Don’t be afraid of being afraid

Sr. Dorcee, beloved1 Comment

One of the greatest pieces of advice from my spiritual director–actually, almost everything he’s ever said to me qualifies as “great”–was “Don’t be afraid of being afraid.” It quickly expanded to include “Don’t be afraid of being a mess.” “Don’t be afraid of the emptying [God stripping me to give me more of Himself.]” etc. You can fill in your own blank.

One take on this is found in one of Caryll Houselander‘s letters:

“During the war, I was simply terrified by air raids, and it was my lot to be in every one that happened in London, sometimes on the roofs of these flats, sometimes in the hospitals, sometimes in Mobile First Aid in the street. I tried to build up my courage by reason and prayer, etc. etc. Then one day I realized quite suddenly: as long as I try not to be afraid I shall be worse, and I shall show it one day and break; what God is asking of me, to do for suffering humanity, is to be afraid, to accept it and put up with it.”

In another letter:

“You asked me how I managed to accept fear in the raids. Well–perfectly simply. Instead of kidding myself and trying to minimize the danger or to find some distraction from it, I said to myself: ‘For as long as this raid lasts–an hour–or eight hours–you are going to be terrified. So just carry on and be terrified, that’s all’–and at once the strain ceased. Oh yes, I was terrified: I’ve often had to resort to sheer force to hide the fact that my teeth were chattering, and been unable to speak as my mouth was too dried up and stiff from funk. But at the same time I felt that God had put His hand right down through all the well upon well of darkness and horror between Him and me and was holding the central point of my soul; and I knew that however afraid I was then, it would not, even could not, break me. I always volunteered (after the discovery) for most frightful things (if called on to do so only!)–like Mobile First Aid in the street, and fire watching on the roof Nell Gwynn: and always knew God was there in a special way, to accept the offering of fear. It’s only when we try not to experience our special suffering that it can really break us.” (November 11, 1949)

It’s okay to be human . . . That’s exactly where God meets us.

While it was still dark . . .

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A piece I wrote a couple of years ago on Easter morning (to call myself to more hope):

“Now on the first day of the week Mary Magdalene came to the tomb early, while it was still dark . . . “ (Jn 20:1)

While it was still dark she came. She did not wait at home. She did not wait for Him or for others to come to her. And she expected to find what? Surely the stone still blocking her from Him. And yet she came. In the darkness. In her grief. She sought Him out even if only to lean upon that stone that separated Him from her. In the darkness, in her grief she came.

And what did she find? The stone rolled away—but He was not there. He was not there. “I sought him, but found him not. I called him, but he gave no answer” (Song of Songs 5:6b). “Where have they laid him? They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him” (Jn 20:13b).

Her sorrow is now greater, yet she does not return home. She stands there weeping. And seeking. While it was still dark.

And no one else can solace her. Not angels. Not gardeners . . . She still seeks Him. While it is still dark. And that seeking, that longing of her soul, that anguish at His absence is the latch Christ uses to open her heart when He says her name: “Mary.” While it was still dark.

So go to Him. While it is still dark. While you are still weeping. Even when you cannot find Him. Stand there weeping and seeking Him. And listen for your name. Even now He is saying it.

While it is still dark.

Words of Hope from Benedict XVI for this day

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Today is Holy Saturday.

“Holy Saturday is the day of the ‘death of God,’ the day which expresses the unparalleled experience of our age, anticipating the fact that God is simply absent, that the grave hides him, that he no longer awakes, no longer speaks, so that one no longer needs to gainsay him but can simply overlook him . . . Christ strode through the gate of our final loneliness; in his passion he went down into the abyss of our abandonment. Where no voice can reach us any longer, there is he. Hell is thereby overcome, or, to be more accurate, death, which was previously hell, is hell no longer. Neither is the same any longer because there is life in the midst of death, because love dwells in it.”

“Christ descended into ‘Hell’ and is therefore close to those cast into it, transforming their darkness into light. Suffering and torment is still terrible and well-nigh unbearable. Yet the star of hope has risen—the anchor of the heart reaches the very throne of God. Instead of evil being unleashed within man, the light shines victorious: suffering—without ceasing to be suffering—becomes, despite everything, a hymn of praise.”

“God cannot suffer, but he can suffer with.”

~Benedict XVI

"Come, Christians, Join to Sing"

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I just read this week a piece by Dr. Anthony Esolen, professor at Providence College, entitled “Come Christians, Join to Sing!” It’s worth reading the whole article. Last paragraph: “How sorry such a life [without a culture in which to celebrate] would be! Which makes me think–or I should say, makes me insist–that long before we Christians take to the streets in protest, we should take to the streets in song. Let our merriment abash our opponents, before our indignation steels their resolve. Let’s take them by a storm of celebration. I have no idea what is stopping us. Surely it can not be our knowledge that we’d probably celebrate with lousy music. Our opponents have lousy music too. They invented most of it, after all, and we picked it up from them. Let’s go for the celebration. Not to proselytize; just to pray and sing and be together, outdoors, with people to look on and laugh at us for being the fools that we are. Let them. We keep it up, and they’ll be fools alongside us too.”

Let them not, then hide this hope

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“They [the laity] show themselves to be children of the promise, if, strong in faith and in hope, they make the most of the present time (cf. Eph. 5:16; Col. 4:5), and with patience await the glory that is to come (cf. Rom. 8:25). Let them not, then hide this hope in the depths of their hearts, but even in the framework of secular life let them express it by a continual turning toward God and by wrestling ‘against the world-rulers of this darkness, against the spiritual forces of wickedness’ (Eph. 6:12).” (from Lumen Gentium 34)