A Contemplative Study: Part 5

Part 5 is from section one of Searching for and Maintaining Peace, by Fr. Jacques Philippe.

In part five, “The Reasons Why We Lose Our Peace are Always Bad Reasons,” Fr. Philippe reminds me that the peace of Christ and the peace offered by the world are different things altogether. Specifically, he writes that even when things are going well for us in life, or our days go by smoothly, these are not automatic indicators of the peace of Christ in our hearts. My hunch is that this is because the world offers a kind of peace that doesn’t involve the cross, whereas Christ’s peace necessarily involves the cross because it is victory over the cross that produces the peace we understand to be His.

Fr. Philippe suggests that the peace of Christ is found by the man who has many an arrow in his quiver (13). These “arrows” are the “solid convictions, based on faith, that nourish one’s intelligence and fortify one’s heart in times of trial” (13). These convictions are the consolations of Christ. Thus, “if we seek peace as the world gives it [as opposed to Christ’s], if we expect peace in accordance with the reasoning of the world…then it is certain we will never know peace” (14). Instead, we must be firmly convicted of Christ’s Truth, and believe Him when he promises His Peace to us.

And here is where I praise God for His great mercy and love. Glory be to Him, the Almighty!

You see, in the midst of my most intense grief, my heart felt so abandoned by the Lord, but intellectually, I knew He would not leave me. I still struggle with this paradox, and sometimes, the conflict between my head and my heart is irreconcilable for a time. But it is for this paradox that I find myself thankful today. I am thankful for it because it is so painful that it forces my heart to struggle until it comes into unity with my mind.

The Lord has not, will not, never did abandon me. All while I struggled with this conflict, He remained faithful, and He brought me His peace of conviction. Every time my heart doubts His Love for me, my mind reprimands my heart, reminding me that what it feels is not True. The Lord granted that my mind should always remind my heart that what I have always known about God’s love and mercy is the Truth. And so, verily, God’s peace comes through the Cross in these moments of struggle.

***

Lord, your ways are profound; thank you for allowing me this insight, that which further convicts me of the Truth of your Word. Thank you for inspiring my heart to love you, even in struggle. Thank you for the firm foundation I have in this faith, a foundation which grounds me, even in the most severe moments of doubt. Thank you for your consolation.

Lord, I accept all things, good or bad, bitter or sweet, joys or sorrows; and for all these things I thank you, from the bottom of my heart.

Preparation

In the spirit of Advent, coming quickly upon us, I find myself thinking today about the way the Lord prepares us for things in His Holy Omniscience. Because of the fall, our hearts are closed to this preparation much of the time, but one's lack of faithfulness does not cause that lack in the Lord. For, though we be of little faith, He is ever faithful.

Growing up, I very seriously studied ballet for 13 years--half of my life at my present age. I went to classes, workshops, boarding school--the whole shabang. In all those years, my mental toughness was constantly tested, constantly needing fortification. Why, you ask? Because that stereotype about crazy ballet teachers is not unfounded. Many are crazy. Most are a little bit mean. Some are ruthless. But for the love of the art, ballerinas learn to deal with it. They do some crazy things to themselves, and stretch themselves--physically and mentally--beyond capacity. And they learn to tell themselves something:

"At least Ms. Ballet Teacher cares."

The thinking behind this is that if Ms. Ballet Teacher didn't care about you, and didn't care that you were getting better and better in your technique or artistry, she wouldn't bother to criticize you or give you correction, albeit humiliating and cruel in many cases. This mentality helps the ballerina cope with the suffering of public criticism because it is seen as a form of love. And indeed, it was. Some might call it "tough love."

We Catholics know what this is about. And we find value in it, just as ballerinas do. The value, we know, is that, having endured such criticism, and used it to become closer to Him, our performance will be pleasing in the sight of God. Having borne the cross in faith, the Lord makes available His eternal reward.

I can't help comparing God's love of me to that of those crazy ballet teachers. Now, no metaphor is perfect, and I'm not saying God is crazy or mean like a ballet teacher. What I'm saying is that at least God cares enough about my salvation to allow an affliction so painful, and then by His Grace, to guide me through it. Perhaps in those many years of fortifying my mental toughness, He was preparing me to face this crisis.

Is not advent a time of preparation? Does it not involve some pain? The pain that is purification? Is it not a time of measured penance? Is it not the time of tough-love before the reward? Isn't this the place from which we get the lyrics of O Holy Night*?
Long lay the world in sin and error pining, till He appeared, and the soul felt its worth.

We live in a time of preparation, of pining and purification, wherein the crosses we bear are the "tough love" that prepares us for the coming of Christ. Should not my own pain be used for this purpose?

***

Lord, help me to unite the cross You gave me to Your own. Help me to appreciate your Love in whatever form it comes--though it causes me temporal pain. Help me to realize, in every moment, that You have allowed this for my salvation, and that You are with me, Emanuel. Help me to make this a holy Advent.

*Incidentally, these boys singing are the most beautiful things, aren't they? :)

Psalm 25

III.
Look upon me, have pity on me,
     for I am alone and afflicted.
Relieve the troubles of my heart;
     bring me out of my distress.
Put an end to my affliction and suffering;
     take away all my sins.
See how many are my enemies,
     see how fiercely they hate me.
Preserve my life and rescue me;
     do not let me be disgraced, for I trust in you.
Let honesty and virtue preserve me;
     I wait for you, O Lord.
Redeem Israel, God,
     from all its distress!

A Contemplative Study: Parts 3 & 4

Parts 3 & 4 are from section one of Searching for andMaintaining Peace, by Fr. Jacques Philippe.

Part three (“Peace and Spiritual Combat”) and part four (“Peace is Often at Stake in the Struggle”) describe the nature of spiritual combat, “a war without mercy,” and role peace plays in winning that war. My own particular moments of war, in its intensity, tend to occur when I am nearly asleep; the evil one makes me anxious, causes flashbacks of the miscarriage, and attempts to make me feel culpable and guilty for RG’s death. Sometimes, he attacks my marriage, making me resentful toward my husband or irritable and angry at him.

And in these moments, I truly understand what Fr. Philippe means when he writes that “this combat…is the place of our purification, of our spiritual growth, where we learn to know ourselves in our weakness and to know God in His infinite mercy” (9).

Fr. Philippe speaks of a “total adhesion to Christ” as the way to maintain interior peace in these moments. Further, he writes that it is most often this very peace for which we are fighting, for (he quotes St. Francis de Sales here) “The devil does his utmost to banish peace from one’s heart, because he knows that God abides in peace and it is in peace that He accomplishes great things” (11). And so, Fr. Philippe continues, we must be aware of which battles we are fighting with the devil. In its most concentrated form, war with the devil is usually fought over this peace, the very presence of Christ in our hearts: “this is one of the great secrets of spiritual combat—to avoid fighting the wrong battle” (11). He identifies the real spiritual battle as the one in which we “learn to maintain peace of heart under all circumstances, even in the case of defeat” (12).

Fr. Philippe is principally addressing the cases of defeat in which we sin—our own failures to attain perfection in the spiritual life. Still, I think this principle could apply to situations in which we don’t necessarily fall, but those in which something devastating happens to us, as in the case of losing RG. There come from an event such as this, many many occasions of sin, and so, of course, Fr. Philippe’s central meaning is not obscured by my own internalization of this discussion.

The concept is applicable to my situation as it was to Job’s. The occasions which tested Job’s faith began with tragic losses—not just of his possessions, but of his wife and children. These horrible losses, in total, caused Job to lose his own inner peace—his faith in the Word of God—such that he lamented, and ultimately questioned God. The occasions for his sin quickly followed.

The same has been the course of events for me, and I thank God I have the example of Job from which to learn. Here I have learned, and continue to comprehend, my own weakness, my smallness, my lack of control. And in place of my past-perceived greatness, intelligence, and “handle on it all,” I have received sight of God’s sovereignty and mercy. He has granted me great mercy in my struggle to trust Him over the past six months. And though the temptation to be jealous or to be angry over this is still so palpable, He has answered my pleas for the grace to trust in His will and His timing.

***

 Lord, I beg you to continue to have mercy on me. I beg you to increase my faith in Your Word, in Your Will, in Your Timing. You are holy. You are my Light in this darkness. Do not hide your face from me; do not allow me to be disgraced. Jesus, I trust in you. 

To RG

12.1.12

My baby boy,

I wear a necklace with your name on it now. It has a ruby bead for your birthstone. It is red, and it makes me think of the way you were "born." As sorrowful as that makes me, I like that it is a ruby, because it reminds me of the pierced heart of Mary. 

Soon, we'll be upon the 6th month after you were born. It doesn't feel like that long to me. As I watch my friend H's belly grow, I know you would have been just that big in my womb, and I long for you there. Instead, your poor mother is just fat. I miss you so. 

Just now, I had a thought that you must see me from heaven, and beg me to rejoice that you are with the Lord. I can't picture what you look like anymore. Maybe it would be too painful, and God is sparing me that pain. Darling boy, I do rejoice that you are with the Lord. I know that is the goal in being a mother anyway. 

You, who never arrived,

like ephemeral words,

I remember you.

Yet there is so little

to remember

that I am left

desperately trying to salvage

legitimate thoughts of you

which makes me feel crazed.

Don't let me 

go crazy, darling boy;

remind me that

"the counsel of the Lord

belongs to the faithful;"

I refuse to give

anything but Fiat

unto Him

who hath done great things for me.

I love you, darling boy.