So Be It

“ Now I rejoice in my sufferings for your sake, and in my flesh I complete what is lacking in Christ’s afflictions for the sake of his body, that is, the church.” (Col 1:24) 

Sadly, I don’t even remember her name. I only remember the circumstances of our meeting and our conversation. Yet, the Lord revealed so much to me during the course of our time together and I have never forgotten the valuable lesson that came through our discussion – namely, answers to a question I had long asked. 

As a Protestant, studying to become a pastor, and an avid reader of Scripture, I came upon a few verses that I could not understand. I would often ask those I looked up to for answers. Generally, the answers I would receive were something like, “That’s what the Catholics use to justify such and such teaching.” That was never a satisfying answer… What did “we” believe about said passages? What is true? Ultimately, that searching led me to the Catholic Church where I found those answers, largely in the writings of the Church Fathers. 

The passage I have selected above was one such verse. “How could anything be lacking in the sufferings of Christ?” What does this mean? I found the answer in a most unexpected way. As a Graduate Assistant in the Catechetics Office at a Catholic university and a “non-traditional” student with a family, sometimes my experience on campus was different than that of my classmates. The university participated in an exchange with students from another Protestant university known for its biblical studies program. Catholic students would spend time on a Baptist campus, and vice versa. Normally, these students were hosted by university faculty, and dinner in the home was part of the experience. To my surprise, my wife and I were asked to host a group of five or six students, welcome them into our home and provide dinner and conversation for them. 

As a recent convert, they understandably had many questions for me. Most were predictable. Questions about Mary, the intercession of the saints, Scripture and Tradition, all of these were discussed respectfully at length. She seemed rather quiet in this discussion. It seemed as if something was weighing heavy on her heart. It was then that one of the students asked me, “So, enough about doctrine. What’s your testimony? Tell us about your life! How did you find a relationship with Christ?” If only more Catholics would be so direct! 

I began to share my story. Some of it you can find here and here. Beginning from my childhood (an unusual move on my part), I shared stories of struggle and abuse, of striving to find identity, of searching for meaning, of patterns or mistakes (rooted in fear) and so many hurts. I also shared how coming into the Catholic Church felt like the ending of a lifelong journey in which I finally found all that I had been searching for, and a commissioning for a new even greater journey. Through it all, she was quiet. I noticed a tear in her eye. It was then that she began to ask more questions about my childhood. Whether everyone left the table or stayed and quietly listened, I still don’t recall. 

She began to expound upon her own experiences and wounds. It was a deeply personal conversation in which she explained that she had a similar childhood. She seemed especially curious about how I have continued on, how I found healing, how I seemed to have found peace. She also asked how I deal with my past experiences. She even asked a question about how God could allow me to suffer as he had. She was, of course, asking for herself.  

I hadn’t really given it much thought since becoming Catholic. I also hadn’t thought of it in relation to the Scripture passage above. But, these words then proceeded out of my mouth. “I have been able to share my testimony with a few people. It’s not something I share often. Nor something I am willing to share much. But, on a few occasions the Lord has allowed for it. On those occasions others have shared with me that they have found hope in my experience; that they can see that someone with the very same wounds can find healing, can find forgiveness, that God’s grace can do wonders. For that reason and no other, I say that if my suffering is what can help you find healing in this moment, then I say, ‘So, be it.’” She then began to cry. I could sense that the peace of God and the wonder of his grace began to fill her heart. 

What the Lord showed me in that experience is the answer to the question I had so many years ago. Does it somehow make light of what I suffered? Absolutely not! Does it somehow excuse it? No. Does it mean that in some strange way I find joy in that most traumatic experience? A thousand times no! 

So, what does it mean then? Here we come to yet another one of my favorite Scripture passages. Hebrews 12:2 states, “Jesus endured the Cross for the joy that was before Him.” What was that joy? Better, who was that joy? It was me! It was you! It was this student! In all His suffering, He had the good of our redemption in mind. Each one of us. He would have done it all the same even if only one of us would accept the gift of salvation and eternity with Him. His love for us is that real. Similarly, the things we suffer in this life, we are called to unite to the sufferings of Christ, the perfecter and finisher of our faith. We see in both Scripture and Tradition (as well as in the lives of the saints), that our sufferings, when offered up to the Lord, are themselves powerful prayers that serve a redemptive purpose. In this case, what I endured and my story of healing and redemptions that followed were the vehicle for bringing healing to another. By God’s grace, she is not the only one. 

In this world there is so much hurt, so many wounds. Yet, we are not alone in our suffering. So many share our same experiences. We know that Christ, the Divine Physician, is present wherever two or three are gathered in his name. I pray that by God’s grace we can be the wounded healers that we are called to be in this world. I pray that we can find the forgiveness and healing that is so needed and that we can help others do the same. In this way, we can become channels of God’s grace, healing and love overflowing into the hearts and minds of others.

The Baptism of Jesus and Feeling Seen

Just after sunset on a cold January day, I arrived back to eastern Wisconsin after a week long Christmas break at my parents’ home in Missouri. I slipped into a 5:30 Monday evening Mass, and smiled when I noticed my boyfriend had arrived ahead of me and was kneeling in prayer. I slid into the pew next to him and Mass began. It was just a normal Mass, day after the Feast of the Epiphany, week before the Baptism of Jesus. 

During the Prayers of the Faithful, much to my embarrassment, Father added an extra petition: “And I see that Kate has returned safely to us after her travels, so we thank God for her safe return and for her presence and ministry here at our parish, we pray to the Lord”. My face must have turned the same rose hue as my turtleneck sweater. Though his prayer was a kind thought, and a nice welcome after a long day of driving, I still felt embarrassingly called out. 

Later, during the Sign of Peace, rather than a simple handshake, my boyfriend hugged me. A hug made sense, after all we hadn’t seen each other in a week. Yet still my mind raced thinking “Oh dear, do the elderly ladies behind us think a hug is inappropriate here? Does my boss know I’m dating someone? Is anyone going to say anything?” Though it was a kind, even sensible gesture, something in me just couldn’t rest in his brief hug since I was wondering if eyes were on me. 

Later during Mass, I talked to the Lord about it: “Jesus, I feel so oddly seen during this Mass. Between Father’s prayer and David’s hug, I get that they appreciate me, but it’s a little extravagant.” In a way that only He could, the Lord answered my worry and called me back to focus on the Eucharistic prayer with a gentle reminder to my heart: “No matter what happens, the most extravagant display of love at this Mass, and at every Mass, is Mine.” Jesus calmed my distraction and caused me to reflect on His own extravagant love.

Later that week, I read the upcoming Sunday’s Gospel, the account of the Baptism of Jesus. After Jesus was baptized: “the Holy Spirit descended upon him in bodily form like a dove. And a voice came from heaven, “You are my beloved Son; with you I am well pleased.” (Luke 3:22). The Holy Spirit descended and the voice of the Father proclaiming love and truth over Jesus was heard in front of a crowd of people. That’s very extravagant. And Jesus wasn’t embarrassed, He didn’t run from love, He didn’t wonder what other people thought, He just received the love being spoken over Him by the Father. 

How do I shrink away from love (either the love of God, or the love of people in my life)?

Can I go back and imagine God the Father’s gaze at me at the moment of my own baptism and rest in that extravagant love? 

Who in my life needs to hear love and truth spoken over them?

“And He Stayed With Him That Day”

Tucked away at the end of November and the beginning of Advent, is the Feast of St. Andrew, an Apostle, a martyr, a great evangelizer, and a great friend of the Lord. I never paid much attention to St. Andrew before, but in that weird year of 2020, he quietly slipped into my life as a great witness and intercessor. Here are highlights (and lowlights) of St. Andrew’s life which I think we can all learn from:

1. St. Andrew is sometimes referred to as the “Protoklete” meaning the “first called.” Originally a disciple of St. John the Baptist, Andrew was present when St. John the Baptist pointed to Jesus and proclaimed, “Behold, the Lamb of God” (John 1: 36). Andrew and John (John the Beloved, not the Baptist) then began following after Jesus. Jesus addressed them, “What are you looking for?” Jesus still addresses this question to each of us: what are you looking for? Andrew and John reply with a question: “Rabbi, where are you staying?” Which Jesus answered with a simple, yet life changing invitation: “Come and see.” The Gospel tells us: “and they stayed with Him that day”. Andrew didn’t sign up for a lifetime of following Jesus right away, he didn’t know all the suffering this might bring, he didn’t know the great joy Jesus might bring. He just stayed with Him that day. And the next day. And the next day. Everyday for three years, and ultimately, for the rest of his life. Andrew made the decision to accept the Lord’s invitation in one moment, and he renewed that yes everyday. 

2. Andrew constantly brings others to Jesus. The same day that Andrew met Jesus for the first time, he ran to tell his own brother, Peter: “We have found the Messiah” (John 1:41). Andrew brought Peter to Jesus. Peter became the first pope, the leader of the Apostles and the early Church. Yet Andrew trusted his own relationship with the Lord, he trusted that the Lord loved him and wanted him on His mission just as much as He wanted Peter there. Peter was the first person Andrew humbly and joyfully led to Christ, but he was certainly not the last. Andrew was the one who found the young boy with the loaves and fishes in the crowd of thousands and trusted that Jesus could do something great with very little (John 6: 8). Later in the Gospel, when some Greeks want to meet Jesus, they first ask Philip’s help, and Philip takes them to Andrew who in turn goes and tells Jesus (John 12: 20-22) . Andrew was not selfish in his friendship with the Lord, He wanted everyone else to share this friendship too, starting with those closest to him.

3. Andrew ran from the cross once. He was one of eleven disciples not present for Jesus’ Passion and death on the cross. For whatever reason, maybe fear, disappointment, sadness, or shame, Andrew was not at Calvary as Jesus died for him and for each of us. Andrew’s story of following the Lord began with “and he stayed with Him that day.” Yet on this most important day, Andrew was nowhere to be found. We have records of Peter’s reconciliation with the Lord after Peter’s denials. I wonder if Andrew had a similar moment of reconciliation with Jesus after abandoning Him in His Passion? I wonder if Andrew struggled with regret from not being there. Whatever the case, we do know that Andrew returned to the Lord, and returned to sharing Him with others. I wonder how grateful Andrew must have been to celebrate the Mass, knowing that although he once chose not to stay at the foot of the cross, he now stood at the foot of the cross at every Mass. Andrew preached the Gospel after Pentecost, traveling far and wide like the other Apostles. He is most known for preaching in Greece where he was eventually arrested and sentenced to death, death on a cross. Legends say Andrew went singing to his cross and literally embraced it. He who once ran from the Lord’s suffering, now rejoiced to have a share in that suffering. Though Andrew was not present at Jesus’ cross, Jesus was certainly present at Andrew’s cross, and Andrew knew it, and rejoiced in it.

St. Andrew, close friend of Jesus, humble in following, constant in evangelizing, joyful in suffering, pray for us.

Questions for Reflection or Discussion:

• How can you follow St. John the Baptist’s instruction to Andrew: “Behold the Lamb of God” more fully this week? 

• If Jesus looked at you and asked: “what are you looking for?” What would your honest answer be?

• Who in your family or closest circle of friends needs to hear that the Messiah has come? How can you share that news with them? 

• What cross or suffering are you running from? Might the Lord be inviting you to share in His suffering? 

An Invitation

Several years ago, when I was still in college, a local missionary asked to meet me for coffee. It was the week before the fall semester, I had time on my hands, and someone else paying for my raspberry white chocolate mocha sounded good to me. I was so intrigued by this woman just a few years older than me who was a missionary full time, that would take a lot of trust in God and a lot of letting go of other career goals, at least for a while. 

I was already a reasonably committed Catholic. I went to Mass often, I tried to pray, I had even spent  just a summer as a missionary.

She sat across from me and asked about how cross country camp was going, what classes I was looking forward to, and what my hopes for the year were. She asked about my summer travels and listened and laughed with me as I recounted my whirlwind month in Germany and Rome. 

Finally, she asked about my relationship with Jesus. I was a little confused. I had already told her I go to Mass often, that I prayed pretty often, that I didn’t drink as much as my friends did. Then, she put so simply, what I knew I had been often missing or over complicating.

“Kate, you were made for a relationship with God. He formed you and He looked at you with so much love and called you His daughter before you even knew Him. That relationship is broken by sin. But Jesus came to earth, to live like us in all things but sin, to heal that relationship with humanity. To heal that relationship with you. He’d do it all again if you were the only person alive. In every moment of your day, He’s asking for your yes to being in relationship with Him. To living in His love and from His love. He offers you the Sacraments in the Church to strengthen that relationship.”

I’d never heard it put that simply. “You were made for a relationship with God. Sin breaks that relationship. Jesus came to forgive you and restore your relationship with Him. He asks for your yes to Him each day. He gives you grace in the Church to live in His love.”

I had been Catholic all my life, I was prayerful, but there was something about this simple truth that kept ringing in my memory. In the coming months, in moments I was tempted to gossip, drink a little more than I should, criticize someone, or skip out on prayer time the simplicity of that missionary’s gospel proclamation stirred in my memory. “You were made for a relationship. This sin would damage that relationship. Jesus is offering you the grace to say yes and remain in His love.”

That’s true for each of us, Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection is His grand invitation back to relationship with God. Let Him look at you today and remind you that you were created for an everlasting relationship with Him and it starts in this moment. Say yes to Him.

Do you believe that God really wants a personal relationship with you? How can you let Him remind you of that today?

When’s the last time you turned from sin and said yes to Jesus by going to reconciliation?

Is there someone in your life who needs to hear this simple message of the Gospel? What’s holding you back from sharing it with them?

Theirs Would Be the Nobility of Humility

Two things have been on my mind lately: humility and castles. 

Humility

I’ve always struggled with humility. Even hearing the word used to make me cringe. A short visit to my family seems to magnify what I already know is inside me: a desire for control, a desperate need to defend myself even when I know I might be wrong. Perhaps my mom says something she heard on the news that I don’t agree with, or my dad makes a sweeping statement about “kids these days” that gets under my skin. I sense a quick, biting one liner boiling up in me to tell them how wrong they are. Mine is not a quiet perfectionism that is content with self-critique. For some reason I want to perfect the whole world around me and allow myself to be tricked into thinking my stinging remark will be just the thing to correct it. 

I’ve prayed the Litany of Humility occasionally since I was in high school (linked below), yet somehow even the word humility left a bad taste in my mouth. It seemed if I grew in humility, I would never get my way in anything. Would humility mean letting my boss, or parents, or loudest friends decide how my days would unfold? I’m slowly learning why humility is not about hiding our desires or opinions or hurts. Humility means surrendering all our desires and thoughts and wounds to the Father and trusting Him. More on that later...

Castles

I just finished reading St. Teresa of Avila’s Interior Castle; her wisdom and deep, mystical prayer life spilled over into soaring descriptions of the spiritual life in all its graces and adventure. She uses the image of a person moving from outside castle walls, through the halls, and into the deepest interior, the shining room where the King Himself dwells and draws us into His own life. I rewatched Narnia and revisited a lovely book called The Princess and the Goblin and found myself drawn into the magnificent stories of kings, queens, and their childlike sense of courageous trust. 

Humility and Castles?

I wondered why the Lord was juxtaposing these themes of castles and humility in my mind and life. To me, castles had everything to do with strength, firmness, elegance. Humility had to do with vulnerability, weakness, flexibility, and poverty. I tried to imagine what royalty celebrating and feasting comfortably in grand halls had to do with monastic images of fasting, praying, and simplicity.

Then, I read a line in Venerable Fulton Sheen’s masterful work, The Life of Christ. He wrote about Jesus washing the feet of the disciples, and he described Peter’s objections to Jesus’ humble, foot-washing love. He wrote of how the Apostles, in their ambition, missed the point of the Servant of Servants, who was at the same time the King of Kings right in front of them. Sheen wrote, “Our Lord admitted that, in a certain sense, His Apostles were kings; neither did He deny their instinct for aristocracy, but theirs was to be the nobility of humility, the greatest becoming the least.” 

It would seem that humility is the place where expectations go to die, yet time and again in the lives of the Saints, we see the only thing burned to ash in them is that which was not of God. All else in the Saints is raised up, glorified, made new, and put at the service of the King of Kings who loves humbly. 

The nobility of humility might strike us as strange, near impossible. Here, I call to mind what the English author Belloc points out about the original meaning of the word paradox which is not “nonsense through contradiction” but rather, “illumination by juxtaposition.” So how can nobility and humility presented together reveal to us the deepest meaning of both words?

Castles are secure places, yet humility also requires us to be secure. Secure in our identity as sons and daughters of the King. Nobility involves a title, yet humility requires us to live with an ever present understanding that this title of a son or daughter of God is not a title we could obtain for ourselves. This is an identity gifted from the Father who takes the loving initiative to call us to Himself. The prideful grasping at control I let overtake me when visiting my family was anything but secure. 

Castles are indeed a place of celebration. Humility too knows how to celebrate: how to celebrate others, how to celebrate the realities of life without fear, how to celebrate small moments and grand moments.

Castles when seen in the distance might seem intimidating or uninviting, but once inside, a person can begin to see the beauty of the interior. Growing in humility too seems insurmountable, yet with the grace of God and some effort on our part, we begin to see how humility beautifully adorns our soul and makes it a more welcoming place for others, including Christ Himself, to come dwell.

Let us pray for the humility to hear the voice of the King, that we may say to others only what He would have us say, that we would have the courage to receive our identity as a gift. 

Let us pray that we will love with humility and live forever in the courts of the Servant of Servants and King of Kings.