“The Blessed Virgin endured a long and cruel martyrdom in her heart for our sakes, and for love of us. Frequently, and with feelings of tender love, contemplate her standing at the foot of the Cross, and join her in bewailing and weeping over sin, which, by causing the death of Jesus, rent in twain the heart of Mary. Pledge your heart to this Mother of sorrows, by some habitual act of devotion and mortification, in remembrance and in honor of her bitter sufferings. Also, endure something for love of her, imitating her patience, resignation, and silence.”— Fr. Ignatius of the Side of Jesus, p. 259
“I do not know whether [Jesus] is a sinner or not, I only know this much, I was once blind, and now I see.”—John 9:25
“I came into the world to divide it, to make the sightless see and to reveal to those who think they see it all that they are blind.”—John 9:39
Our lack of self-knowledge and our lack of wisdom make humans do very stupid and self-destructive things. Because humans cannot see their own truth very well, they do not read reality very well either. We all have our tragic flaws and blind spots. Humans always need more “light” or enlightenment about themselves and about the endless mystery of God. Here are some themes from today’s Gospel reading.
• The “man born blind” is the archetype for all of us at the beginning of life’s journey.
• The moral blame game as to why or who caused human suffering is a waste of time.
• The man does not even ask to be healed. It is just offered and given.
• Religious authorities are often more concerned about control and correct theology than actually healing people. They are presented as narrow and unloving people throughout the story.
• Many people have their spiritual conclusions before the facts in front of them. He is a predefined “sinner” and has no credibility for them.
• Belief in and love of Jesus come after the fact, subsequent to the healing. Perfect faith or motivation is not always a prerequisite for God’s action. Sometimes God does things for God’s own purposes.
• Spirituality is about seeing. Sin is about blindness, or as Saint Gregory of Nyssa will say, “Sin is always a refusal to grow.”
• The one who knows little, learns much (what we call “beginner’s mind”) and those who have all their answers already, learn nothing.
“God of all Light and Truth, just make sure that I am not a blind man or woman. Keep me humble and honest, and that will be more than enough work for you.”
“I would, then, that I could convince spiritual persons that this road to God consists not in a multiplicity of meditations nor in ways or methods of such, nor in consolations, although these things may in their own way be necessary to beginners; but that it consists only in the one thing that is needful, which is the ability to deny oneself truly, according to that which is without and to that which is within, giving oneself up to suffering for Christ’s sake . . . For progress comes not save through the imitation of Christ, Who is the Way, the Truth and the Life, and no man comes to the Father but by Him.”— St. John of the Cross, p. 91
Ash Wednesday tends to get a bad rap. At first glance, the beginning of Lent each year doesn’t seem to have a very uplifting message. When we receive ashes on our foreheads, we are reminded that we are dust and to dust we shall return. But “returning to dust” doesn’t sound all that positive, does it? Death isn’t something we like to think about, much less celebrate, in our liturgy and prayer.
If we take a closer look, though, we find that the message of Ash Wednesday has far more to do with life than with death. It’s much more about what it means to be human—on this side of death’s door, not only beyond. Being human means being both blessed and broken, and Ash Wednesday is a special invitation to look at our own brokenness in a way that can bring healing, strength, and courage.
Of course, brokenness is never the goal, even if we can encounter God through the process. We don’t set out to come up short, make mistakes, or feel “less than.” But we often do, a reality that is one mysterious thread within the intricate tapestry of human life. We have another word for this kind of brokenness, one that captures our essence as incomplete all on our own. That word is vulnerable.
Embracing Vulnerability
Vulnerability has become something of a buzzword in recent years. A simple online search of the word turns up countless videos, articles, and book titles. But what does it really mean?
To be vulnerable is to be exposed, to be open. Being vulnerable means that the parts of ourselves that are not strong and beautiful are visible to others. Brene Brown, research professor at the University of Houston and best-selling author, has become something of a cultural icon as a “vulnerability guru.” In her words, vulnerability is “having the courage to show up and be seen when we have no control over the outcome.”
Have you ever tried something new without being sure it would turn out OK? Then you have been vulnerable because you allowed failure to be a real possibility. Have you ever forgiven someone who betrayed you? Then you have been vulnerable because you opened yourself to being hurt again.
Have you ever asked for help? You have been vulnerable because you risked having your weaknesses exposed. Have you ever loved another person? You have been vulnerable because you took a chance on the other person not returning that love.
Life affords us many opportunities to choose to accept vulnerability. We can choose to share our feelings in a relationship without knowing how the other person will respond. We can choose to take a chance on a new career path, knowing that we may not succeed. But we aren’t always able to choose the kinds of vulnerability we experience. Life also forces us into brokenness entirely against our will.
We are thrown into a terrible, frightening vulnerability when our closest friend moves far away, when our kid drops out of school, when we learn about the affair, when the biopsy results come back positive. Never in a million years would we choose these or many other challenges thrust upon us.
Jesus had a lot to say about this kind of vulnerability. In fact, the beatitudes are the blueprint he laid out to help us honor our broken parts as a means of growth and transformation. He taught that being vulnerable—in other words, being poor or meek, feeling sorrowful or persecuted—is an opportunity to encounter the divine.
Suffering has a way of stripping us of our ego and false notions of self-sufficiency, which makes room for an experience of the divine. In accepting our faults, challenges, and pain, we create a space for God’s grace to work its inscrutable magic in our lives. Being vulnerable is the door through which we must travel to become the best, most authentic versions of ourselves.
Allowing ourselves to be vulnerable is how we accept our brokenness. The dust of Ash Wednesday is a powerful reminder of the vulnerability that is part of our spiritual DNA as human beings.
Rethinking Repentance
If Ash Wednesday today can remind us less about death and more about the mystery of vulnerability in life, then does the traditional focus on repentance still make sense? Absolutely! But it may call us to rethink its purpose.
John the Baptist preached repentance, saying, “The kingdom of heaven is near.” It’s easy to see his prophecy as an apocalyptic warning of imminent damnation if we don’t get our collective act together. But an interpretation of repentance that’s more consistent with the God of love and mercy is less about warning and more about promise. John’s message doesn’t have to be his way of threatening us into good behavior, a New Testament version of “Wait till your father gets home!” Instead, it can be an invitation to make room in our hearts and lives for a God who wants to fill up our empty spaces and doesn’t take no for an answer.
Repentance isn’t all about feeling guilt and shame for our shortcomings. The word’s Latin root, paenitentia, has several nuanced shades of meaning, but they all boil down to one thing—a sense of “lacking.” Repentance, then, is an acceptance of the fact that we do not hold all the cards, that we are not “enough” all on our own. Put another way, it’s a way of embracing our vulnerability and brokenness. The dust of Ash Wednesday reminds us that life is larger than our individual experiences of it. We are not in control.
A Focus on GivingImage
Being broken means that healing is needed, so the age-old Lenten practices of fasting, almsgiving, and prayer are not only relevant today but also perhaps more needed than ever. It’s in giving up our reliance on those things we don’t absolutely need, giving to those in greater need than ourselves, and giving in to God’s presence in our lives that we are able to look our own “lacking” straight in the eye. It’s how we become aware of both the blessing and the brokenness of our human condition.
Giving up: Fasting, a spiritual practice that has declined in popularity over the years, has made a comeback in a less-than-spiritual way. “Intermittent fasting” is all the rage lately on nutrition websites and in best-selling books. But when fasting is understood not as a weight-loss technique but as a way of letting go of our reliance on things we don’t actually need, it can be a powerful form of prayer. It’s fine to give up desserts for Lent if that helps us reflect on the things we can do without. Perhaps it can be more powerful, though, to “fast” from gossip or unnecessary spending or an insistence on having the last word. Fasting is a way to experience our own “lacking” in a transformative way.
Giving to: Almsgiving, which means the giving of money or food to those in need, is another traditional Lenten practice. This, too, is relevant for us today during Lent—and all year long—because it is how we recognize that we aren’t the only ones who are vulnerable. The world is full of others just like us in our lacking. They may be vulnerable in different ways than we are, but by reaching out to them in their need, we bear witness to their pain. By standing in solidarity with their brokenness, we take steps toward being healed of our own.
Giving in: Prayer as a spiritual practice never goes out of style. Not only during Lent but throughout the entire year, prayer is a powerful way of participating in divine community. By lifting our own broken pieces and those of others in prayer, we attest to—rather than run from—the vulnerable parts of our lives. Prayer connects us with each other and with God. This sacred unity connects our individual broken pieces with those of others, creating a beautiful new kind of wholeness.
Our Lenten Invitation
Too often, we approach Ash Wednesday with liturgical gloom and doom. It’s the “black sheep” of the family of dark solemnities in the liturgical calendar, failing even to garner status as a holy day of obligation. But when painted in this light, it’s easy to miss its beautiful invitation to claim our brokenness, embrace our vulnerability, and stand in solidarity with all those who do the same.
God is ready to heal our woundedness, to make us more whole than ever before. Ash Wednesday is our call to make room for the divine dance to work its sacred magic within us.
//St. Anthony Messenger, Mary Ann Steutermann, Feb 2021 Issue//
“Build an oratory within yourself, and there have Jesus on the altar of your heart. Speak to Him often while you are doing your work. Speak to Him of His holy love, of His holy sufferings and of the sorrows of most holy Mary.” — St Paul of the Cross
“The Passion is described as the mystery of Christ’s suffering. It was a mystery at the time because people could not reconcile it with what they had expected. In the sense that we can never fully understand the idea of God suffering, the Passion is still a mystery. Now if our sufferings are somehow or other to fit into the Passion of Christ—and this is no fiction because this is where they belong—there will surely be an element of mystery about them. They will make demands on our faith.”—Fr. Hubert van Zeller, OSB
46 They came to Jericho. And as he was leaving Jericho with his disciples and a sizable crowd, Bartimaeus, a blind man, the son of Timaeus, sat by the roadside begging. 47 On hearing that it was Jesus of Nazareth, he began to cry out and say, “Jesus, son of David, have pity on me.” 48 And many rebuked him, telling him to be silent. But he kept calling out all the more, “Son of David, have pity on me.” 49 Jesus stopped and said, “Call him.” So they called the blind man, saying to him, “Take courage; get up, he is calling you.” 50 He threw aside his cloak, sprang up, and came to Jesus. 51 Jesus said to him in reply, “What do you want me to do for you?” The blind man replied to him, “Master, I want to see.” 52 Jesus told him, “Go your way; your faith has saved you.” Immediately he received his sight and followed him on the way.
Throughout His life, Jesus never denied anyone who asked for the miracle of healing. Because He loves us, He never said “No.” We all have maladies. And, sometimes we think that He does not hear us if nothing happens when we pray for relief. It may seem like He is falling down on the job, but we will never know how many of our burdens He carried for us until we finally meet Him. If He says “No” or “Not Now”, you can be sure that it’s for another good reason.
The apostles had their own trials and sufferings. Paul suffered from a thorn in the flesh, and he prayed to the Lord three times to relieve him of the pain. But, Christ told Paul “My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness.” (2 Corinthians 12).
Saint Therese of Lisieux endured her share of suffering. She lost her mother when she was just four years old, and she suffered from depression. It was her love of God that enabled Therese to always put others first by through self-sacrifice. These daily sacrifices of self were her gifts to Our Lord. Both Paul and Therese understood that the more one is weak, without selfish desires, the closer we grow to Him.
Saint Teresa of Avila also endured trials and tribulations. Teresa entered a Carmelite convent during a time when women did so if they had nowhere else to go. Often, Teresa felt that she was surrounded by hostility and gossip. When she complained about this, Jesus said, “Teresa, that’s how I treat my friends”. Teresa responded, “No wonder you have so few friends.”
The suffering we bear is a prayer for our penance and for others. We can imitate His suffering at His passion if we keep our focus on the crucifix. Our pain keeps us humble and holy. It also opens our hearts to others who suffer in the same way and enables us to connect with them because of our shared experiences. Christ wants us to be His representatives and bring people to Him. But, you cannot reach an alcoholic, veteran, inmate, or sexual assault victim unless you’ve been to the same level of hell as they. Only then can you reach them and offer them hope and peace in their suffering. We can tell them how we have dealt with a similar trial or suffering.
Enduring pain and suffering can be relentless and unpleasant. Therefore, we must seek the sacraments to increase our faith and love. Also, we need to pray unceasingly. How? At the start of each day, pray the Morning Offering so that everything you do during the day is for Him:
O Jesus, through the Immaculate Heart of Mary,
I offer You my prayers, works,
Joys and sufferings of this day
For all the intentions of YourSacred Heart,
In union with theHoly Sacrifice of the Mass
Offered throughout the world, In reparation for my sins,
For the intentions of all myRelatives and friends, and
Also for the intentions ofThe Holy Father. Amen
How will you apply this message to your life? Will you share in His passion by offering up your suffering to the Lord? Will you seek the sacraments to increase your faith and love? Will you pray unceasingly?
