Becky Eldredge's Blog, page 10

A Guide to Ignatian Discernment: Exercising Our Spiritual Muscles

Brady completed his first year of high school last week.  In the final days of his freshmen year, I watched his tenacity grow as he studied for his exams.  The diligent exercise of studying.  Practicing math problems over and over again.  Reviewing concepts.  Reading and re-reading material.  His muscle memory and routine of school finally finding its groove after fits and starts throughout the year.  

At one particular moment during his exam preparation, I stood at our kitchen bar watching Chris and Brady side by side working through a tough math problem. I was struck by the father and son pair that sat across from me that resembled so many images of Joseph with the young Jesus by his side. After months of attempting to go at it alone, Brady exercised one of his muscles- receiving accompaniment.  Pride swallowed, he humbly came down to ask his dad, who has a unique gift with numbers, for help in understanding a complicated concept.  

I stood for a long time quietly watching the two of them work.  My heart swelling with love both for my husband as he patiently accompanied our son and for our son who was maturing before me.  The fruits of the moment born out of a year of learning to exercise his muscles.  

It is easier for us adults to understand the patience of practice and exercise when we seek to teach young people something new or accompany them in mastering a new skill or art. For some reason, the grown up versions of ourselves forget that the same patience and gentleness we offer to a young person who is simply finding his way into the next unfolding season is what we also need to offer ourselves. There is no greater place I see this need for gentleness, patience, and accompaniment than in our spiritual lives.  

St. Ignatius of Loyola understood that our spiritual muscles need steady exercising.  It is why his pathway and series of meditations are called the Spiritual Exercises.  They begin with an important note or annotation which says: 

“The first annotation is that by this name of Spiritual Exercises is meant every way of examining one’s conscience, of meditating, of contemplating, of praying vocally and mentally, and of performing other spiritual actions, as will be said later.

For as strolling, walking, and running are bodily exercises, so every way of preparing and disposing the soul to rid itself of all disordered tendencies and after it is rid, to seek and find the Divine will as to the management of one’s life for the salvation of the should is called a spiritual exercise.” 

~From the translation of the Spiritual Exercises by David Fleming, SJ

Ignatius knew we needed to practice moving the interior muscles of our spiritual lives.  He offers various meditations and exercises for us to do so that we can grow ever closer to Jesus and discover our unique way of following him.  He also offers us rules to practice and notice the discernment of the spirits in our lives. 

Our next blog series, A Guide to Ignatian Discernment, will focus on St. Ignatius’ first set of rules of discernment.  This series will walk us through the first fourteen rules of discernment.  In intentionally moving through the rules, we hope to offer all of us a chance to exercise our listening to the movements of the spirits so that we can continue to strengthen the listening muscles of our ears and hearts to notice both the Holy Spirit’s movement in our lives and also the false spirit’s movement.  

Adults and young people alike need support in exercising the discernment of the spirits.  Spiritual directors and other accompaniers walk with us to discern the movements of the spirits.  Our Into the Deep writers are ready to accompany you these next weeks by sharing their reflections on the lived application of the discernment rules.  

May this series exercise our spiritual muscles in the same way Brady exercised his muscles of studying and receiving accompaniment.  May it well in us a spirit of courage to follow wherever the Holy Spirit calls us to go.

Go Deeper:

Practice the muscle of receiving accompaniment!  Join us for a six week journey through Ignatian Discernment wisdom for our Overwhelmed No More Retreat. For a full text of the First Set of Rules of Discernment, explore Timothy Gallagher, OMV‘s short and simple translation or David Fleming SJ’s translation. Explore our discernment resource section on the website.There are a few more spaces available for our in-person retreat in July in New Orleans. Learn more here.Our team is hiring a Marketing & Communications Manager. Please help us spread the word!

 

Photo by Compare Fibre on unsplash.com 

 

Sustaining Hope: Letting God Hold the Remote with You

“I promise, I’m not changing the channel … I just want to hold the remote.”

My then 5-year-old daughter’s eyes were big and her voice was a high-pitched whine as she grabbed for the remote.

As I was thinking about how to sustain hope when circumstances are beyond our control, her words from what was a quickly resolved incident echoed in my head. After all, there is comfort in holding the remote, isn’t there? There is comfort in having a situation under your control. So, what happens when we lose that control and find the TV of our lives switching wildly to content we did not choose and did not approve? What happens when we find ourselves thinking, “How did I even get to this channel? I just want to hold the remote?!”

In these moments, I tend to take one of two paths. The first is similar to my daughter’s death grip on the remote, “I want to hold the remote!”. When situations are completely out of control, I can find myself grasping for control and balance. I might obsess over the small things I can control, like a work project or keeping a space immaculate. At times, this grasping has looked like disordered eating, as the food I consumed was one thing I could control in times when everything else was out of my hands. At those times, this felt something like empowerment in my head. Look at me, I am not a hot mess. I have this one piece figured out and controlled. I can do this all by myself. As you might imagine, this path of control is dangerous, isolating, and leaves a lot of space for the false spirit to reside. If this resonates with you as where you currently find yourself, please reach out for help [additional resources listed in the go deeper section]. You are not alone. 

The second path is one of acknowledgement and surrender. “I can’t change the channel.” Frankly, this acknowledgement is often uttered out of resignation and exasperation. But if I can turn to God in that moment, and complete the sentence with – “I can’t change the channel, but God, I know you’re with me.” – then there is a crack of light shining in the chaos. When I look at the times in my life I’ve been able to finish the sentence in this way, I have noticed a few things that helped me do just that. These are three things that helped me loosen my death grip on the remote and let myself be embraced by God in times when I am certainly not in control. At all. Not even a little bit.

Talk. At times journaling felt like a great way to get all the things out of my head, but I’ve found that writing my thoughts on paper is a first step. I then need to talk them out with someone I trust. Often, multiple people I trust. Speaking with both a therapist and an Ignatian-trained spiritual director has helped me to regain balance in a way that is healthy for me and to sustain hope when life spirals beyond my control. Pray. Let’s be honest, this is not a time of pretty, composed prayer. It has looked like me sobbing on my knees, searching for answers as to how this could be my reality. This is praying through the ugly crying and honestly bringing all I am carrying to God, and then pausing to listen and feel God’s love.Ask. When all the hard things seemed to be happening at one time, the only thing I could do was ask for others to help carry the load. Small actions like, putting myself on the parish prayer list or saying yes to a friend who volunteered to make a meal train for me, bring tremendous comfort. In my experience, if I can get the courage to ask for what I need, people will show up. The Holy Spirit will put the people in place to point me to hope. Small actions can also embolden bigger actions, like being honest with your struggles and situation, and asking for professional help.

I’m learning how to relinquish control and hold the remote with God. Whatever channel I find my life on, God is with me until the channel changes again. 

Go Deeper:

To read more about spiritual direction and to find a list of directors, check out our Spiritual Direction Resource Page.If you find yourself needing more help, please don’t hesitate to reach out to a professional. If you have mental health coverage through your insurance provider or Employee Assistance Program benefits through your employer, that’s a good place to start. You can also reach out to the Catholic Charities office near you as many offer counseling services.Pray with the Triple Colloquy. You can find an audio guided version here.Consider praying Kathy’s Prayer for My Village. Listen to Kate Bowler’s podcast on when we are scared about having to face hard things alone. Our team is hiring a Marketing & Communications Manager. Please help us spread the word!

 

Photo by Kelly Sikkema on unsplash.com 

 

Sustaining Hope in Forgiveness

I need to apologize to you … 

I felt like the prodigal daughter who stomped away from a difficult conversation only to be filled with remorse. In a moment of frustration, I lost my patience and let loose on a colleague. I was looking for someone to blame and wrongly assumed that some verbal venting would make me feel better about a situation that was largely beyond my control. I did not choose my words wisely. After pouting for a few days, I crafted a carefully worded apology, and hoped for the right moment to say the words out loud.

I need to apologize to you for what I said …  

The pandemic office restrictions made it easy to avoid one another. There was no fear of running into each other at the coffee station. Although, I secretly hoped for an awkward encounter in the elevator. At least then, I could say “I’m sorry” and get this angst out of my system. I recently discovered we both had tickets to a local social event, and thus, I found myself reciting this long-awaited act of contrition.

I need to apologize to you for what I said at that meeting a few weeks ago …

The words had barely escaped my lips. My colleague, like the benevolent father who rushed to greet his child with open arms, assured me that there was nothing to be sorry for. We both acknowledged the tensions that existed that day. The meeting had dragged on far too long, and everyone had taken a turn losing their cool. I contended that I still needed to make a genuine apology in order to set my own heart free. When our conversation was finished, it was clear that we could both move forward anew. As a wonderful priest confessor once said to me, “You can let it go now.”

If only forgiveness were that easy every time! How many of us cling to resentment hoping with all our might for the person who offended us to come forward? What about the people who have truly harmed others with acts of betrayal or violence? Do they even deserve forgiveness? How do we forgive people who commit grave injustices that contribute to societal unrest, acts of racism, sexual abuse, or war? Why should any of us find hope in forgiveness?

Forgiveness is a choice. Whether we are the one acknowledging our own offenses or the one receiving another’s apology, we make a decision to forgive. Contrary to popular opinion, genuine forgiveness is not dependent on the other person offering an apology or acknowledging their own need to change.

There are many things which forgiveness is NOT:

-Forgiveness does not ask us to forget the past.

-Forgiveness does not mean the sting of betrayal has completely faded.

-Forgiveness does not mean there isn’t still work to be done.  

-Forgiveness does not negate the consequences, it does not absolve the offender of the need for accountability, nor does it take the place of restitution or punishment when required.

-Forgiveness does not mean I have to like this person or become friends.

-Forgiveness is not the same as reconciliation (which is mutual).

-Forgiveness is not dependent upon an apology. 

-Forgiveness is not always easy, but I do believe forgiveness is always possible. 

I need to apologize to you for what I said at that meeting a few weeks ago, and I need to say this out loud for my own peace of mind … 

Forgiveness is a journey toward freedom, and it is the work of the individual. In offering forgiveness, we resolve to let life unfold on life’s terms, without unduly regretting the past or trying to control the future. In my experience, forgiveness looks something like this:

-Forgiveness is acknowledging all the ways I’ve been hurt.

-Forgiveness is naming everything that has been lost, broken, and unresolved.

-Forgiveness is seeing the other person in all their humanity, with all their gifts, limitations, and imperfections.

-Forgiveness is letting go of my desire to get even. My desire for revenge does not harm the other person; it only causes me to relive my own pain.

-Forgiveness is asking for the grace to see this person as a loved sinner, just like me. 

-Forgiveness is opening our hearts to love others as God loves.

-Forgiveness is allowing ourselves to remember the past without reliving all the hurt.

-Forgiveness is a process and sometimes it takes a long time.

Forgiveness is an act of hope, because it assures us that all is not lost, even in the midst of painful memories and unresolved hurt. When we practice forgiveness, we begin to let loose the bonds of those who caused us harm, perhaps even those who have died or moved on from our lives. The gift of forgiveness holds open the possibility that life can be different going forward.

For all forgiveness IS and for all it IS NOT, it is often the only thing that can set us free. “To forgive is to set a prisoner free and discover that the prisoner was you.” (Lewis Smedes)

Go Deeper:

The Difference Between Forgiveness and Reconciliation by Vinita Hampton Wright What Forgiveness Means by Maureen McCann Waldron The Ignatian Guide to Forgiveness by Marina McCoy

 

Photo by Nine Koepfer on unsplash.com 

 

Sustaining Hope in the Midst of Anxiety

“There was a woman afflicted with hemorrhages for twelve years. She had suffered greatly.” – Mark 5:25-26

My anxiety is hemorrhaging out of me. Over time I have learned to deal with my triggers in more effective ways. But some days, like today, it hemorrhages. It bleeds into my prayer, it floods my mind, it drowns my judgment. I am trying to put a bandaid over it, but it is too late, and nothing can stop this hemorrhage. 

In many situations, I can roll with the punches and cope with whatever challenges come my way. But not when it comes to vomit… As luck would have it, the very week I signed up to write on the topic of anxiety, a nasty bug has knocked us down. I am an armchair epidemiologist, tracking case numbers and incubation periods of a stomach virus I cannot defeat. The data analysis gives me something to fixate on. There have been moments of fear, helplessness, and self-doubt. I have had flashbacks to the early days of the COVID-19 lockdown, and yet this time I am alone, hemorrhaging anxiety. 

The afflicted woman had spent all her money on doctors that could not cure her. For 12  years she sought answers. Yet somehow she did not lose hope. I will admit, I have felt very hopeless these past two weeks… so what hope have I clung to? 

“She had heard about Jesus and came up behind him in the crowd and touched his cloak. She said, “If I but touch his clothes, I shall be cured.” – Mark 5:27-28

The recent Disney movie Encanto features a Colombian family with gifts that help their community. The main character, Mirabel’s mom, has the ability to heal injuries and illnesses with her homemade cakes and breads. “The truth is she can heal you with a meal, her recipes are remedies for real.” As the children have cycled through days on the couch in the past two weeks, I have watched this movie and listened to the accompanying soundtrack more times than I can count. How many times I have wished for a magical bread that cured all of our illnesses! 

I wished for that magical cure while my 5-year-old received IV fluids in the waiting room of the emergency room. I wished for it again when I picked up the third prescription for my two year old within a week when he developed two secondary infections after the initial illness.  I wished for it again when the one child that seemed to have escaped the illness came down with it a full week after the other two. 

Somewhere about the 1000th time I heard the catchy phrase “my mom Julieta can make you feel better with just one arepa” (a bread made with cornmeal) in Encanto, I realized that Jesus does continue to offer me a special nourishment along the way. While the Bread of Life that Jesus offers may not instantaneously heal a broken bone or sick tummy, it does offer me hope that no matter what happens I will be okay. 

All week I have remained with the woman afflicted by hemorrhages. I am with her as she reaches out to touch the cloak of Jesus. I summon her courage, her unfailing faith that to touch even the fringes of Jesus’ person has the power to bring healing. 

In the face of a bout of anxiety, my prayer is not a steady, clear profession of faith. Hope is a lingering glance, the flutter of my fingertips on His cloak, the smallest kernel of trust that no matter what, Jesus will still be with me.

Go Deeper:

Visit the hope prayer resource page to find other blogs, handouts, and videos about hope.Pray with Stephanie Clouatre Davis’ Examen for Anxiety. Vinita Hampton Wright has helpful tools for those who experience anxiety, including practices to adopt when not in the midst of an anxious period. Watch this video on Delight vs. Anxiety from Fr. Greg Boyle.

Photo by Adrien King on unsplash.com 

 

Sustaining Hope: Hope in the Storm

We had no beds for our children after Hurricane Katrina. I remember sitting on the curb outside of an old K&B Drugstore that had long closed down in the small town outside of New Orleans where I had grown up. My oldest daughter struggled as a toddler to sit beside me while my younger daughter, only five months old, slept in her car carrier in front of me. My husband had gone in alone to the retired drugstore that was now a donation center to locate a baby bed. I sat shifting through our present state in my mind: we had several college degrees, had worked hard to care for our budding family, and enjoyed a large supportive family. Here we sat, though–naked. Hurricane Katrina had stripped us and exposed us to great vulnerability. Why was all of this happening? As I sat on the curb, I pondered, “Do I matter? Do we even matter?” 

Twice, as I sat melting in the Louisiana sun, federal and local aid workers approached offering aid to me and my family. I denied the help and dug more deeply, “Does any of this matter? People are suffering so greatly in so many places, how can God hear the cry of the poor?” 

My husband emerged with no baby bed, and we moved to our car. We had a car. I wept as I sat in the comfort of our car. My husband comforted me as he drove to a local Kmart and walked me around placing simple wash cloths and clothes for my girls into my hands. “We will have what we need,” he said. I felt the softness of the washcloths and felt the grace of God pour into me through the mundane and practical moment. 

As my hands rubbed the simple fabric, I felt the warmth of God wrap around me. God hears. We matter to God. Emily Dickson wrote in her famous poem Hope is a thing with feathers: 

Hope is the thing with feathers

That perches in the soul,

And sings the tune without the words,

And never stops at all,

Hope rises when we know the presence of God. Like Dicksons’ bird, it perches in our soul and sings a song that does not stop. We have all had moments when we have felt the rising of hope inside of us. I began a list of all the things in my life that I was grateful for. 

I remember looking into the eyes of my children and husband as my heart rose in gratitude. I considered all of that my eyes could capture: my husband, my children, my extended family, my friends. Hope rose in me as gratitude expanded in me. The more gratitude that I gave to each beautiful thing in front of me, the more hope began to sing that “tune without words.” Even today, more than 15 years later I feel hope because of the gratitude I felt in the days that followed Hurricane Katrina. 

As subsequent “storms” passed through the lives of my family and friends, I tried my best to stand beside them and water the seeds of gratitude so that hope might grow. Too, as a spiritual director, I try to encourage moments of ongoing gratitude in prayers of gratitude. 

How has gratitude grown hope during a storm in your life? How could gratitude help hope rise in you during a current storm you are enduring right now?

Go Deeper:

In stormy moments pause and practice an Examen. Sometimes in these tough times, I like to listen to an audio version of the Examen because my brain is usually cluttered. Watch this video with the words of Brother David Steindl–Rast OSB.Here too is a great Ted Talk by Brother David Steindl–Rast OSB.In times of storms, I like to begin a physical list of those things for which I am grateful. I am a fan of Ann Voskamp’s practice found here.

Photo by JW on unsplash.com 

 

Sustaining Hope in the Unknown

Truth be told, I am kicking myself for agreeing to write on this particular topic for this series on Sustaining Hope. A couple months ago when I put my name down for this and typed the words “finding hope in the unknown” as my choice of topics, I thought I would have figured out a bunch of stuff by the time I actually sat down at my computer. I thought I would be ready and willing by now to share all of my newly found wisdom with you.

Instead, I am still in the midst of many unknowns. Probably more unknowns than I have ever encountered before. At least more unknowns than I thought I would have when the calendar changed from 2021 to 2022 and I dreamed the dreams of a person ready for a new year ahead. In some ways, that may make me the worst person to write this post. In other ways, it might make me the best. I hope the latter is true. 

When I used to teach math, I would say: “I am at my best when I am learning the information right alongside the student. When I am in the midst of trying to understand the material myself, I can see the pitfalls students will make. I may even fall right into them as well, and together we can guide each other out.” I believed when I was struggling alongside, my understanding and empathy for my students was greater. 

I am not on the other side of learning about how to have hope in the midst of the unknown. In that way, I am not the expert that can give you some rearview knowledge. Instead, I am learning it alongside all of you. I am falling right into the pits with you and digging myself out of them, too. Maybe there is comfort in that. 

I hope so. 

I thought I’d share with you what I am afraid of right now, in case it resonates:

I’m afraid of staying here. I fear being stuck in the in-between surrounded by neverending unknowns. I’m afraid of rushing out of here. I’m afraid I’ll reach a point of being so done with the unknowns that I leap towards something, anything known… even if it’s not exactly right for me. I’m afraid of trusting myself. I find it difficult to trust my intuition, especially in these moments and especially when it leads me towards something new. I find myself asking, “But what if this something new isn’t better after all?”

But there are also things I am holding onto:

I’m holding onto history. Every time I have been stuck in the in-between, every time I have faced any big unknown, God has always led me out of it to somewhere better. I’m holding onto the light. Whenever I think of facing big unknowns, I imagine anytime I have been stuck in a dark room unable to see even my hand in front of my face. Even in the darkest of rooms, however, my eyes have always adjusted enough to see my hand. Even in the darkest of rooms, I have always found the light. Finally, I’m holding onto a glimmer of hope. Hope is such an unexpected grace for me right now that God is truly showering me with, even if I can’t always see it. Hope is the subtle thing that prompted me to write for weeks (almost subconsciously) in my examens: “A bigger invitation is brewing.” Hope is the thing that never fails to multiply in me over time, especially in times like these. It comes in like a thief in the darkest of nights and illuminates my soul. I feel it in the words of mentors and friends listening to me and encouraging me. I feel it in the bright lights of my children who never fail to show up with joy to every new challenge ahead. I feel it seep into me every time I pause to fold my hands in prayer. I feel it every time I place my hands upon these keys.

So even if you don’t feel it right now, don’t give up on finding hope. God created me and you for something special. Even if we feel stuck in the darkest room trying desperately to see our hand in front of our face, God is not done yet. 

There is such great light ahead.

Go Deeper:

If you are looking for a prayer or two to guide you towards hope in the unknown, consider these I’ve written during my own current search for hope: 

Prayer for Sitting Watch with ChristIt’s Quite Normal IndeedWhat if We Let Grief be Grief How Big Are You Allowed to Dream?

Also, check out these great Into the Deep pieces:

Belonging: A Chapel of No by Jen CoitoThe Only Way Through is Through by Beth Knobbe

Photo by Kyle Glenn on unsplash.com 

 

Sustaining Hope: Hope, a Feathered Thing

For whatever was written previously was written for our instruction, that by endurance and by the encouragement of the scriptures we might have hope. Romans 15:4 (NAB)

It feels like I’ve been waiting a long time for more light and warmer days to chase away damp, late winter gray. Life has gone on in fits and starts since my mother’s death in the fall. I returned home and to work in the new year with plenty to do. Projects, dishes, and laundry pile up, get tackled, cleaned and put away, and pile up all over again. Many days I talk myself out of bed. Some days I can also talk myself into a walk in the park. World events and weather forecasts periodically penetrate a chilly fog that surrounds me. I strain to glimpse hope.

From the beginnings of salvation history we read in scripture that God provides signs of hope after devastating loss, like the dove returning to Noah with an olive branch in her mouth, evidence of land reemerging after the great flood. I find that returning to memories of other losses “written previously” into my history helps locate hope.

I recently revisited one such memory from 2007, the year I was accompanying a close friend who was dying. On my annual retreat that fall (guided by Sr. Joyce Rupp’s book, Dear Heart, Come Home) I came upon Emily Dickinson’s poem personifying Hope. 

 

“Hope” is the thing with feathers –

That perches in the soul –

And sings the tune without the words –

And never stops – at all –

 

And sweetest – in the Gale – is heard –

And sore must be the storm –

That could abash the little Bird

That kept so many warm –

 

I’ve heard it in the chillest land –

And on the strangest Sea –

Yet – never – in Extremity,

It asked a crumb – of me.

 

Something about Emily’s experience unsettled me. She could hear Hope’s sweet song “in the chillest land.” I only heard the gale roar. I got out watercolors to help explore my reactions. Sitting with my painting an insight began to emerge. I penned a stormy response to Emily:

 

Hope may be a feathered thing,

But absent from my soul,

I cannot hear the wordless tune;

Despair is taking hold.

 

Chill sea winds gust and wail

Battering the bird.

Her frantic wings beat tiredly,

But mission flies onward.

 

I see not the slim green sign

Grasped firmly in her beak,

A promise that there yet is land

And why she cannot speak.

I realized the little feathered thing, though still out of sight, was making her way to me with a sign of life. Hope couldn’t sing with her beak clenched to the branch. Tiny Hope stirred my heart then, and does again now. “Hope,” Sr. Joyce wrote, “doesn’t pretend that I’ll get all I want nor does hope deny that there will be struggles down the road. Hope tucks promises of growth and truth inside the pockets of my struggles.” (Dear Heart, p. 141)

Re-experiencing this memory reminded me that resurrection is part of the paschal mystery:  new spirit-filled life only arrives after passing through suffering, death and dying, and the grief that follows. In the meantime I persevere with Hope, tuck away signs of God’s grace, and wait patiently for my heart to open and sing with the risen Christ’s joy.  

As you seek to locate hope:

Just think of all the Scriptures that will come true in what we do! For instance, … Isaiah’s word:

There’s the root of our ancestor Jesse,

    breaking through the earth and growing tree tall,

Tall enough for everyone everywhere to see and take hope!

Oh! May the God of green hope fill you up with joy, fill you up with peace, so that your believing lives, filled with the life-giving energy of the Holy Spirit, will brim over with hope!  

Romans 15:10, 12-13 (The Message)

Go Deeper:

Listen to The Only Way Through Is In by Carrie NewcomerPray with the litany of faith in Hebrews, Chapter 11 that begins, “Faith is the realization of what is hoped for and evidence of things not seen.”  Just as the author recalls people of the Old Testament who persevered through trials, create your own litany, noticing how God was and is present in your own struggles.Spend time with contemplations from the 4th Week of the Spiritual Exercises, praying for the grace to share in the joy and peace of the risen Christ (#221), noticing how he consoles his friends (#224) with hope and comfort.

Photo by Bruno Emmanuelle on unsplash.com 

 

Sustaining Hope During the Pandemic

Having just passed the two-year mark from the beginning of the coronavirus pandemic, I spent some time asking myself, How did we ever make it through those first few months during lockdown?

I noticed a lot of memories from two years ago pop up on social media. As with most social media posts, these memories are filled with positive and happy times- leisurely family bike rides, family walks with the kids dressed in costumes, decades upon decades of rosaries prayed as a family, and posts that simply say “today was a good day” with a photo of a smiling kid. I am so grateful for these social media memories since honestly, I blocked most of those early months of the pandemic from my mind. As we all know, the pandemic was filled with so much pain, fear, and uncertainty, and it can be difficult to call to mind those harder times. 

Reading back through my prayer journal, I read about these less-than-ideal moments over and over again. God, I seek the grace of calm…God, please give me the grace of a positive attitude… God, please grant me the grace to see Christ in my family… God, how much longer do we have to live like this?… God, there is so much suffering and hatred in our world right now, I am beginning to feel hopeless…God, thank you for your presence in my life, I don’t know how I would get through this without you…

Simply typing these words brings tears to my eyes. I cannot help but remember some of those especially hard days. The moments of raised voices and harsh words. The moments of losing my patience and crying on our bathroom floor. The moments when everything felt dark and there wasn’t an end in sight.

After spending the last several months working on our Lenten retreat, walking through the Triduum, and celebrating Easter, I cannot help but feel a newer, deeper sense of hope and gratitude for Jesus’ suffering and resurrection. Jesus, the son of God, the light of our world and source of all hope, was mocked, betrayed, spit on, and stripped of his clothing, all before suffering a gruesome, painful death on a cross.

Before these horrific events took place, Jesus cried out to God. We read in in Matthew’s gospel, “He advanced a little and fell prostrate in prayer, saying, ‘My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from me; yet, not as I will, but as you will.’…Withdrawing a second time, he prayed again, ‘My Father, if it is not possible that this cup pass without my drinking it, your will be done!’” (Matthew 26:39, 42)

Jesus, fully human and fully divine, cried out to his Father, he knew the pain he was going to have to endure, but he suffered it anyway. Remembering Jesus’ suffering, imagining Jesus walking with the burden of his cross on his back as sweat and blood fall down his tired and weary face for the sake of our sins, and imagining Jesus on the cross locking eyes with Mary, makes my heart ache. Living through those early months of the pandemic felt a lot like Good Friday. There was so much pain and suffering all around us. It was hard at times to see and embrace the pockets of joy with so much unknown, so much suffering and death, so much heartache.

But as Pope John Paul II reminds us, “We are an Easter people and alleluia is our song!” Our story doesn’t end with Good Friday, we can see an end to the darkness in the light of our world and source of all hope. Yes, Jesus suffered a painful death, but he also rises! Jesus appearing to Mary Magdalene and the disciples gives us hope that we are not alone, Jesus is with us.

Two years later and I can answer my question without hesitation, How did we ever make it through those first few months during lockdown? We made it through because of Jesus. Jesus was with me through all of it. He was with me and my family on all those bike rides, costumed walks, and in the smiles of my kids. He was there with me crying on the bathroom floor filled with guilt for yelling. He was with me when my heart physically ached as we read of more and more people suffering from COVID, racial injustices, and natural disasters. I made it through those trying times and will make it through future hard times because I place my hope, my trust in Jesus. 

How did Jesus help carry you through the pandemic? How has your hope in Jesus helped you walk through other “Good Friday” moments in your life?

Go Deeper:

Visit our hope prayer resource page to find other blogs, handouts, and videos about hope.Read Becky’s article about our Anchor into Hope. Read about practicing our hope in Vinita’s article Hope is an Art.

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Belonging: Belonging to Self

Sister Columbkill, our substitute teacher, looked around the room of fourth graders. There I sat, spellbound, listening to her story. “Listen carefully to what is really happening here,” she said as she shared about her experience as a young sister during World War II in Japan. She described the fear and terror that the local community felt as the bombs whistled overhead and detonated with ground-shaking explosions. Her heart was with the children that she was sheltering at the time, yet she felt that God was near despite the shattering consequences of man-made catastrophes. My heart rushed to meet her story and I felt drawn to offer my life to God as well, so that when people were in need, I could be part of the spiritual shelter they would find in the Divine.

True to the desire that took root through this early experience, I entered religious life at 18 becoming a member of a catechetical community transplanted from war-torn Hungary into the United States. My ‘yes’ to God took me into the barrio neighborhoods of East Los Angeles, into the upper-class districts of Orange County, and serving at our year-round retreat camp nestled in the pine forests of Big Bear, California. I served with a full heart for almost 20 years. I was given many leadership opportunities; I contributed zealously to the mission and vision of this small group of women. Yet, in more recent years, I struggled immensely with the tension that existed between how I felt called to serve and what was being asked of me. Not that I wouldn’t be willing to go wherever I was sent – obedience acknowledges that – but the tone of the leadership I was directed to offer, the rigidity with which I was meant to enforce conformity, and the critical lack of trust in who I was becoming verses who I was at a youthful 18…well, it all became too much. I often asked tearfully in prayer if this was, indeed, the way that the seed was meant to die?

When meeting with the Leadership Council of the community in order to be released from my perpetual vows, one of the sisters asked me to whom had I been praying to during this discernment time. I asked myself, what did she mean? Who else would I pray to other than the God who had called me to begin with? When I replied, she answered quickly, “No, that is not possible.” I held my breath – Wait! Are not all things possible for God? “The God I know would never counsel you to break your vows and leave religious life,” she clarified. I gathered my thoughts, as I responded to the sisters of my community; they who knew me so well and had been part of almost 20 years of service and commitment, “Do you mean, Sister,” I proceeded with care, “that you must hear everything that I hear in prayer, first?” “Yes,” she unequivocally replied.

How – why really? – would a dynamic, living God repeat the same messages and insights? If we are waiting to hear the same thing as others hear – no matter how inspiring – we will wait in vain. I don’t mean that essentially the loving message communicated to all of us won’t have some of the same threads woven into it. I mean that we can’t possibly imagine that ‘we’ve got God down’ and figured out and that God won’t ever surprise us by saying something that we have never heard before.

A sense of belonging is something that psychologists say is an intrinsic component of strong mental health. I believe an important part of healthy belonging is the sense that we belong to ourselves. Religious life, and often religious practices, can stress the fact that we do not belong to ourselves, but to God. This is true! Yet, we must know the gift we possess – and own that gift – before we can give it away, otherwise it becomes a strictly intellectual transaction. Conversion takes place in the heart, in the hot and messy territory of our emotions, where our mind exerts less control. God woos us to gain our trust in order to further reveal the dynamic, ever-changing gift of our unique self.

Belonging to self is something that we often must grow into. We not only have to trust God, but we also must trust ourselves. God partners with us in growth, and teases ever so gently, our insecurities away from us in order to love us beyond the limits which we strategically put in place. Listen carefully to what is really happening here, Sister Columbkill encouraged my ten-year old self. This self is a gift that hasn’t yet fully blossomed into her full potential.

The same can honestly be said about you.

Go Deeper:

Fostering self-awareness and self-appreciation can be a rich experience as found in this article by Beth Knobbe: To Know, To Love, and To Follow: “This is so YOU!”Praying When It’s Hard: Praying When You Feel Like You Are Not Enough by Kathy PowellBecky Eldredge writes about how friends can companion us into better understanding ourselves in Opposites Attract | Becky EldredgePray the ‘Significance Examen’ at a still point in your day, found here on the Pray-As-You-Go website or APP by the British Jesuits Pray as you go (pray-as-you-go.org)Second-guessing ourselves can often lead to anxiety. This prayer awareness exercise on Anxiety Pray as you go (pray-as-you-go.org) can be supportive of finding a more peaceful heart while offering yourself a bit of loving perspective.

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Belonging: When We Feel as If We Don’t Belong to God

This topic deserves its own book, but I will summarize what I see as reasons a person might feel that she or he does not belong to God.

A Faulty Concept or Image of God. When I feel as if I don’t belong to God, I’ve learned to ask the question: Whose God? My concept of God can be influenced by my family’s image of God; the image most prominent in the church I attend; how God is viewed in my immediate culture/region; God’s characteristics according to whatever spiritual authority I listen to. It’s important to reflect on, from time to time, what my current image of God is. Also, from where/whom am I receiving spiritual information?

A Breach of Moral Codes. According to the group of Christians I identify with, certain sins are abhorrent, and if I commit one of those sins, I will immediately feel the distance grow between myself and my group. Although we Christians preach a lot about forgiveness, we can be stingy with it ourselves. Even if I repent, the community might consider my life hereafter as “less than” what God intended. Thus, it’s easy to feel that I no longer belong to God if I have broken the moral code. In the community that I associate with God, there might be forgiveness, technically, but this specific community will never see me or embrace me as they did before. It’s not that difficult for me to assume that God feels the same way about me.

Cultural Norms. We still have idols, even in—sometimes especially in—the church. One such idol is the perfect nuclear family: father, mother, and their biological children. People who do not marry feel their difference and a lack of belonging. Women who cannot bear children of their own also feel this. Single-parent families feel it. Any family that does not fit the mold feels it. If “God’s family” we call the church does not make us feel that we are welcome and belong, then, by proxy, it seems that God does not welcome us either. After all, the church is God’s face to us here on earth. When a body of believers fails to live out God’s radical hospitality, then people who do not fit the norm do not perceive themselves as belonging to God.

My own changing image of God. As we mature in faith and as the years go by, there is a healthy level of change that happens within us concerning how we see God. Gradually we let go of childish images of the stern God in the sky waiting for us to mess up or the jolly Santa Claus God who is always friendly but ineffective at transforming us. We let go of the all-white Jesus as we deal with the racism we have learned and now reject and work at unlearning. We let go of the God who keeps a constant tally of good and bad deeds, as we understand that the great Lover of our souls is writing a deeper and more comprehensive law on our hearts. Sometimes, when my image of God is changing yet again, I feel as if I’ve lost my grasp on faith. I no longer belong to those former, less complete images of God, but to which God do I belong now? How can I belong to a God I do not see clearly? This is where faith steps in—but the sense of drifting between “gods” can be disorienting.

My belief that I have failed. When I did not achieve what I thought I was supposed to achieve, when a major aspect of my life has been upended, when a deep and disturbing wound remains unhealed, when I struggle again and again with the same troublesome issues—for these and other reasons, I will send myself into exile from God. I go into exile because of my own failure. Or I go into exile because I believe that God has let me down. A rift has developed between me and God—at least, this is how I see it. I believe that I should not belong to God. Or I reject God as not really belonging to me.

Self-exile is a dark place because I actually believe that I can separate myself from God. I forget that “nothing can separate us from the love of God,” as Romans 8:31-39 proclaims. I forget that there’s no place I can go to escape God, according to the profound poetry of Psalm 139. The fact is, even when I remove myself from God and proclaim to the world that I no longer belong in God’s presence, I am merely attempting to judge myself, or judge God. I am trying to do the impossible and break the bond between my creature self and my Creator. I try because I am in distress, and leaving God feels like a solution at the time.

God, who never coerces us, allows me to make my attempts, sort of like the parent who allows the eight-year-old to pack up his favorite possessions and sneak out the back door to run away from home. He needs to do this, and she lets him do it, all the time keeping tabs on his whereabouts. When he trudges home because he’s hungry or scared or tired, she doesn’t make fun of his attempt to solve his problems. She’s not angry because he tried to leave home. She understands that this was his limited way of dealing with his feelings, and she’s kind of proud of how he planned his escape—it means he cares enough about his life to take action.

Sometimes we need to leave home so that we can return home. Sometimes even self-exile has a purpose; it reveals to me what I cannot accomplish: I cannot annihilate myself or make myself so rebellious or horrible that God does not want me.

Long-term problems and pain. Another idol of our time, inside and outside the church, is the idol of quick fixes. The culture outside of church believes that if I’m smart and alert and proactive, and if I connect with the right resources, I should be able to make my problems go away. If I struggle with a problem for a long time, something must be wrong with me—or there is some other entity I can blame (and probably take to court). Either way, this long-term stuff is just wrong, not the way life is supposed to be.

In many faith communities, the idol of quick fixes is just as present, but it is spiritualized. If my problem or pain is ongoing, then there’s a sin I’ve failed to confess or a spiritual lesson I’ve failed to learn, or my faith is just not strong enough. Or, in extreme cases, the devil is causing this trouble and we must cast him out so that I can return to a good, normal life. There’s not much room for suffering that can’t be prayed away or cast out. 

Therefore, if my suffering and trouble persist, there’s something wrong with me. God has not blessed me with an answer because I have fallen out of God’s favor. This sort of attitude as expressed by other Christians—and I can accomplish this all on my own, too—can quickly convince me that I do not belong to God, not really. Something is in the way, and it’s probably me.

If you are going through troubles that linger, or if you still feel the sting of an unhealed wound, it does not mean that God has pushed you away. Your pain does not prevent your belonging. Your slowness to learn a better way of living does not prevent your belonging. Your own judgment of yourself does not prevent it, and neither do the judgments of others.

Dare to believe the good news: In God’s universe—also known as Reality—you will always belong because God already chose you, long, long ago.

Go Deeper:

Read Becky’s blog Promises of God: We Belong to Someone Consider praying with the following scriptures: Galatians 3: 22-29// Children of God in Christ Jesus… you belong to Christ. Psalm 100 //Know that the Lord is God whom us, to whom we belong. We are God’s people.Read more about Belonging in Busy Lives and Restless Souls

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