A coworker has a list of quotations - about 3000 or so - that are cycled through each time you hit his homepage. In tribute to Poe, we refer to it as the "quote of the hit," or QOTH. Today, I saw this one, which led me to reflect for a moment, which is of course the reason he puts quotations on his page in the first place:
"People react to fear, not love—They don't teach that in Sunday School, but it's true."
—Leonardo da Vinci
Da Vinci was a genius, but he was only almost right on this. I will credit him with meaning something like this, though: "People's reactions to fear are more basic than their responses to love. As long as someone is afraid, it will inhibit their ability to receive and return love."
I believe that the chief reason that so many marriages fail to achieve their potential (well, relationships in general, but a marriage is supposed to reach the ideal) is that we never get beyond our behavioral issues to the underlying, unrecognized, and therefore unresolved, fears that produce these behaviors. These fears have deep roots which (often) long antedate the current relationship, and it takes a long time in a truly safe environment for a wounded person to feel secure enough to face them.
A relationship that becomes marked by insecurity just doesn't feel safe enough to provide that opportunity. Unfortunately, most marriages are on rocky ground before we realize we need outside resources to help us root out our longstanding issues. Ironically, it can be the presence of a secure relationship that initially provides a safe environment in which the wounded person begins acting out this latent fear, thereby eroding that security before they can get at their underlying issues.
Many people live in constant fear without recognizing it. For the longest time - in healthy retrospect, I realize it was for as far back as I can remember - I was one of them. I thank God that my wife was willing to love me through it all.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Friday, April 06, 2007
Good Friday thoughts
It has become a custom for me to spend at least an hour in prayer in the wee hours of Good Friday morning. The concept is that we are keeping watch with the Lord in Gethsemani, though we're not so presumptuous as to think ourselves any more successful at that than the apostles were. The Garden may have represented a time of crisis for them, but we usually find our personal crisis points somewhere other than our unitive and commemorative participation in the events of Holy Thursday night.
I marvel at the insights and blessings that arise out of this prayer time. Sometimes, I'm touched anew by things I know I've reflected on before: how marvelously Ps 95 (the invitatory psalm which may be used to start prayer virtually every day) applies to the context of Christ's passion ("harden not your hearts," indeed!); the sublime insight of St. John Chrysostom, who points out that the water and blood which flowed from Christ's side are the Baptism and Eucharist by which we become transformed in him; a fresh identification with Jesus' utter crushing (part of the meaning of Gethsemani, where the olives were crushed into oil) -- the One who deserved to be adored by all creation was willing to instead be crushed in our place.
Usually, newer insights accompany these. The last couple of days in the car during my (very short) commute, I've been listening to a talk by Fr. Robert Spitzer, president of Gonzaga University. I was there as he delivered this talk a couple years ago, in the course of which he spent some time discussing the practical application of Jesus' prayer, "Thy will be done." Of course, Jesus taught this in what we know as The Lord's Prayer, but then showed us its ultimate application in the Garden.
To what degree am I willing to truly submit: Father, Thy will be done? Will I trust that this really will be for the best? Isn't it usually only insofar as we can see the potential good, and are not too put out? If it means that we're likely to encounter consequences that intimidate us, or which might cause us to suffer loss or embarrassment or shame, we're not so good at living this out. When we know the right thing but fear implications which cow us into (what we rationalize as) pragmatism, it is much more challenging to trust God's will and providence rather than our own vision.
Today, I am given a gift I can never deserve, as my Savior gives his life in my place. I pray my response to my deliverance will be an ever deeper trusting in God, a willingness to truly and fully submit to God's will, especially when it is most challenging.
I marvel at the insights and blessings that arise out of this prayer time. Sometimes, I'm touched anew by things I know I've reflected on before: how marvelously Ps 95 (the invitatory psalm which may be used to start prayer virtually every day) applies to the context of Christ's passion ("harden not your hearts," indeed!); the sublime insight of St. John Chrysostom, who points out that the water and blood which flowed from Christ's side are the Baptism and Eucharist by which we become transformed in him; a fresh identification with Jesus' utter crushing (part of the meaning of Gethsemani, where the olives were crushed into oil) -- the One who deserved to be adored by all creation was willing to instead be crushed in our place.
Usually, newer insights accompany these. The last couple of days in the car during my (very short) commute, I've been listening to a talk by Fr. Robert Spitzer, president of Gonzaga University. I was there as he delivered this talk a couple years ago, in the course of which he spent some time discussing the practical application of Jesus' prayer, "Thy will be done." Of course, Jesus taught this in what we know as The Lord's Prayer, but then showed us its ultimate application in the Garden.
To what degree am I willing to truly submit: Father, Thy will be done? Will I trust that this really will be for the best? Isn't it usually only insofar as we can see the potential good, and are not too put out? If it means that we're likely to encounter consequences that intimidate us, or which might cause us to suffer loss or embarrassment or shame, we're not so good at living this out. When we know the right thing but fear implications which cow us into (what we rationalize as) pragmatism, it is much more challenging to trust God's will and providence rather than our own vision.
Today, I am given a gift I can never deserve, as my Savior gives his life in my place. I pray my response to my deliverance will be an ever deeper trusting in God, a willingness to truly and fully submit to God's will, especially when it is most challenging.
Monday, March 26, 2007
Some thoughts on the raising of Lazarus
What was going through the disciples’ heads? First, Jesus tells them that "this isn’t going to end in death." Then, two days later, he says, "Lazarus is dead." Surely that series of events must have shaken their faith in him? At least Thomas remained willing to rally his peers: "Let’s go die with him." It’s the kind of confidence that gets utterly crushed when one falls short. I think Thomas' subsequent doubt was rooted in his own perceived failure to see his resolve through to his own end. But he was ultimately restored, became a faithful leader in the early church, eventually fulfilling his earlier rash promise.
How about Martha? I love Martha; maybe it’s because I think we tend to have a lot in common with her. I know I do. Don’t we compare ourselves to those around us who aren’t measuring up to our standards of behavior, just as she judged her sister for not helping out? Now, here she is, on the one hand saying, "Yes Lord, I know my brother will rise in the resurrection on the last day," and affirming "I believe that you’re the Messiah, the very Son of God." But when it comes to actually trusting Jesus, she says, "Umm . . . but . . . but . . . , if you roll away that stone, it’s going to really STINK!" Aren’t we like that? "Yes, Lord, I believe," we say, but then, when the path before us heads in a direction we don’t want to go, or of which we’re afraid, we hem and haw and look for all the reasons we should choose our own way. "But . . . but . . . ," we stammer. Eventually we'll likely have to face what we're afraid of anyway, and the hurt can get a lot worse if we delay. We may find it easy to trust God to do what we want him to, but not trust him enough to agree to go where he is clearly leading us. We trust in our own judgment rather than God’s, when if we do what we know we ought to do, what God is waiting to empower us to do, our lives would be SO much better. Indeed, we would become the people we dare not hope to be.
I think this passage teaches us about obedience in another important way, too.
Suppose they hadn’t rolled away the stone?
When Christ delivers us from death, we owe it to ourselves to continue to follow his guidance, or we’ll experience further pain and death. Once I know I’ve been delivered, shouldn’t it become easier to obey God in every leading? Too often, it isn't.
In whom do we place our trust, really?
How about Martha? I love Martha; maybe it’s because I think we tend to have a lot in common with her. I know I do. Don’t we compare ourselves to those around us who aren’t measuring up to our standards of behavior, just as she judged her sister for not helping out? Now, here she is, on the one hand saying, "Yes Lord, I know my brother will rise in the resurrection on the last day," and affirming "I believe that you’re the Messiah, the very Son of God." But when it comes to actually trusting Jesus, she says, "Umm . . . but . . . but . . . , if you roll away that stone, it’s going to really STINK!" Aren’t we like that? "Yes, Lord, I believe," we say, but then, when the path before us heads in a direction we don’t want to go, or of which we’re afraid, we hem and haw and look for all the reasons we should choose our own way. "But . . . but . . . ," we stammer. Eventually we'll likely have to face what we're afraid of anyway, and the hurt can get a lot worse if we delay. We may find it easy to trust God to do what we want him to, but not trust him enough to agree to go where he is clearly leading us. We trust in our own judgment rather than God’s, when if we do what we know we ought to do, what God is waiting to empower us to do, our lives would be SO much better. Indeed, we would become the people we dare not hope to be.
I think this passage teaches us about obedience in another important way, too.
Suppose they hadn’t rolled away the stone?
When Christ delivers us from death, we owe it to ourselves to continue to follow his guidance, or we’ll experience further pain and death. Once I know I’ve been delivered, shouldn’t it become easier to obey God in every leading? Too often, it isn't.
In whom do we place our trust, really?
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
From The Seven Levels of Intimacy
I've stayed home sick yesterday and today with my worst cold in several years. Everything has an upside, though: I've rested a LOT, and have been able to read more than usual. Here are some quotes and reflections from Matthew Kelly's book, The Seven Levels of Intimacy:
"Revealing our feelings makes us vulnerable, but we endure risks in order to reap rewards. The reward of making ourselves vulnerable is mental health."
I'm struck by the simple truth of that statement. Trying to keep yourself safe all the time will literally drive you crazy! We need people in our lives with whom we can just be ourselves, can let our guard down to simply feel whatever it is we're feeling and express it appropriately. We cannot have true intimacy without this freedom.
"The genius of intimacy is that when we bring our dark side out into the light in the context of a loving relationship, our darkness loses its power over us. Darkness cannot abide the light of love. It is intimacy that will hold our hand and walk through the dark rooms of our past and present. It is intimacy that has the power to set us free from our faults, fears, and failures."
How true I have found this to be in my own life. Every close relationship I've ever experienced has involved the sharing of something deeply personal and painful, and in every case it has opened the door to intimacy. Unfortunately, that only brings the light of freedom to the degree that we can acknowledge the darkness' past power over us.
Now obviously in both of these ideas there is an underlying assumption. You can't just take someone off the street and decide that the two of you are going to be emotionally intimate. Obviously, to reach these levels of intimacy requires that a relationship has developed between people with similar goals which has allowed them to develop a sense of trust with one another. Not until our partner proves trustworthy in small matters can we entrust them with larger ones.
"There is a saying in Christian circles that every saint has a past and every sinner has a future."
I believe that most hypocrisy is the result of people being unwilling to face their own failings. If I've never received mercy -- even if it has been offered freely, if I've never wrapped myself in forgiveness and even come to embrace the role my failings have played in making me the person I am today -- then I'm unlikely to be be very accepting of myself. But (I think) it's psychologically impossible for us to live that way, so we project all of our self-judgment on those around us. Instead of striving to be the person we could be, we settle for being better than "them," as if we don't deserve any better than that.
And maybe we don't. Maybe we're all born with an inner awareness of the ugliness of sin, or if you prefer, with an inner hatred of how we hurt others. And it isn't until we have freely received mercy and forgiveness for our own failings that we can begin to accept others in spite of theirs.
"Revealing our feelings makes us vulnerable, but we endure risks in order to reap rewards. The reward of making ourselves vulnerable is mental health."
I'm struck by the simple truth of that statement. Trying to keep yourself safe all the time will literally drive you crazy! We need people in our lives with whom we can just be ourselves, can let our guard down to simply feel whatever it is we're feeling and express it appropriately. We cannot have true intimacy without this freedom.
"The genius of intimacy is that when we bring our dark side out into the light in the context of a loving relationship, our darkness loses its power over us. Darkness cannot abide the light of love. It is intimacy that will hold our hand and walk through the dark rooms of our past and present. It is intimacy that has the power to set us free from our faults, fears, and failures."
How true I have found this to be in my own life. Every close relationship I've ever experienced has involved the sharing of something deeply personal and painful, and in every case it has opened the door to intimacy. Unfortunately, that only brings the light of freedom to the degree that we can acknowledge the darkness' past power over us.
Now obviously in both of these ideas there is an underlying assumption. You can't just take someone off the street and decide that the two of you are going to be emotionally intimate. Obviously, to reach these levels of intimacy requires that a relationship has developed between people with similar goals which has allowed them to develop a sense of trust with one another. Not until our partner proves trustworthy in small matters can we entrust them with larger ones.
"There is a saying in Christian circles that every saint has a past and every sinner has a future."
I believe that most hypocrisy is the result of people being unwilling to face their own failings. If I've never received mercy -- even if it has been offered freely, if I've never wrapped myself in forgiveness and even come to embrace the role my failings have played in making me the person I am today -- then I'm unlikely to be be very accepting of myself. But (I think) it's psychologically impossible for us to live that way, so we project all of our self-judgment on those around us. Instead of striving to be the person we could be, we settle for being better than "them," as if we don't deserve any better than that.
And maybe we don't. Maybe we're all born with an inner awareness of the ugliness of sin, or if you prefer, with an inner hatred of how we hurt others. And it isn't until we have freely received mercy and forgiveness for our own failings that we can begin to accept others in spite of theirs.
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
Prayer and fasting
I find it entirely too easy to let my life get away from me. I know it isn't just me that sometimes feels overwhelmed by the pace of life amid the circumstances surrounding me. It takes conscious choice to keep my attention on the things I've decided are really important to me, and those choices sometimes have to be adjusted for the sake of others who are important to me.
Prayer time this Lent has been more consistent than in the past months, but really intense reflection time, the sort that leads to some nugget of value to share here, has sometimes had to take a back seat to family issues.
There's a neat thing going on in our parish (and a couple nearby parishes) this Friday and Saturday. Apparently a bunch of our high school kids have taken on a sense of unity with the world's hungry. In an effort to be more in unity with them, as a way to help them focus on what they might do in response to the problem, they're going to have a lock-in this weekend. They're going to have dinner on Friday, then fast together for 24 hours, drinking only fruit juice, until dinner on Saturday. It gives me hope to see our young people looking beyond themselves in this way. Not everyone can do this, of course; some people have legitimate health reasons not to fast thus. But everyone can fast in some way in their lives, give up for a time something that normally has power over them so as to gain possession of themselves in a new way.
Another neat thing that has happened in response to these kids' decision is that some of the adults in our parish have decided to support them in fasting and prayer. A fast is easy to undertake, but takes commitment to see through when the stomach begins to feel really empty. It can be a self-setup for confirming one's sense of failure, if you're not careful. But the thing is, a fast isn't really about the person fasting, and I believe God is pleased when we make a personal sacrifice in order to think beyond ourselves. It expands our awareness of the world, and begets more selflessness, which is a good thing.
Prayer time this Lent has been more consistent than in the past months, but really intense reflection time, the sort that leads to some nugget of value to share here, has sometimes had to take a back seat to family issues.
There's a neat thing going on in our parish (and a couple nearby parishes) this Friday and Saturday. Apparently a bunch of our high school kids have taken on a sense of unity with the world's hungry. In an effort to be more in unity with them, as a way to help them focus on what they might do in response to the problem, they're going to have a lock-in this weekend. They're going to have dinner on Friday, then fast together for 24 hours, drinking only fruit juice, until dinner on Saturday. It gives me hope to see our young people looking beyond themselves in this way. Not everyone can do this, of course; some people have legitimate health reasons not to fast thus. But everyone can fast in some way in their lives, give up for a time something that normally has power over them so as to gain possession of themselves in a new way.
Another neat thing that has happened in response to these kids' decision is that some of the adults in our parish have decided to support them in fasting and prayer. A fast is easy to undertake, but takes commitment to see through when the stomach begins to feel really empty. It can be a self-setup for confirming one's sense of failure, if you're not careful. But the thing is, a fast isn't really about the person fasting, and I believe God is pleased when we make a personal sacrifice in order to think beyond ourselves. It expands our awareness of the world, and begets more selflessness, which is a good thing.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Feasting and fasting
Last night we participated in what has become a wonderful annual tradition in our parish: the Shrove Tuesday evening prayer and feast, a family-friendly version of Mardi Gras. The children's and adults' choirs sang a few upbeat songs before the service, while families gathered with their kids, and it was an almost raucous atmosphere. I mean, the church was just packed, with everyone pumped for a fun time. Then the evening prayer service started in earnest, with more up-tempo singing and liturgical dance. And while things remained highly celebratory, the mood of the congregation shifted noticeably, as our rejoicing took on a sense of reverential thanks which even all the children seemed to get. The continuous undercurrent of noise that was present during our pre-service music just disappeared as we prayed and sang together.
Our pastor shared briefly on the contrast between the feasting of yesterday and the fast we start together today. He observed that we have just as many things in our life for which we are thankful, for which we have reason to proclaim an alleluia, and which we continue to appreciate during Lent. Still, we choose to shift our attention to ways in which we need to grow. It is a special season of growth and transformation, containing an important element of introspection but without self-centeredness or (especially!) self-loathing. After our joyful prayer together, we went over to the school gym/cafeteria for a snack-fest of nachos, popcorn, Belgian waffles, ice cream sundaes, and assorted other goodies. What a boisterous and joyful event!
All of this had me reflecting this morning on why we fast, and a thought immediately came to mind from a book I'm reading, Matthew Kelly's Seven Levels of Intimacy. At one point, he talks about the childish images that we so often associate with the concept of discipline (not a concept we normally apply to relationships and intimacy), and how we bristle against any intimation of having limits imposed on us. He suggests we instead think of the discipline of an athlete freely choosing to bring out the best in him- or herself. "Discipline," he says, "is a gift we give ourselves." He goes on to describe how our lives and relationships thrive when we gift them with appropriate self-discipline. "Discipline doesn't enslave or stifle us; rather, it sets us free to soar to unimagined heights." Still, discipline isn't the core human experience. Rather, it is the key to making us truly free from enslavement to the inertia and hedonism of modern life. "Freedom is not the ability to do whatever you want." How well this immature approach to freedom fits our faulty notion of discipline! "Freedom is the strength of character to do what is good, true, noble, and right. Freedom is the ability to choose and celebrate the-best-version-of-yourself [one of his central concepts] in every moment. Freedom without discipline is impossible."
Yet, he goes on, freedom is also not the core human experience. Rather, love is the essence of life. But to truly love we must be free, "for to love is to give your self [emphasis his] to someone or something freely, completely, unconditionally, and without reservation . . . Yet to give yourself -- to another person, to an endeavor, or to God -- you must first possess yourself." Self-possession requires freedom, and we are not free without the exercise of discipline.
Thus the season of Lent. Many people have discipline in their lives without a particular season. Still, I find it very helpful in this specific season of each year to journey together with others who are also seeking to become more free, so that we can truly love as we are called to do.
Our pastor shared briefly on the contrast between the feasting of yesterday and the fast we start together today. He observed that we have just as many things in our life for which we are thankful, for which we have reason to proclaim an alleluia, and which we continue to appreciate during Lent. Still, we choose to shift our attention to ways in which we need to grow. It is a special season of growth and transformation, containing an important element of introspection but without self-centeredness or (especially!) self-loathing. After our joyful prayer together, we went over to the school gym/cafeteria for a snack-fest of nachos, popcorn, Belgian waffles, ice cream sundaes, and assorted other goodies. What a boisterous and joyful event!
All of this had me reflecting this morning on why we fast, and a thought immediately came to mind from a book I'm reading, Matthew Kelly's Seven Levels of Intimacy. At one point, he talks about the childish images that we so often associate with the concept of discipline (not a concept we normally apply to relationships and intimacy), and how we bristle against any intimation of having limits imposed on us. He suggests we instead think of the discipline of an athlete freely choosing to bring out the best in him- or herself. "Discipline," he says, "is a gift we give ourselves." He goes on to describe how our lives and relationships thrive when we gift them with appropriate self-discipline. "Discipline doesn't enslave or stifle us; rather, it sets us free to soar to unimagined heights." Still, discipline isn't the core human experience. Rather, it is the key to making us truly free from enslavement to the inertia and hedonism of modern life. "Freedom is not the ability to do whatever you want." How well this immature approach to freedom fits our faulty notion of discipline! "Freedom is the strength of character to do what is good, true, noble, and right. Freedom is the ability to choose and celebrate the-best-version-of-yourself [one of his central concepts] in every moment. Freedom without discipline is impossible."
Yet, he goes on, freedom is also not the core human experience. Rather, love is the essence of life. But to truly love we must be free, "for to love is to give your self [emphasis his] to someone or something freely, completely, unconditionally, and without reservation . . . Yet to give yourself -- to another person, to an endeavor, or to God -- you must first possess yourself." Self-possession requires freedom, and we are not free without the exercise of discipline.
Thus the season of Lent. Many people have discipline in their lives without a particular season. Still, I find it very helpful in this specific season of each year to journey together with others who are also seeking to become more free, so that we can truly love as we are called to do.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Valentine's Day
One of my goals in life is to never let my wife regret that we don't go out for dinner on Valentine's Day. Tonight, Epicurious.com helped me succeed for another year. She wasn't expecting much, knowing we had some not very impressive sirloin tips and new potatoes in the larder for tonight's meal. So when she came upstairs to find peppered steak with a port, zin, and 'shroom sauce, along with balsamic roasted potato wedges and a nice, simple salad, she was pleasantly surprised, and impressed far more than my effort warranted. And dessert -- strawberries in a chocolate caramel sauce with lightly sweetened whipped cream -- well, let's just say it far exceeded expectations.
Thanks, Mrs. Markelonis (my Bachelor Survival teacher in high school, who taught us our way around the kitchen, among other important survival skills)!
Oh, I almost forgot (what I'm sure, from her perspective, was) the best part! It was a snap to clean up as I went along, so I had all the dinner dishes done before dessert, and the dessert dishes not long thereafter. I hope my darling knows how much I love her!
Thanks, Mrs. Markelonis (my Bachelor Survival teacher in high school, who taught us our way around the kitchen, among other important survival skills)!
Oh, I almost forgot (what I'm sure, from her perspective, was) the best part! It was a snap to clean up as I went along, so I had all the dinner dishes done before dessert, and the dessert dishes not long thereafter. I hope my darling knows how much I love her!
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