A Soul is like a Car Wreck

Sometimes God gives us a glimpse of His Mercy in unexpected ways.

About a year or so ago, when I worked as an Insurance Investigator, I was handling a claim that was very fishy. It was a stolen vehicle claim, the car was really a mess, and was at the shop, waiting for us to complete our investigation. However, I knew the customer was lying and that the car WASN'T stolen. It had a security system that had not been defeated, and his story as to how a thief had allegedly gotten his keys simply didn't ring true. The location of the car made no sense...unless the owner himself had been driving it at the time of the accident.

When I took his statement, I even confronted him and asked him directly, "Are you sure that you weren't just drunk, crashed your car, and fled the scene?"

He denied it. And yet...I knew he was lying. So the investigation dragged on as I continued to interview his witnesses, obtain reports, etc.

Finally it came down to the wire. If he didn't come clean with me, I was going to have to take the claim to a conference call with the big heads and legal, and obtain permission to deny the claim: the car wasn't stolen. It was time to have what we in the biz call the "Come to Jesus" speech.

"Come to Jesus"

It was a long conversation. And over the years, in fact, I'd gotten rather good at these types of dialogues. There are two keys to this: 1. you first have to convince the other party that you do indeed know the truth but need confirmation of it, and, 2. that you do truly have their best interests at heart. That means you have to highlight the bad result and direct them towards the good. In other words, "Come to Jesus."

I'd already given him several chances to tell the truth. I'd given him all the consequences and the possible outcomes, I'd even thrown several bones by way of helping him tell me the truth, indicating that was all I needed. I wasn't the police; I was his insurer, and I needed to know the truth because I wasn't willing to testify in court to a lie should a victim come forward and have a claim to present.

Nor should this guy want to be in court with this story...he'd be torn to pieces.

So, on that last opportunity, I laid it out. I explained that I knew he wasn't being truthful, I suspected the reason why, but if he didn't admit what really happened, the people over my head were going to make a decision that didn't bode well for him. I laid out all the legal ramifications of our denial of his claim, should that be the decision. I gave him dollar values, and knowing there was third party damage, I gave him a quote on that bill, which was destined to come his way.

It was a good conversation; I was matter-of-fact about it, encouraged him to be honest, and did my best to let him know that it was in his very best interest to come clean and tell the truth. I knew that if he did, I could proceed, all would be well, and this entire mess would be done. He was becoming more and more nervous, and more and more interested in our dialogue. He asked questions, hemmed and hawed, and I could hear him take several deep breaths, trying to calm his shaking voice. I knew that SOMETHING I'd said had struck a chord, and he was FINALLY understanding what he was facing.

And then I used a technique I learned long ago in law enforcement training: silence. He agonized in it, and came to a decision. I asked if he needed a moment, said that I could take another statement, but if he had to think about it, I understood, as I'd just thrown a lot of information his way. I also said that I would remain available for questions or other concerns.

More silence. Silence is key.

But no; he didn't want to wait, had no more questions, and didn't want to call back. he was ready. He took another deep breath and told me to start the tape, which I did, giving the standard introduction, and just asked him to tell me what happened in his own words. He admitted that he'd been drinking, he didn't call a cab, he didn't lose his keys, but chose to drive. En route home he lost control and crashed, hard, into something he couldn't identify. (It was a cement median pole...dunno how he hit THAT, but he did. Really hard.) Frightened, he ran away and called his friend (a witness who had given me the key to the real deal) who gave him a ride home. I had only a couple question; did he have any passengers? No. And was he injured? No. (Amazing, actually...you should have seen that car...massive impact.)

I thanked him, turned off the recorder, and said, "OK, that's it. I'll call the shop and tell them to start repairs, cut the check out for the estimate I've written so far, and will call the rental company to accept the bill."

He was shocked. One moment he'd been terrified to tell me the real story, the next moment I simply accepted the truth...and went ahead with what he needed.

"That's it?" He asked, increduously, "That's all? .....THANK YOU!"

And I'd never heard such relief or joy in someone's voice.

What he did was what we both needed him to do, and for good reason. All along I'd known, and knew what to do when he finally came clean...and what would happen if he didn't. But he didn't know, couldn't see it, and was acting out of fear in hiding his sin.

A Glimpse of God's View

That night when I was driving home, it hit me: that's how God sees us. That was an example of His own mercy. When we sin, we do the same thing - we try to hide it. We suffer guilt, we tell ourselves that things will be made worse if we are honest and speak the truth. We expect to be berated, or punished. We steel ourselves against an onslaught of righteous anger.

None of us ever gets over the idea that we're going to "get into trouble". We are forever fallen children.

And that's why God's Mercy is so incredible; for even though we DESERVE the worst punishment, when we come to Him, we experience nothing but love and mercy. All God wants us to do is to come to Him, to be honest, and to stop trying to hide the things in our lives that He already knows about. It is only when we take this action that He can work to restore us to our original dignity. Our souls cannot be repaired without our permission.

I knew the sound of relief in my customer's voice on that day; for his relief, and his words, are often my own. His nervous, shaking voice...also mine. His ducking and denials of what I knew to be the truth...me, all the way. And in the end, his relief, at finally speaking the words of what really happened...that is familar as well. It was followed by grateful joy when he learned that truly, I delivered what I promised all along, and it was over. He could move on. Yup...I've been there, too.

He even exclaimed at how good it felt to tell the truth.

All I did for that man was my job, but I see that even the work that I did operated on the hierarchy of God's Providence, revealing to both my customer and I different facets of God's love, and His ordering of the world. On that day, I got to participate in both God's justice and His Mercy...and my customer was the recipient. And in that participation, I obtained a glimpse into the "other side" of Mercy: that of dispensing mercy; for to do so IS just!

I have to be honest; that customer helped me to see Our Lord, and the blessed Sacrament of Confession through new eyes. One thing that I think we as the laity often miss is that on the other side of the screen, or in the other chair, the guy with God's Authority is also a human being. Maybe Father doesn't know all the details about someone that I knew as an Investigator, or perhaps he does, if he knows the person well. And how he must pray mightily that a soul will "come to Jesus" and obtain the grace he needs.

But how well he must know the interior struggle of that person, and how well he must rejoice when the penitent sitting in front of him (0r behind the screen) exclaims, "That's IT?!", nearly weeping in relief. And that dear Priest, dispensing Mercy in the name and person of Christ Himself, knows the feeling, too.

I gotta say it; we're all a bunch of car wrecks waiting for repair, but if we can't admit where and why we made a wrong turn, there isn't a shop in the world that can restore us. Only Christ can do that, and we have but to ask. Mercy awaits.

What are YOU waiting for?
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Prayer, Love, and the Cross

Have you ever noticed how those three terms are so inextricably linked that to remove one is akin to the destruction of the soul?

Prayer

In the Liturgy of the Hours, there is a letter from St. Augustine about prayer. He speaks of the need for prayer, even though our Lord and God already knows our needs, and simply wants us to "exercise our desires through our prayers, so that we may be able to receive what he is preparing to give us." He admonishes us to remember the words of St. Paul to "Pray without ceasing".

Prayer is a conversation with God, a dialogue, if you will, involving alternate periods of activity and silence. Or perhaps it consists of simple wordless companionship; for even those who cannot speak become friends in the depths of comfortable silence. Prayer is this, and more; it is a language that cannot be written, but is fueled by Love.

But what is Love?

Today we also celebrate the Feast of St. Paul of the Cross who gives us a definition that gives us true perspective:

"Love is a unifying virtue which takes upon itself the torments of its beloved lord. It is a fire reaching through to the inmost soul. It transform the lover into the one loved. More deeply, love intermigles grief..."

Is that not profound? He is clear; we cannot separate Love from the Cross. I know people who flee the image of Our Suffering Lord, and they flee suffering in their own lives, for it is as if they fear to face the cost of the love that frees them.

I can't say that I'm any different from any of them.

We all fear suffering; just yesterday, I was wondering if what I truly fear is love? Or could it be that I know that to give myself over to Love means that I will enter into the depths of suffering? Why is it that we cannot see that by embracing suffering we really are entring into the depths of Love?

The Cross

St. Paul of the Cross reveals to seeking souls the beauty in that suffering, the love waiting to embrace us. And I can't deny that when I look upon the Cross, I don't see something to flee; I see someone that draws me to Mercy, not just as a virtue but Mercy personified. I find myself wanting to catch every drop of that Precious Blood, to bind those terrible wounds, to weep upon the feet of the Savior who is raised up before me and draws me to Him. I know that I have been drenched in His Blood out of my own vile, willful actions, and all of that He gave me freely, without anger, without hesitation.

Because He found me worthy of redemption. He thought I was worth it. Even though it was my sins that placed him on the Cross, He called me out of eternity so that I could be forever in His Divine Embrace.

This recognition of Profound Love is life-changing: I want to reach out to Him and remove those awful thorns from his head, one by one if necessary, and even as I imagine such an act, I see, paradoxically, that were it not for those thorns I would not be in a position to desire mercy from Mercy Himself, nor would I have the opportunity to be pierced by those very same thorns and united to Him through our intermingled blood. It is His Mercy that draws us to Him, and through Love, prompts not just repentance, but mercy towards Our Lord! We cannot help but seek to console Him in His Passion, and in so doing, we cannot help but be drawn into the depths of His suffering.

It is only there that we can truly know Christ; and it is only through Him that we can truly know ourselves. And it is the gentle dialogue of prayer that binds us in a loving friendship that far exceeds any suffering that can ever fall upon our shoulders. Prayer is the first step; prayer leads us to Love, the Cross reveals that Love, and it is prayer that enables us to express through a myriad of ways, the Love we offer in return.

I'm not a theologian, so I can't advance this idea without some sort of fear, but it seems to me that Love, Prayer, and the Cross are both actions of and reflections of the Trinity. Or are they simply echoes of the Trinity that goes outward and then draws us back, in a current we cannot resist if we recognize where our Shores truly lie?

Recently I wrote a post about the images that have corrupted me, and I both entered into and willingly pursued that corruption. I lamented the images that I can't unsee, for they have changed me forever.

But there is something even MORE compelling than those vile, satanic memories that have been tattooed into my moral fibres; and that is the visage of the Suffering Servant, nailed to the Cross, bleeding out of His personal sacrifice. I can't know Jesus and what He did without His Blood being personal. Now that I can look upon the bloodiest of crucifixes and see the depths of Divine Love, I can't unsee what I've seen...and it has changed me forever.

I am still corrupted, and I give myself willingly to the corruption of sin, for I cannot seem to break those bonds and flee their very shadow. Yet I know that even as I bear the Blood of Our Savior upon my very hands, there is Hope, for my Love has been Crucified in my place, and THAT is a Love that breaks chains if I could only speak out to condemn them.

But Christ compels me not only to praise His very name, but to enter into deepest dialogue with Him, to return the Love that He has so willingly given me, and ultimately, to embrace the Cross of suffering so that I will know Him and Love Him for eternity.



Would that I could even come close to living up to my own words.

I Need a Latin Lesson

When I was recently reading Fr. Z.'s post about "sister" Joan Chittister's misunderstanding and misrepresentation of Catholic beliefs and the Motu Propio, I came across the following phrase, repeated by the priest while upon the altar:

Domine, non sum dignus

I know that it means, "Lord, I am not worthy!"


For reference, here is what Fr. Z. stated in his post:

Ehem…. one of those things the lone male priest is saying silently up there at the altar Sister can’t approach is "Domine, non sum dignus… Domine, non sum dignus… Domine, non sum dignus…" before anyone else says it."

Please understand that I have not had the opportunity to study Latin, although I love the language. My experience is in Spanish as my second language (I used to be quite proficient, nearly fluent), and due to my study, I am actually able to discern the meanings of many words in the Latin-based languages.

Additionally, this post is *not* about our worthiness or lack thereof to receive, nor is it about where this is in the Bible; this post is about pure linguists and the theology behind the usage of the Latin and specifical theological context with regard to the chosen words.

So, here is my question:

The word "dignus" is clearly the source for the word in English, "dignity". Theologically, "worth" and "dignity" are very much linked, but in English, they have very different connotations, and I am seeing, in spite of the differing connotations, they are absolutely related. But then that lends to a theological conundrum for me.

I agree that none of us is "worthy" to recieve Jesus, none of us is worthy to be saved by Him, none of us is worthy of the graces, the love, and the very gift of life given to us by God. We have inherent dignity, but we are not worthy of that dignity given so freely to us.

So, I completely understand why the priest is praying, " Domine, non sum dignus, Lord, I am not worthy". Over and over.

But if I translate it, "Lord, I do not have the dignity", that changes the meaning, at least, in English.

We know that as human beings, we have inherent dignity, and perhaps I have just understood the term "dignity" as being at a lower value than "worth". When I see the word "worthy", that denotes a quantatative value. The word "dignity", however, is a dignity given to us which is equal across the board. There is not quantitative value to the term. I believe that when God became man, He elevated our dignity, for, as it states in the Vatican II document Gaudium et Spes, 22, "He worked with human hands, he loved with a human heart..." etc. Jesus elevated our existing dignity ever further by becoming one of us...but this is not the same thing as elevating our WORTH.

Because even within our dignity as human beings, and thus our "worth", we cannot possibly be "worthy" ENOUGH for what God has condescended to give us so lovingly.

I simply do not see the equality in the terms "worth" and "dignity", although I do see their relationship to each other.

Can someone please explain to me why "dignus" is translated as "wothy" and not "dignity" as it appears it should be?

What am I missing theologically and linguistically? (Um, a lot, but let's just start here....)

It really seems to me that the use of Latin in the liturgy requires not just an understanding of the bare translations (for those so inclined) but of the theological value of the words chosen and the meanings behind those words, such as "dignus". It seems they cannot be taken on simple face value, but must be understood historically and within a certain linguistic and theological context. This perception actually deepens the respect I have for the Old Form of the Mass (Tridentine), although I have never attended it. I have attended a Latin Novus Ordo, and loved it, my only desire being that I wish I was actually well versed in Latin.

So....can anyone explain this translation of "dignus" to "worthy" and give me a Latin lesson 101 as it pertains to this particular wording?