I wrote something a few days ago. I posted it in a couple places for a short while then deleted it and took it down. I didn’t know if it was something people would want, or like, to read. I didn’t know if it’d make people think I was messed up in the mind, so I took it down.
Something happened last night that made me think again. An old friend called me. He doesn’t live close, but had flown into my state and was just a few hours away. One of his Marines committed suicide, and he’d flown to be with him and those in their company who gathered to give their final honors.
I believe God puts messages in us that we are meant to share. Sometimes we do. Sometimes we don’t, but when we fail, there can be good or purpose lost when our messages are not offered, even if we don’t understand why they are there and are never to see their effects. To make a decision to voice something out of the blue that doesn’t seem to sit or flow well with the world takes faith and conviction to put into the world. I don’t know what happened to my friend’s Marine. I only know I can empathize. I’ve been in dark places mentally and spiritually and had times I felt there was no escape from these conditions nor reason to keep pushing. I say this, now, not for pity, but to show that even when we don’t see light in times of trial or depressions, if we give up, we are set to miss out on the beauty and wonder in the breakthrough waiting on the backside—not in another life, but this.
At the end of the day, the only thing that ever really pulled and kept me out of dark places, is God. Darkness and despair set in when we become too self-centric and lost in our own immanent troubles and forget the elevating power found in focusing, instead, on the transcendent: enduring good, hopes, and truth.
I recently finished a short reading speaking to Flannery O’Connor’s art and faith. In it, Bishop Robert Barron writes:
“One of the most important motifs in the stories of Flannery O’Connor is the awakening to sin and hence to one’s need for a Savior. She intuited that, in the twentieth century, perhaps the greatest block to Christianity was precisely a spiritual complacency, a sense that all in us is basically in order. But when this attitude is internalized, Jesus necessarily devolves to the level of teacher or inspiring hero and ceases to be Savior. Hence the moment—necessarily painful—when grace breaks through the defenses we have built around ourselves is an epiphany worth describing…In a fallen world, God’s love is often experienced as unnerving, disorienting, painful. In O’Connor’s stories, we are usually being invited to look with the eyes of faith directly a the most violent and disturbing scenes.”
I can think of few things more violent or disturbing than one’s own self-execution. I can also imagine no greater moment—necessarily painful—to be touched and experience the epiphany of Grace and Salvation through a Savior.
At a Knights of Columbus meeting this week, our Deacon asked us this Lent to go beyond simply “giving something up” and ask, and listen for answer, to “What does God want me to do?” When we hear, will we follow? He also spoke to and asked us to reflect on today’s Gospel, John 3:16, “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.”
Like light and darkness, I believe God allows us to live good and rough periods in our lives to see the full contrast in their extremes and just how powerful Light and Good can be.
I wrote and tried to sing this piece to show the same contrast and to communicate a moment of similar epiphany I experienced (if not precisely as written). I shared, and then deleted, because I was uncertain how it would be received, but the phone call made me think again.
Maybe it’s a little messed up, but aren’t we all in our own way, and didn’t Jesus come for the Sinners, not the self-professing saints? I believe there is a purpose to why this story was in me and reason for why I wrote it down and feel compelled to share (even if I balked the first time I put it out). If it makes a difference for one person, then I am glad that it’s there.
Life’s too good to throw away in a time of darkness. Breakthrough and epiphany comes when we are prepared to receive and see—sometimes we have to be broken to get there. If anyone out there’s feeling burned out, or searching for something to break them free from a present state, why not give Church another try?
Sometimes we worry about showing up and being judged by those present, but if that’s what’s holding us back, our focus of worry is misplaced. Worship isn’t about judgment of others, its collective fellowship with all who gather; and in a society deliberately distanced and isolated for a while, maybe that’s something that could do us all a little soul-good.
I believe Bishop Barron’s referencing “spiritual complacency” as one of the greatest blocks to Christianity (or any faith-centric living) in the twentieth century is even greater in our present early twenty-first. What if we prided and promoted love and faith with as much openness as we did our vaccination records? Which would be a greater healer and guardian against social ills?
“In a fallen world, God’s love is often experienced as unnerving, disorienting, painful…” but there is beauty after breakthrough. That’s what I intended to show when I wrote this. The desire to further this message is reason why I share, and to any “unnerved, disoriented, or in pain,” you’re not alone, and nearer to the backside than you may believe.
“Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.” Thank you for your Grace. (All who feel something in this are welcome to share.)