our own arms out to our sides, vulnerable to attack and give ourselves up in love to anything that does not require us to commit mortal sin.

The teachings on Our Lord's Prayer as it applies to forgiveness is found in CCC paragraphs 2838 -2845. Please note that the teaching does not begin or end there, but is encompassed in all of Catholic teaching and throughout the life of Christ as expressed in the scriptures.

In short, must we forgive others as Christ forgives us:  YES! To do differently is to deny Him entirely.

5. What keeps forgiveness from being enabling?

Keep this in mind:  we are called to holy obedience and growth in relationship with Christ to forgive...not to forget. Never does He say we must forget.

Jesus does not call us to be doormats without a cause.

To understand this, we have to first understand the true definition of charity (divine love):  True Charity wills the good of another. Not just the temporal good, but the ETERNAL good, for that is what we are here on earth to obtain: Eternal beatitude with God.

We have to ask ourselves, in every moment, "What is the most loving thing?"

It is not enabling to forgive. It is enabling to turn a blind eye, to refuse to see what is there and to say nothing to someone we know and love and CAN speak to. It is enabling to recognize a problem in a person who is a mere acquaintance and refuse to bring it to the attention of those who do know that person in hopes they will intervene if necessary.

It is enabling to forgive and not maintain boundaries, for real forgiveness holds the sinner accountable for their actions.

That is the difference:  Forgiveness exists for the sake of Holy Conversion of heart and soul. It is to bring us closer to God, to help us to recognize who we are in His sight, and to recognize His supreme authority and ability to heal us of even the most dire offenses. If Our Lord can forgive us our offenses, it stands to reason that we, too must extend that same kind of mercy towards those who offend us as well.

 **     **     **

Jose, I hope this helped, at least a little. If you're a reader, I do highly recommend that you read Dives in Miseriacordia (linked above) as well as the passages in the CCC that of course are far more succinct and to the point than I will ever be!

If something I said here doesn't make sense, please feel free to ask - I never can claim to be free from error! ;-)

SNAP Judgments

I refuse to link to them, but everyone knows who SNAP is and the fact they are an enemy of the Church operating under a facade of "good intention".

Let it be known that anyone who responds to any criticism of SNAP or like groups with absolute disgust should not be the targets of such judgmental and irrational questions/accusations such as:

* "You must never have been sexually abused!"

* "You are denying the fact that priests sexually abused people!"

..among other stupid, irrational absurdities. Those very challenges are so ridiculous and offensive it's impossible to respond, and actually...doesn't DESERVE a response. Seriously, why does someone have to have been sexually abused in order to understand that it's a horrible, horrible soul-and-life-destroying evil? And how does legitimate criticism of an anti-Catholic organization that claims to be "Catholic" translate into denial that the abuse ever occurred?

(As an aside, that's exactly the type of emotionally-based "argument" I expect from dissidents, i.e. SNAP members if we start the AOTM club, and I am quite amused at the idea of someone trying to defend such a position against actual facts and figures and rationality.)

If you need a quick synopsis on this group, and a starting point for your research into them, this has a nice summary: Twilight of the Scandal.

You may also be interested in reading the legal case history about Fr. Gordon MacRae, written by a journalist not associated with the Church, and you may be especially interested in his treatment by SNAP which obviously has no interest in Truth, only money and power. Further information for research into Fr. Gordon MacRae and the lack of due process for accused priests can be found here.

If you support SNAP, stop your donations NOW for I would suggest continuing to donate to them is not only scandalous, but may well be a mortal sin. (Actually scandal and mortal sin go hand in hand.) But that's between you and your confessor. Remember that mortal sin consists of the following:

1. The issue is an objectively grave matter

2. It is done with full knowledge

3. It is done with complete consent.

Let's analyze:

* We know this is a very grave matter. Ignoring and falsely imprisoning priests because it's the popular thing to do, and doing it for money and power is objectively, a very very grave sin. Being involved in a group that is doing such a thing is akin to direct participation, which is also a grave sin. (It's like donating to Planned Parenthood)

* You have been provided with the info and you now have full knowledge, and if you chose NOT to click on the links provided above, you are even MORE culpable because you are REJECTING Truth outright.

* By continuing to support a group that would do such things with complete consent...just sealed the deal, and not in a good way.

Mercy!

It's a dang good thing Christ left us with the Sacrament of Confession, isn't it? As long as we realize what we've done, that we're truly sorry, and desire to amend our lives and not repeat that sin, well....all of the above can be, in a sense, undone. But if you're a member of SNAP you might have to make reparation in another way, such as sacrificing and doing penance for the priests wrongly imprisoned because of YOUR support.

As far as those nasty creatures who engaged in any kind of sexual abuse...let them be punished by the law just as it applies to every other lay person accused of the same crimes.

Their punishment should not be worse or privileged in any way. THE SAME.

On the spiritual end, vengeance belongs to God alone and no doubt He will repay...whether in this life or the next. It's STILL our job, and the very direct teaching of Jesus Christ to forgive and pray for those who have sinned, no matter how much they have hurt us or what sins they have committed.

I suggest maybe we have a day of prayer, penance, and reparation for members of SNAP and like organizations. And the same for priests who have abused and are guilty. Both have equal need for God's mercy, for both have done nothing but victimize others and lead souls astray.

The difference between SNAP and a priest brought to legal justice for legitimate crimes is this: SNAP is running unchecked and continuing to destroy souls, both that of others and their own.

Personally, I'd like to see justice across the board, and am realizing that since there is no justice in this world, it's going to happen for some in the next.

Let's all offer Divine Mercy prayers, sincerely, for all the souls that have done damage to the Church and to our unity FROM THE VERY BEGINNING!

Prayers for Reparation

Given this is the octave of the Feast of All Souls, and tomorrow is a First Friday, Saturday a First Saturday, let us remember especially those souls who have hurt the Church...and pray for their release from Purgatory. Let us do THEIR PENANCE. Let us obtain every indulgence for them.

This is a grace-filled month especially offered for the Holy Souls in Purgatory. In turn, I'm sure the Holy Souls will pray for our intentions, that being the conversion of souls here on earth, especially those actively involved in their futile attempts to destroy the Church, within which they are only destroying themselves. Pray for them.

Let us be done with snap judgments and instead, turn to prayer especially for those who are willing to convict and condemn before they are willing to pray and offer mercy.

That means I'm asking you to pray for me, as well. Thank you.

*

Forgiveness

This evening I had to run out to complete an errand, and when I returned, I saw evidence that my dog had gotten into something. No, it wasn't a big mess of any type, just a bit of evidence revealing that, in fact, she is a dog and sometimes finds her joy in things such as used kleenexes.

As I picked the evidence off the floor, she laid on the couch, ears up, wagging her tail as I stared at her disapprovingly. I said her name quietly, shaking my finger.

Her "tone" changed immediately from one of innocence to guilt as her tail wag decreased to wagging the tip only, she ducked her head, laid back her ears, and when I called her to me, she slithered off the couch, remaining low as she approached.

In proper fashion she "crawled" to me, turned around, sitting on my left foot, her tail tucked as tightly as she could manage. She looked upwards at me, still wagging the tip of her tail, her ears flat back against her head in her most "heartfelt" apology.

As I bent down closer to her, she took the opportunity to show her great love by giving me several enthusiastic "kisses".

Naturally, I laughed out loud as I showed her a bit of my own affection for her, immediately forgiving her. Who can withstand those puppy-dog eyes, that voracious affection and heartfelt apology?

Not I.

I'm a pushover.

What gets me, though, is that my dog's "apology" is exactly the same, no matter what her level of offense. She apologizes with the same degree of hopeful sorrow and submission, whether she's caused a disaster or whether she's done something as minor as tearing apart a used kleenex left sitting out on the coffee table.

I can't tell you how many times God has used my dog to get through to me.

And yet people wonder why Jesus compared an imploring woman to a dog in the gospels? Really?

They must not know dogs...or God!

There's a bigger message here, though.

If we are to be forgiven, we must first forgive others.

Maybe the only one we have to forgive is our dog, but in reality, we've all suffered at the hands of others, we all hold grudges, and we all nurse our wounds even as we beg for God's mercy for our own offenses.

What hypocrites we are.

Lately, this topic of forgiveness has come up over and over again, naturally getting my attention. Recently on the radio I heard a priest suggest that it is a good practice to ask God to reveal to us anyone we haven't forgiven. We aren't always aware of the grudges we are holding and perhaps don't intend to hold. In prayer, God will answer this powerful request and we can simply choose to forgive that person who has hurt us as soon as they come to mind.

There are cases where, of course, the damage goes so deep that we simply don't have the natural ability to let go. It is then that we can throw ourselves upon Our Lord and ask Him, in His Passion, to forgive that person for us, bringing us to do the same. We can do nothing without Him.

I've been working on this, not consciously aware of any particular person I haven't forgiven. Yet, since I began this prayer, a few people have come to my attention, some through random contact, others while I was in Adoration, and I've realized that I am harboring far more grudges than I ever realized.

And just "forgiving them" isn't so easy. I can't seem to let them all go, even though I don't WANT to feel any anger towards them, I don't WANT to remember their offense against me, and of course, I hope that they have also forgiven me my offenses against them, if in fact my own offenses applied.

It seems I can far more easily forgive a terrorist who killed thousands of people than I can a friend who offended me once.

That says a lot, doesn't it?

And I suspect I am not alone in this.

The other day I read a news article about a September 11 family suffering still because of the loss of their husband and father. They are still angry, eight years later. The article quoted them saying they COULDN'T move on, they couldn't let go.

As I read, it was obvious; they needed to find a way to forgive. Indeed they couldn't move on; to do so would necessitate forgiveness of their enemy.

I don't judge those people; I understand. If I were in their shoes, I'd have a hard time, too. I, too, wouldn't have room in my heart to forgive a terrorist who had taken my loved one.

Yet I CAN forgive that terrorist. It doesn't really mean a lot, though, does it? After all, the terrorist didn't kill MY family member, but THEIRS. Is he my enemy? Indeed. He hurt my country and I spent yesterday in tears at that loss of life. But there's still a disconnect. That terrorist is faceless to me in a way that he is entirely personified evil to the families directly affected.

It is really easy to forgive people who have injured us collectively, as opposed to personally.

That's the REAL test.

It's not about politics. It's not about generalities. The words of Jesus weren't asking us to forgive political agendas and the people representing them, but rather, He was asking us to dig deep and consider all those who have harmed us...ever. In any way. Maybe a sibling or a parent, a cousin, a friend. A rival in love or competetion of some sort.

Our problem with this gospel is that we legalize the definitions, applying them to our times. We "democratize" them, thinking that an "enemy" must be political, for this definition gets us off the hook.

No.

I have found that although I wouldn't define them as such for myself, the people I find it hardest to forgive are those who are or were friends. People who are in my life as loved ones, with whom I still have contact or some kind of fellowship.

They aren't "enemies" belonging to any kind of political agenda. Let's face it; I really don't care if some random German has decided to hate me because I'm American. Their hatred doesn't affect me unless that individual makes it personal, and even then, it wouldn't affect me much because, not knowing that person directly, I really wouldn't know if it was some kind of bot or just a maladjusted mental patient who had gone on random attack. (In current internet parlance, we call them "Anonymous Trolls". I might not even know of their hatred for me at all.

In any case, such an "enemy" would really be no more than a horsefly, if even that.

Jesus wasn't asking us to forgive horseflies.

His use of the term "enemy" was far more personal, far more intimate...and He meant what He said.

Our enemies are those we love, those with whom we associate, and who affect us every day. They are the people we meet on the internet and who disagree with our position. Maybe they ARE anonymous trolls who attack and run away, poor souls much like what's-his-name in Lord of the Rings, who really is more deserving of pity than hatred?

We have to forgive. That message is very very clear. We have to forgive those who injure us, who hate us, whether they are close to us or not. "Enemy" is a broad term, and it encompasses everything. No one is excluded from this.

If we desire God's mercy, then we need to be forgiving of others. That is His commandment. Love your enemies; it is no credit to any of us to love those who love us.

Even sinners do the same.

We can't excuse ourselves by saying that we are sinners.

Jesus came to save us; not to leave us to our excuses not to follow His directives for holiness.

One More Thing

We have to forgive ourselves, too.

This is perhaps the most difficult thing of all. We know when we have done wrong, we know when we have offended God. We Catholics know for certain when we have been forgiven, and we have to ACCEPT God's mercy.

We are our own enemies.

Again, recently I came across a quote from someone saying her priest had told her the following (paraphrased: "You can be certain that you are forgiven when you feel remorse for past sins."

So true. When we are tempted to beat ourselves up for stuff we did long ago, but already confessed and from which we have moved on, we must be certain to accept God's grace of forgiveness. Our ongoing contrition is indeed a sign that, truly, we are forgiven.

Remember that forgiveness and forgetfulness are two very different things. We may remember the pain, but we should do so without anger. We should remember only with objectivity, in that we are forgiven, and that we are to forgive others.

Myself, I struggle with ALL of this. I realize that I don't forgive when I should, I hold grudges, and...I have a really hard time forgiving myself for things I have long ago confessed.

All of this is an offense against the Holy Spirit. Yet God in His patience and love is ready to help us overcome our own inabilities, and simply awaits our cries. Can we recognize our unforgiveness? Or will we try to burst forward in our spiritual lives without being held accountable?

If we can't seem to move, perhaps it is because we need to forgive...others AND ourselves.

*

Silence in Humiliation

Every so often I get into an introspective mood, and, in reflecting upon different things, I find not just answers...but ever-deeper questions.

Of late, I've thought a lot about humiliations. We have all suffered them. Sometimes the humiliation seems worse from our own perspective, but outside observers in reality didn't even notice them. This phenomena reveals not so much the situation, but, through our sense of embarassment, our own Pride, especially when we attach more significance than do others.

But sometimes the humiliation is real, and in that moment, we have to decide how to react when we know any reaction is going to be a personal loss.

A particular incident came to mind today, one I'd prefer to forget, and of which I've never spoken to anyone in my life, nor do I intend to reveal the details here. There were many witnesses, there was an aggressor...and I remained silent, refusing to give in to the provokation.

Some of you may remember the bizarre scene from "Saving Private Ryan" where the Nazi soldier slowly pushed a knife into the heart of an American in the midst of war-blasted ruins, shushing him in an oddly comforting way, as though only giving a vaccination to a child. It was brutal, tangible evil juxtaposed against silence and shock, understanding and disbelief, cruelty and comfort, melding all into one.

That scene is eerily like mine; a "knife" being slowly inserted into my heart as I tried to maintain a flat affect, showing neither anger nor fear (although I do remember a bit of defiance which surely must have shown.) My aggressor and her friend were also weirdly silent, for their very actions were far more than words. I can still see the hard glitter in their eyes, the cruel curve of their eyebrows, the haughty twitch at the corners of their mouths as the torture was carried out. The noise in the hallway faded away if only in my imagination. I still remember meeting my enemy's eyes, and then she turned away with her shadow, disappearing back into the wall of faceless teenage humanity. I walked down the hallway to my next class, resolving not to cry, not to show any weakness.

It is in remembering these things, now with a perspective of faith, that I have come to see a greater lesson in that humiliation. It is from there that I can see Christ, and know the same silence in the face of persecution.

It is from there that I can understand forgiveness, for it wasn't I who was being killed; it was the one carrying out the aggression who had the greater loss of dignity. In seeing that, it's easier to forgive. It's easier to unite my sufferings to that of My Lord, for He experienced what I did, and far worse...for me. Carried out...by me.

It used to be that I was ashamed of my silence in that moment, but over time, through a less emotional persepctive, I learned to see that silence in the face of that personal injustice was far better than retaliation or even defense, which would have provoked my aggressor to even greater depths. Instead, I think she might have been unnerved.


Silence of The Lamb

Of late, I've been thinking a great deal about the silence of Christ in His Passion. I can envision his bloody countenance, mute in the face of King Herod's taunts. As one person recently observed, what does that say about the state of Herod that Christ refused to speak to him?

Wow.

And consider Peter, who denied Christ. In the movie, the Passion of the Christ, just after his last denial he looked up into the sorrowful, uncondemning visage of Jesus....and was convicted. It makes us realize that it is only when Our Lord looks upon us in mercy and silence that we can recognize our sin and our guilt. Only when we fail to squirm under that gaze of sacrifical love do we know we are truly condemned.

Silence can speak volumes, especially in humiliation. And that silence echoes until the lesson is learned and taken to heart.

God, grant me even greater humiliations, so that I will love You more deeply and convict myself more firmly. Amen.

*

The Eyes of a Child...The Eyes of an Offender

I’ll never forget his eyes, how they hid in his teen face, still childlike, terrified, questioning, and in complete agony. His hands were shaking as he spoke, seeming to transfer the fear to his very voice, which also shook. He was a nervous kid, from my observation, and found it difficult to relate to anyone.

That evening I was assigned as his “One to One”, a Staff person assigned to a patient who was in need of extra supervision. He was a fairly new patient so we were on a locked unit. At the time, we were in his room, with the door open according to policy. Also according to policy, I could not be outside of an arm’s length from him. The only time he could be alone was in the bathroom. At the end of this conversation, a male staff would be assigned to him as he’d no longer be able to go into even the bathroom by himself.

Troy* had accepted my presence with docility, and seemed to be a nice kid. He was soft-spoken, with a willowy stature that promised to eventually make him a tall man. At the time, he was maybe 15, maybe a little younger. His pimpled face betrayed his adolescence, while his eyes seemed both very old and very young all at once. Although I’d been working there for a couple years and knew most of our patients had experienced agonies the average person couldn’t even imagine, I’d never seen such pain before. It was almost hypnotizing.

As he was a new patient, and given his mild manners, I wondered how the other patients would accept him. Troy didn’t seem strong enough to stand up for himself. Guaranteed he’d be bullied, and if he wasn’t, he’d be one taken in by the bullies and “converted” to their ways. He seemed ready to conform to whatever the place had to throw at him, just as a form of passive survival. Troy was a wounded creature, and I was about to find out just how wounded.

I knew some; he had been abused and he must be an abuser because he was not allowed off the unit or near the children’s ward. He was a risk to himself and to others, although they weren’t sure in what ways, exactly, which is why I (and other staff on other shifts were assigned to him.)

Troy asked to speak to me in his room, and acknowledged the need to have the door open. He also knew that whatever he told me would be reported; this boy knew the system. I was on my guard, but he did seem sincere. He was near tears and the shaking in his hands became more pronounced. But I told him he could speak to me and I would listen.

He sat at the foot of his bed. I sat on the other, which was not assigned to any other patient. Consistent with the rules, I was in sight of the doorway and within an arm’s reach; the building was constructed with this in mind. I had a radio on my hip, out of his immediate reach, and the other staff on the unit knew we were there. Yet they could not hear what was said, so Troy could speak as though in confidence even though he knew I’d be making a record.

Troy told me, haltingly, that he’d been abused…sexually. Severely. He didn’t get graphic, but the shame was evident. He had told this story before and knew that we were aware of it, so he didn’t need to provide details. He even verified that I knew and seemed to take comfort that I did; for that way, he didn’t have to reveal the worst details. But that’s not why he wanted to talk. He seemed to want to lift a weight from his shoulders and reveal who he really was. He told me how awful the abuse was, how it made him feel, and how it made him want to die. But as he got older, he found himself with other kids, and he started doing the same things, compelled to do so. He hated himself for doing it, and even more, wanted to die. He knew he was making those kids feel like he had felt and STILL felt.

He had nightmares of jumping through windows, of hanging himself, slitting his wrists…everything. And he wanted to follow through. He wanted to die. He’d rather die than ever abuse another kid. He wanted his compulsion to end. And he would kill himself if he got the chance. Troy didn’t want sympathy; he wanted to be condemned and he wanted to die as quickly as possible and felt he deserved it. He said he knew he didn’t deserve to be abused and neither did his victims.

He was just a kid…and when his eyes met mine, they were direct; he meant what he said, every word.

Torn

I didn’t say a word as he spoke. I wasn’t surprised by what I heard, although I was moved. I knew I was sympathizing with a sex offender, but he was a sex offender who was still a child. He was both adult and child in the same person, and all I could see was his humanity.

He wasn’t a danger to anyone at the moment; he was on a locked unit and he was there for help, admittedly help he didn’t want for he thought his help could be found on the edge of a razor or in the barrel of a loaded gun.

I thanked Troy for speaking with me and telling me what he was thinking. I asked him if he realized what I had to do; he did. He would not be allowed to go to the bathroom alone, he would have someone within an arm’s length for as long as the powers that be decided. But he said he was glad he had spoken. Troy went with me willingly to the supervisor’s office to obtain the orders necessary to protect him.

To this day, when I learn of sex offenders, I am torn. On one hand, I think they are vile, they are evil, they should not be suffered to live. There are too many horrifying stories of lives destroyed and of brutal murders. And I worked with so many victims of those offenders; children…just children. Then, I remember Troy, his dark eyes anguished, both adult and child, and I realize that EVERY sex offender was once a child, and they and Troy share the same eyes.

I can’t divorce the humanity of the offenders from their offense. I don’t sympathize with their crimes, only their humanity. They were children once, too. They were abused, they were terrified, they were alone and they were destroyed. It was their destruction that created monsters they became. But within those monsters, there are still children that were so wounded they could never overcome the injuries.

And yet...others suffer because of them. Excruciatingly. Lives are destroyed.

Of those offenders that are not violent in the bloody sense, their actions are still violent given what they do the heart and soul of another. Some of them hate themselves, and still, there is no treatment.

I remain torn when it comes to the issue of sex offenders. People need to be protected from them, and thus, they must be isolated from the ability to offend again. Yet, they are human beings, wounded souls more in need of mercy than many of us. Not all of them are psychopaths, and we pray that their victims don’t follow in their footsteps.

I believe in justice….strongly. In fact, I tend to align more with prosecution than with defense, if given a choice. When I considered going to Law School, I considered that if I pursued Criminal Law, which was the area of the greatest interest for me, I wanted to be a Prosecutor. What stopped me? I’d have to spend time working in Defense. I did not want to defend criminals.

Yet my very life brought me into the position of defending those who have committed the most heinous of crimes…this very post is an example.

I also believe in Mercy; for I have been the recipient of Mercy, over and over again. I still don’t deserve it. I have also been a victim of crime. Yet…there is no Justice without Mercy.

We all need to find the balance. We all need to be rational, look at facts, weigh them carefully…and then we have to be careful not to remove humanity from those facts. All of our judgments in life impact others.

Maybe I’m wrong in this philosophy. But whenever I think of justice and mercy, I remember Troy and realize that it’s only by God’s grace that I never went by the same route.

God have mercy on us all.
*




* Troy was a real boy but this is not his real name. Incidentally I don’t think I ever had a patient by that name.

Daddy

I will never forget being picked up by my Daddy and held aloft, or swung around in circles as we played "airplane!". We still have photos of my Dad lying prone on the floor in front of the TV, propped up by his elbows, where he landed when he tired of playing "horsie" with his little girl, me, astride his back. I remained as I was, just a toddler, my thumb in my mouth, "boo bankie" in hand, a red fez on my head (don't ask), just hangin' out with Daddy.

I was a Daddy's Girl. So many of us were.

At the time, we had a very large yard, and I still recall when Dad got a riding lawn mower, a red Toro, which, he explained, meant "Bull" in Spanish. From that point on, I wanted to learn Spanish. Dad liked that idea.

(Incidentally, I also liked to hold out a blanket in front of the lawn mower and pretend I was a bull fighter. Dad thought it was funny but wouldn't indulge me...Mom condemned the practice and made me put the doll blankets away.)

Mom wasn't thrilled, but she allowed Dad to give me a ride on the lawn mower and to keep Dad company as we trundled back and forth and back and forth and back and forth across the lawn, cutting the grass. Every so often I'd have to dismount from the machine so I could pick up some sticks or rocks, and Dad always told me where to walk and where not to, just in case the mower kicked anything out from underneath. I was very careful to do what he said.

I was proud to be "helping" Daddy.

He was from Michigan, so whenever we went up to visit Gramma and Grampa in the UP (Upper Peninsula), he took me fishing off the pier in Lake Michigan. We didn't always catch fish, but that's not what our time was about, anyway.

But our lives weren't idyllic; Mom and Dad used to fight. A lot. And I remember when suddenly their loud, angry tones trumped my fear of the monster in the closet. I remember hearing my confused and sleepy brother's voice entering the fray; I sat up in bed to listen, wondering how he had the courage to even try to say a word. I heard his little voice in comparison to their loud ones, I remember him asking them to be quieter because he couldn't sleep.

I remember sudden silence, then a shouted demand for my brother to "GO BACK TO BED!"

Then I heard no more from him.

I don't know how long we lived like this, but I do remember the arguments usually ended with a slamming door, and it was always Dad who left and Mom who stayed.

I remember going to visit one of Dad's friends, a Shriner (Dad was a Shriner, too), and his friend was a clown. Really. My brother was disappointed but I was relieved when we arrived at his house and he was not wearing his costume. We hung out with the Shriner clown's children, who were a little older than us, and throughout the day we all realized what our Dads were doing; drinking a lot.

The kids we were visiting were visibly upset, and as the time for us to go home neared, they didn't think we should go, but they didn't know what to do. Their Mom was working, just as ours was that day. We didn't have anywhere to go; we didn't have anyone to call.

One of those children went to their Dad and quietly explained that they didn't think our Dad should drive; they got in trouble, for us.

As it was, we went home with Dad, and as he was so jovial, we soon forgot that he shouldn't be driving.

Dad ws driving funny, though, crossing the center line, going back and forth in his lane. We laughed, Dad laughed, and it was an all-around good time! And then we saw red lights in the rear window...a cop car! It was just like CHiPS!

The police officer asked Dad to get out of the car, and when he did, he asked us to get out and go sit in the squad car, in the front seat. He was very nice, and because my older brother chatted amiably with the officer, I followed him, too. He explained that they had to talk to Dad, and we had to wait, and then he would take us home.

My brother jumped into the squad car and was amazed by what he saw; we'd never been in a police car before. As soon as the officer who was driving us home got in, my brother was chattering away, asking questions, and the officer answered him and pointed out other very cool things. I just looked out the window, watching the red lights flashing around us and the shadows they caused.

I remembered my brother responding to the officer, "Oh, yeah, she talks," and he nudged me. I turned to regard the officer, who was looking at me at that point.

"Do you talk?" He asked.

I just regarded him silently, saying nothing. He waited patiently for me to respond, then continued chatting with my brother. He was very good with directions and showed him where we lived. Mom was waiting for us on the front lawn. She immediately ushered us into the house and would not tell us what was going on.

My brother was very excited about our ride in the squad car. I just wanted to know why Daddy didn't come home with us. Mom wouldn't say.

I learned years later, when I was old enough to understand, that Dad got a DUI that night, Mom refused to bail him out, and he spent the night in jail.

Ironically, years and years later, during college I volunteered as a Police Reserve officer, and one night on a ride along, I assisted in a DUI stop. It was my first one. We took the parent into custody, and removed the two children from from the back seat; a brother and a sister, about the same ages my brother and I had been at the time of Dad's DUI. I had to turn away and focus on the job I had to do. I knew I was looking into a reflection, one I'd hoped never to see.

I can't remember how old I was, but I remember one cold, rainy, dreary November day. Mom and Dad weren't getting along, and hadn't been for years. Mom grabbed something from Dad, went outside, slamming the door behind her. She didn't even have a coat on. I watched her slam a bottle against the maple tree in the front yard. She returned to the house, dripping, angry, yelling...and shortly after that, Dad left, with a suitcase in hand.

He never lived with us again. My parents were the first parents I knew who were divorced, and we had to define that word to our friends. None of them understood. Neither did we, really.

***

We moved to Minnesota after they foreclosed on the house, and for a couple years, I only occasionally got to see Dad. It was very hard. Then he moved to Minnesota, too, and we got to see him every other weekend or so. Dad always tried to plan something fun in order to make up for the time he otherwise didn't get to spend with us. But it all fell into a certain routine. Still, though, Dad was Dad, and I was still a Daddy's girl, even as I was growing up.

I had always loved horses, and this was one love Dad forever indulged, when he could. When I was 13, he paid for English Riding lessons for me. He could only afford every other week (actually, he couldn't, but he did it anyway), and this is a gift that benefits me to this very day. He was so excited for me, and always brought the camera. He loved to hear about the lessons, what I learned, and took a picture of me the day I learned to tack up a horse.

When I was 16, he indulged my fascination with horse racing, and we went to what was then called Canturbury Downs (now Canterbury Park). I had it down to a science, with my own list of leading sires, dams, jockeys, trainers, and owners. I picked the horses, Dad placed the bets. My brother was there, completely bored, but indulging me in this birthday gift.

Somewhere in all this, though, Dad's disease really took hold, and I couldn't deal with it anymore. So I found other things to do; the daddy I'd always known wasn't really there so I didn't see the point in going to visit him. All he was going to do was sit in his bathroom and drink while I watched movies or read in the sweltering apartment. I had better things to do.

Mom tried to get me to go up to Dad's more often, but I just didn't want to go; he wasn't the same person anymore, but I didn't know how to express what I felt. Mom, herself, was being overtaken by her bipolar, so it wasn't as though she was much of an authority figure for us, either.

The last time I saw my Dad was on the evening before and the day of my High School graduation. He had to head back to Michigan shortly after the ceremony. He was so proud! His little girl, graduating high school!

But I was so busy with my friends and all the guests, and trying to keep Mom intact that I barely had any time or the desire to really spend time with him. It was like we had, somewhere in there, become perfect strangers.

I went off to college, Dad continued to write and send newspaper clippings and cartoons he thought interesting. Once he sent an article from his local newspaper; he and some friends regularly met to brag about their children, and as my brother and I were doing well and especally as I was seeking to become a police officer, he was enjoying a certain status among his peers. The article was about these fathers and their friendship, but each one of them, when asked about themselves, pointed to their progeny.

I never admitted it, but I was flattered, and I was so happy to have the approval of my father in my law enforcement endeavors, because other than my brother and a random cousin here and there, NO ONE was supportive of me. Only Dad.

Always Dad. With all his imperfections, he never gave up on his little girl.

I spent a semester in Mexico, and before I left I called Dad to give him my address and the dates I'd be gone. He repeated the address and the dates back to me.

I got back to the United States on December 3rd, 1994. We were on our semester break, so I went to work because I had to make money to pay for my next semester, what financial aid did not cover.

My brother went to see Dad, who had moved to Michigan upon the death of our Grandfather about 7 years prior. He gave us daily reports; Dad was not doing well, he was very sick, and in the last stages of his disease. He didn't eat much, but he sure did drink a lot of Vodka.

He had to come home himself to be ready to go back to school early in January. On the morning of January 3, my brother woke me up. Dad was in the hospital. He was unconscious. He'd come downstairs, repeating, "St. Francis! St. Francis!" and collapsed. They took him to the hospital, where he remained.

We knew this was it. I went to work, waiting all day for that call. I had no other choice. I couldn't sit at home, so I worked, waiting, prepared for the news.

I arrived home around midnight as usual as I worked the evening shift. Mom heard me come in and got up to give me the news. Dad was gone.

My brother had gone back to school, so I called him. I couldn't even speak, but that was fine; that was par for the course. I was always the one who couldn't speak, just like when we were kids.

Two days later we were en route to Michigan for Dad's funeral, and it was the most horrible moment of my life, walking up to his casket, seeing Dad for the first time in almost four years, and the last time in this life.

I don't know how I survived the wake and the funeral, but one thing stood out to me, one thing to make me so proud I will never forget it.

There was a flower display there, near the casket, signed in scrawling handwriting. "To Mr. K---", signed by a little girl. We had learned the story; Dad was a collector of stamps, coins, and movies. He was also very sentimental, always had been. My friends had always loved my Dad, because he had the ability to make anyone feel welcome in his presence. That was such a gift.

Shortly after he'd moved to Michigan, one of his neighbors, people we knew, people he'd grown up knowing, took in a young woman and her little girl. They had been abandoned by the little girl's father. Dad, true to form, did everything he could to assist them, and each Monday, he sent a little gift over to the little girl, something from one of his collections. He usually delivered the gift personally, and she came to know him as "Mr. K---". This was always the highlight of his week.

My brother had made the last delivery for Dad, to that little girl, and on the note he wrote to her, he'd signed his name, "Mr. K---".

When I saw those flowers, I remembered how much of a Daddy's Girl I had been, how much I missed those moments, and clearly, he missed them, too.

My Dad had a heart of gold, and even as he suffered in the end stages of alcoholism, his humanity never left him; those traits that define who he was remained intact, and he did his best to reach out and try to make the world a better place, wherever he could. There is a young woman out there who will likely never forget my Father, and to this day, I am so dang proud of him, and I so regret never knowing about this until I stood next to him in death.

My Dad wasn't perfect; our relationship somehow came to a strange "end" even before he passed away, but he never stopped being Dad, and he never stopped being who he was. He never stopped working to bring light to someone else, working to make them feel even a little less abandoned.

In so many ways, I'm just like my Dad; I inherited his sentimentality, his sense of adventure, which, as he also had spina biffeda, he was never able to pursue himself. I inherited his generally easy-going temperment and I only HOPE that one day, I'll also be able to take on his selfless ability to reach out to others, even amidst the most dire suffering.

I was nearly born on Father's day...I believe in 1974 (I'd have to look it up) it fell on the 19th, and I was born the day after. Dad so hoped for the gift of my birth to fall on Father's day, and sometimes we did have joint celebrations. It's no surprise that I have been so linked to my Daddy in so many ways.

Father's Day, now, is often painful for me because it's so easy to remember the hard stuff, and not the things that matter most. I look with longing at Father's Day cards, listen to people talk about how they are honoring their Father, and well they should. I miss my Dad. I wish I could call him up, take him out to dinner, get his advice, and once again, be "Daddy's Little Girl". Those days are gone, but those memories...ah...the memories...I pray I will never lose them.

I loved my Dad, and I still do. And in spite of the mess that really is my life, I hope, that, if my Dad was still alive, he'd be as proud of me now, even after all of life's beatings and all of my mistakes, as he expressed that he was in the news article he'd sent to me so long ago.

For all of you who have your parents, who have your fathers, don't take them for granted. I am happy for you all; realize how lucky you are, realize the brevity of life, and take the time to honor him as he deserves to be honored. Your father probably isn't perfect, and you perhaps have your differences. But realize you won't have him forever; these are blessed moments. Learn what you can, come to appreciate the person he is, and take what is good and LIVE IT.



I miss you, Dad. Rest in peace.


Love,

Your little girl.
Siempre

I Came Home to Divine Mercy

Divine Mercy is part of my conversion story - a part that wasn't told in that series of posts.

When I was living in the darkness of my sin, working nights, and basically, embracing the total darkness that was my life, a co-worker gave me some books to read while at my post at night: The Left Behind series.

I was seeking God at the time, sensing my separation, sensing his call, but I was at a loss as to what to do. I remember thinking that maybe I should find a priest, make an appointment, and pose my questions to him. But who? What church? Weren't priests too busy to deal with the likes of me? And if I DID find a priest, I was quite certain he would tell me I needed to go to Confession, and I didn't want to and would be at a loss to explain why. I feared being pressured into something I didn't want to do, so I ran from the idea.

And because I had nowhere to go, I went nowhere...or so I thought.

One Christmas, Mom had given my brother and I a CD with the Divine Mercy prayer on it, along with a pamphlet explaining the devotion and how to pray the chaplet. I remember finding the CD and the pamphlet, and I read it over suspiciously, thinking it was too easy. It also said I had to go to Confession...so at first, I tossed it aside. Something told me not to throw it away, though, so I added it to my collection of eclectic things that didn't otherwise have a place in my home and my life.

But as I was reading the "Left Behind" books, I found that I was offended by the outright anti-Catholicism expressed within the pages, including the idea that the Pope became the right-hand man of the Antichrist. I couldn't explain why I was so offended, but it was like someone was attacking my Mother. Attack me all you want...but do NOT mess with my Mother!

I was conflicted, but somehow, these books drew me into an understanding that I had been rejecting God, and I had to make my peace with Him...and that move was mine. I didn't believe in the Rapture, but it did come to me that if God wanted to wipe me off the face of the earth, he would do it. If he wanted to cause the earth to erupt into earthquakes and raining fire, he could do it.

And always, I had the presence of the crucifix on the wall of my livingroom - because it wasn't home without that. Thank you, Mom.

So through all this introspection, I went back to Divine Mercy, not really believing the promises to St. Faustina, but I really wanted to. I needed to believe, and I needed mercy.

But I could not leave the life I was living behind me. I could not, in good conscience, come to Jesus begging for his mercy without a true desire to change. Somehow I understood this, so I put the pamphlet down again.

Then finally, I picked it up, and I found a rosary buried in a box somewhere, and I prayed the Chaplet of Divine Mercy. I apologized to Jesus that I could not go to Confession, but I begged for Mercy just the same.

I think I might have prayed it a few other times, and then put it away again.

I credit Divine Mercy for bringing me home, for it was shortly after these prayers that my struggle to return to Confession began in earnest. I began going to Mass somewhat regularly, almost always receiving communion, but still feeling like an outsider. I always sat in the back of the church, not wanting to approach the Holy of Holies, as though Jesus didn't know I was there!

And he drew me on, even as I ran away...His Mercy continued to endure. I so desired mercy, but I was terrified to approach. I could not trust. My life had beaten all forms of trust out of me, such that I could not even trust God.

Jesus never gave up on me, and he doused me with those rays of Mercy until finally, finally, I came home. In my conversion story I explained some of that experience, the agony and ecstasy of it, but I don't think mere words can possibly convey the reality of this incredible experience of Divine Mercy.

When I bought my townhome, I had bare walls, so I requested art for Christmas and birthday gifts. Specifically religious art. I can't remember if I requested Divine Mercy specifically or whether the Lord put it on her heart, but my Mom gave me a Divine Mercy image which I had blessed on Divine Mercy Sunday a couple years ago. It now hangs on my livingroom wall next to a very realistic crucified Jesus, and I find that I cannot venerate one without the other, for they are one in the same.

I have another picture that combines the Sacred Heart of Jesus (another image I grew up with) and the rays of Divine Mercy. No one can enter my home without seeing these things.

Thanks be to God, the Divine Mercy of Jesus brought me home and to this day envelopes me in all my sinfulness, all my imperfections, and brings me to him with all his Divine Love.

If you are struggling with your faith, if you have been away for a long time, just pray this chaplet...you have nothing to lose and everything to gain.

For those interested, my Conversion story can be found here. Warning: many links!

Transformation from God's Love

Already, my newfound education is bearing fruit in the form of inspiration.

Yesterday, as I sat in class, I began to realize the formation component of our education; we cannot truly learn about God without entering into the mystery of who He is and allowing Him to penetrate our souls. So, in order to discuss God and his will for us, we first have to understand his love for us. His all-encompassing love.

Here's a nugget from our class notes (a bound volume):

"In the end, then, all questions really boil down to: 'Won't somebody love me?' 'Isn't there a God with real, effective, powerful love?' 'Who can fulfill all the aspiration I find in my heart?' 'Am I loveable, despite so much evil within?' 'Who will rescue me and purify my conscience?'"

(Thank you, Professor Bushman)

Now, remember, this degree is for an MA in Pastoral Theology, thus what we are learning applies pastorally; what we learn we apply to ourselves, certainly, but we also must remember to take these lessons and apply them to others. Where can we help answer these questions? In what ways can we assist others in understanding the love of God? How do we recognize when these questions are being asked?

Sometimes we have to seek those answers within ourselves and our own experiences before we can understand how to take this lesson into the rest of the world.

So as this lesson was being taught, I was suddenly overwhelmed with the immensity of God's love for us. I was suddenly recognizing the fact that ALL of us are called forth from conception to do something special for God. He does not create in haste or upon a whim; God has a specific purpose for each and every human being. I am no exception.

Funny how that suddenly hit me; sure, I've recogized this before, but when speaking or writing of it, I tend to think of the unborn who have been slaughtered, people around me, etc. Yeah, I considered myself, too, but in reality, I haven't given it as much thought as I could have; more of a cursory, "What is God asking of me?" Amazing the passive ignorance of a woman in discernment.

Maybe the question I should have begun with was the very question we addressed in class, that fundamental question for everyone; "Am I loveable? Does God love ME? And what does that MEAN?"

I realized last night how personal God's love really is for all of us, and that it was not an accident or my own ambition that brought me to that classroom. If nothing else, I was suddenly floored by the fact that I was sitting in a Grad level theology class.

Only a few years ago, as recent as 2003, I was barely Catholic. I was struggling with the basic questions of existence and seeking God. I was not regularly attending Mass, and I did not understand the Real Presence.

When I DID go to Mass, I entered and sat near the rear of the church, feeling like I didn't belong, although I desperately wanted to. I was terrified that all the other Catholics there would look at me, recognize me as the fraud I thought I was, and banish me. I was terrified that if I sat too close to the front of the Sanctuary, that I would burn up on the spot.

I was Eve, hiding in the garden. But God knew where I was the entire time, and it was only because He called me that I was there at all.

But God is patient, and he will not infringe upon our free will; he offers himself willingly to our abuse, knowing that we don't understand, we are afflicted, and that it is his love that both created us and will save us.

So I shyly came to Mass, avoided contact with anyone I considered to be "holy", which was pretty much everyone, especially the priests. Seriously, I was terrified to be seen by the priests because I had a sense that they would see how much I suffered and I would have to reveal how tortured I was. Yet I knew that's where I needed to go, to receive the Sacrament of Penance. What I most needed I avoided because, at my very core, I think I believed that I was not worthy to be forgiven. I was terrified that if one of the priests found out how I felt (how they would know this, I have no idea!), they would lead me to where I was not ready to go.

And so my most common prayer was straight to the heart of God's love: Don't give up on me. I love you, I'm trying, but I can't do this yet. Don't give up on me, don't ever give up on me! I cried so many tears in supplication to our Lord, begging that He never give up on me!

My prayer was really the question addressed in class yesterday; "Am I worthy of love in all my sinfulness? Am I loveable?"

And I was so afraid that the answer was "No" that I fled from the foot of the cross that had ransomed me.

Finally, I did go to Confession again and slowly, tentatively, found my way towards the front of the Sanctuary at Mass. I began to become involved, marginally, in the life of the Church.

Yet something was missing; I wasn't really "there" yet. I had not been fully healed and repeatedly I went to Confession with old sins as well as new, seeking that love of God, seeking to know if I was worthy of His love. Because in all that, I now recognize my core question; Do you REALLY love me?

One Friday I came home from work, but was so restless I knew I needed to go to the only one who could answer me; Jesus. So I went to the church, and waited in the Sanctuary for Mass to end. At our parish, Daily Mass is in the chapel, which adjoins the cavernous Sanctuary. So while I waited, I had this huge room to myself and sat contemplating the enormous crucifix which graces the altar.

God filled that room. I looked at the candle burning over the tabernacle, recognizing the presence of Christ, yet I was completely ENVELOPED by the love of God. His presence could not be denied.

And suddenly, loudly, His voice spoke from within;

"I am NOT ashamed of you!"

I jumped, and looked around. No one was there, but God's presence was so strong, I understood instantly that the statement had originated from him.

He said it again, more quietly this time:

"I am NOT ASHAMED of you!"

This was followed by yet a more gentle question,

"Why are you ashamed of YOURSELF?"

I began to weep, unable to stop the tears. Until that moment, I did not realize that I honestly believed that God was ashamed of me. And this belief had made me so ashamed of myself that I had not been able to accept that I was forgiven or worthy of his love. Or anyone's love.

It was a moment of clarity, a moment in which I suddenly recognized that God's love overcomes EVERYTHING, especially our own shame. I had been to Confession; it was time to let it go. I was a new creation, but until God spoke to me and, in His love, helped me to recognize that I had not let go of the past, I could not move on.

It was a pivotal moment, one I will never forget.

Last night, as I sat in class, it was not so much this moment I remembered, but the understanding of where I was, both spiritually and intellectually only a few years ago.

And then it hit me that I was sitting in a Grad-level theology course, truly contemplating seeking a degree in Pastoral Theology.

And the big question in my mind was, "HOW ON EARTH DID I GET HERE!?"

The answer is simple; I was there out of God's love. God has loved me so much that He waited patiently for me to come home, he welcomed me when I returned, and since my return, he has not given up on me. Rather, he has invited me into a relationship so personal that it pushes me to know more about him and to teach others about Him.

God does this for each and every one of us. God loves us so much that he transforms us to the degree that years after that pivotal moment, we realize that we have been whapped so hard by a Holy 2 x 4 and we didn't even feel it!

God's love is transforming; He enters into our souls and changes us from the inside out. We find ourselves in places we never even considered, and there He reveals Himself even further.

This transformation is lifelong, and the surprises never end.

As we approach Lent, I invite you to ask yourself the questions posed to us, and invite yourself to accept God's love for you. Enter into it; understand it, and let His love transform you.

The Mercy and Grace of Jesus Christ

I am constantly amazed by Jesus' abundant and overwhelming mercy. Tonight I had to go to Confession, and as usual, when I HAVE to go, I get butterflies in the pit of my stomach. I couldn't eat my dinner, and I couldn't focus. As I let my dogs out before I left, I considered not going, really dreading the event. Initially not intending to go to Mass, I fled my house, having to cut through the spiritual oppression.

The song on the radio as I left my house was all about God's mercy. I embraced that, knowing that this was what I was seeking; mercy.

I arrived at Mass and gratefully listened to that part of the Gospel I had not missed, and knelt in wonder during the Eucharistic prayers, tortured at not being able to recieve Jesus. Yet I realized it was part of my penance; to bow in humility and refrain from that which I love most, that is complete unity with our Lord. And yet the message I heard over and over was "Mercy". Throughout the Mass, a litany of Mercy.

So after Mass I got into line, barely even able to pray, berating myself for getting worked up. But I am always fearful; how much is he going to ask me to clarify (he never does, apparently I'm specific enough and brief enough), and that little irrational thought that he's going to yell at me still creeps in. I was beginning to shake and begged the Lord to help me, once again, to come to him with my sins and heal me of the damage they had caused myself and others.

Finally it was my turn and I walked in, knelt down, and made my confession, quickly and briefly.

Silently I bowed my head, waiting....

Father gave me some advice about walking in holiness, remaining on that path, and asked me to recognize the gift of Faith for what it is...a Divine Gift, and to TRUST in that gift. Then he gave me my penance.

I am constantly shocked at the penances I have been given, for they never seem to equate to the sins I have just confessed; and it is here that we see the Mercy of Jesus. It is here that we see the true heart of Jesus, for we are kneeling before him, our hands in his, our heads bowed, and he wipes our tears. Jesus does not wish to punish or condemn; no, he wishes to forgive, to heal our wounds, and to encourage us to continue trying. He is love, he is justice, he is mercy, he is peace.

And each and every time I leave that confessional, I realize that I've gotten another glimpse at the Lord; have taken another step to understanding the depths of his mercy. And even if I have been able to hold back the tears long enough to make my Confession, when it is complete and I am back kneeling before the Lord in the Blessed Sacrament, the tears come, complete with joy and thanksgiving.

And this is what brings me back, over and over again, because it is awareness of my sin and willingness to acknowledge it that brings me first to Confession. And it is that big step that brings us all into the fold of the Lord's grace. He does not turn the penitents away, but rather dries our tears and admonishes us only to "Go, and sin no more." It is this that gives us the strength to continue on, striving to walk in holiness, striving to overcome those things that seperate us from the love of God.

It is not God that puts up the barriers, it is us. He always awaits, arms open, but we must be the ones to come to Him.

I don't love going to Confession for it's not fun to stand in line, in a public acknowledgment that I have done something wrong, maybe even gravely wrong. (Although the seal will never be broken and none of us will ever know the Confession of another). And it's not fun to have sweaty hands holding tangled rosary beads, to realize that we are committing the same sins over and over again. But none of that matters, for we aren't there to be comfortable; we are there because we love God and we strive to become closer to Him, to become more like Him. If we are to become more like Jesus, we must first recognize those ways in which we are NOT like him, and seek to change. None of us can do this alone; it requires grace, it requires effort, and it requires wise counsel.

And because we know we have done wrong and we feel badly about it, we can't fix it ourselves, and we know we need to go to our beloved and ask for forgiveness.

There is nothing better than hearing the gentle sound of the priest speaking with the authority of Jesus Christ himself, imparting the blessing of forgiveness, telling us to "Go in peace, your sins are forgiven."

Thank you, Jesus, I love you Jesus, Thank you, Jesus.