A Cross for a Crown

As Christians, we must re-discover our identity with The Cross!

Truly, truly I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.
— John 12:24

We are living in trying times. The world seems to have lost its way, and so many of us feel powerless to correct its course. We begin each day wondering what happened to the world we once knew, and some are fearful of the future. But it’s very possible that Our Lord has allowed this opportunity in history as a reminder for us that this world is passing away (1 John 2:17). Perhaps now is a perfect time to step back from material things and remember that there is something more for which we were made. As Christians, our allegiance is not to this world, but to God alone, through His Son, our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. So what should we do? Perhaps we should take this time to return to our roots, examining what it means to be a Christian in the world today.

What does it mean to be a Christian? What does it mean to follow Christ? Two thousand years ago, it meant a complete transformation of one’s heart, mind, and soul. It often meant a willingness to endure torture and death. It meant knowing the promise of an eternal life that was infinitely more valuable than the world in which we live. That promise provided Christians with a purpose that transcended the pleasures of this life. For early Christians, the Cross was part of their identity, and they didn’t shy away from it. Rather, they passionately pursued their mission, whatever the cost.

What was that mission? It was to bring the Gospel to every man, woman and child, opening hearts to God’s grace, that He might draw every soul to Himself. Christians recognized that this mission required a life of sacrifice; a denial of “self.” It meant cooperating with the Master Gardener as He pruned and formed them, ridding their hearts and souls of all that might obscure Him from view. For they knew that in order to accomplish their mission, they must be able to say with St. Paul, “I have been crucified with Christ; it is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me” (Gal. 2:20).

Today, this mission remains the same. Sadly, there is little evidence in the world of the Christianity of old. Our secular culture celebrates the temporal over the spiritual, and many of us have been seduced by the daily demands and attractions of the here and now. As a result, many have drifted from the passion- ate Christianity of earlier times. In fact, in recent generations, Christianity has even developed a reputation in the West for soft sentimentalism. Christ has been reduced to tender emotion and unconditional love, wrapped up in a nonjudgmental blanket of relativism. This is what Archbishop Fulton Sheen referred to as Christ without His Cross. Many Christians no longer strive to engage in lives of prayer and sacrifice in order to carry out the Great Commission — and most aren’t even aware of what has been lost. Rather than seeking to reunite Christ with His Cross, they have destroyed the Cross altogether and used the scraps to build a sort of progressive humanitarian religion based on materialism and self-entitlement.

This development should cause grave concern for those of us who truly desire to follow Christ, for how can one follow in His footsteps if the Way has been obscured by generations of distortions and misrepresentations?

It seems the only solution to this problem is to return to Christ’s words and find out what He actually said to His would-be follow- ers. We owe it to ourselves and to Him to consider His call as He made it, unblemished by the mores of the culture:

If any man would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me. For whoever would save his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it. For what will it profit a man, if he gains the whole world and forfeits his life? (Matt. 16:24–26)

The question is, how do we go about doing this? What does denying myself look like? How exactly must I carry my cross?

Not only are we to deny ourselves and take up our crosses, but we are to follow Christ in the process. And although we might be tempted to assume we are following Him through the pearly gates to an eternal Paradise with the Father, many of us have somehow been indoctrinated to overlook a major stop along the way.

Before He leads us to Paradise, Christ leads us to Calvary.

Like Christ, we are called to carry the cross and to be crucified. Of course, we can ask the Simons in our lives to help us make our way along the path, and we may certainly help them as well. But at the end of our fated journey, whether that journey is a moment of consideration for someone else or a lifetime of pain and suffering, each of us will be asked to climb right up there alongside Christ and sacrifice our very lives. By this I don’t necessarily mean that we are called to be martyrs, offering our blood as a testament of our allegiance to Christ — although, for some of us, that call may come — but rather that we offer ourselves as “bloodless” martyrs, ready to release our attachments, our desires, our preferences, our idiosyncrasies, our very wills, in deference to the will of God. Essentially, we are called to die to ourselves.

And if we don’t? Say we decide to climb down from the hill of Calvary and save our lives — that is, hold on to our attach- ments; prioritize our wants, desires, and preferences; and put ourselves first? Well, according to Christ, in saving my own life, I will surely lose it. But — and here’s the clincher — if I climb up on that cross, enduring to the end, all in effort to lose my life for Christ’s sake; if I unite my will to the will of God, denying myself by offering myself; in that case, I am bound to find my life — and no doubt I will have it abundantly (John 10:10).

There is no greater paradox in all the world than the paradox of the Cross.

Yes, sacrifice is hard.

But our souls were made for sacrifice. And deep down in the farthest corners of our hearts, in places that we keep hidden even from ourselves, we know that this is true.

Sadly, generations of comfort and excess and expectations have weakened our wills. In fact, there are many who argue for the need to scrap the concept of willpower altogether. We have grown soft. We have lost our way in a world of materialism and self-determination. We have slipped from the cross, even deny- ing Christ, in order to avoid that call that speaks directly to the depths of our hearts.

So how can we find our way back to the cross? How can we reconnect to the root of our very souls? How can we find that part of us that absolutely knows we were made for love? For sacrifice? We may be moved by the contributions made to the world by our fellow man, and inspired by all the saints who’ve gone before us; but how can we bring ourselves to participate in the type of life for which we were made? How can we find the joy that is wait- ing for us?

Whatever your experience with the cross, whether you struggle with a painful and debilitating illness or with finding joy in the little interruptions in life, it is my prayer that through these pages you might reclaim the lost art of sacrifice.

Note: Above is an excerpt from the Introduction to my new book, The Lost Art of Sacrifice. I hope you will read it and spread the word! Let’s re-discover our identity with the Cross!

Exciting News!

My new book just came out!!! And it’s all about Sacrifice!!

My new book just came out!!! And it’s all about Sacrifice!!!

Not a moment too soon, either, for we are living in trying times. The world seems to have lost its way, and many of us feel powerless to correct its course. We begin each day wondering what happened to the world we once knew, and some are fearful of the future. But it’s very possible that Our Lord has allowed this opportunity in history as a reminder for us that this world is passing away. (1 John 2:17)

Now is a perfect time to step back from material things and remember that there is something more for which we were made. As Christians, our allegiance is not to this world, but to God alone, through His Son, our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. So what should we do? Perhaps we should take this time to return to our roots, examining what it means to be a Christian in the world today.

It would seem that anyone who truly desires to follow Christ, should return to His words and find out what He actually said to His would-be followers. We owe it to ourselves and to Him to consider His call as He made it, unblemished by the mores of the culture:

“If any man would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me. For whoever would save his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it. For what will it profit a man, if he gains the whole world and forfeits his life?

(Matthew 16:24-26).

Surely Christ’s words are challenging. I don’t know about you, but if given the opportunity, my natural inclination is to avoid the cross like the plague. I’d rather walk around it, step over it, crawl under it or run from it – anything but embrace it.

Yet these were the words of Christ to his disciples. These are His living words to us. Today. The question is, how do we go about doing this? What does denying myself look like? How exactly must I carry my cross? That is the subject of my latest book — The essence of what it means to be a Christian. Essentially, it means sacrifice.

In The Lost Art of Sacrifice, you will learn

  • The difference between suffering and sacrifice.
  • Why life is not measured by what you get – it’s about what you give.
  • The reason God prepared your soul for sacrificial love.
  • How to avoid Satan’s traps by recognizing lies of the culture that are sure to lead you astray.
  • Why sacrifice is not something that happens to you but is an act of the will.
  • How to cultivate the Art of Sacrifice in your life.

Find your copy now at most booksellers near you or online! Click on the book below to order at a discount directly from the publisher, Sophia Institute Press:

Suffering: Mess or Masterpiece?

Is suffering a messy canvas splattered with a mishmash of random paint splotches? Or is it a masterpiece of order and beauty, full of meaning and inspiration? It all depends on how you look at it.

It has long been a teaching of the Church that suffering, whether minor or debilitating, should be received as a gift. I’ve read countless spiritual works that put suffering in this proper perspective, and the concept sounds beautiful and glorious. At times I’ve even been inspired enough to want to experience the cross in a “big” way [You know, all those little annoyances throughout the day are piddly, but the BIG stuff — THAT can move mountains (Read with a high degree of sarcasm)!].

In reality, though, I think suffering is more like a magnificent painting. From afar, depending on how people approach it, suffering has the potential to be beautiful, moving and inspirational; but when you get close, it looks like a mishmash of random paint splotches, strewn about in random order — sloppy and very ugly.

Recently, our family has experienced the messiness close up. In the midst of doctor’s appointments, medications, fears, expenses and just the inconvenience of living with a new most likely permanent medical condition, we’ve had several discussions about how much this has renewed our sympathy for others who have endured suffering, and the amazing examples that we’ve witnessed through our lives. My husband’s father was one of those inspirational examples. He passed away nearly ten years ago, after a painful battle with bone cancer.

Because of the admirable way my father-in-law approached his final days, he has become for us an even greater hero than he was. As a dairy farmer, this man woke before the crack of dawn and worked until late at night seven days a week. Yet for all his toughness, he never forgot the Source of strength, and was devout in his faith, keeping a weekly holy hour for over 50 years, participating as much as possible in parish life and always sharing a prayer-centered relationship with his beautiful wife. In the end, despite his debilitating pain, he was joyful, grateful, loving and — most endearingly — childlike. With every shot of excruciating pain, rather than cursing, he’d call out his devotion to Jesus, Mary and Joseph. He held fast to his rosary and prayed fervently during his waking hours. As we stepped back from the splotches, we could see that he was a magnificent portrait of the Christian life (and death).

In our current political climate, activists have set their sites on erasing all the splotches. They want to eradicate suffering on every level, to the point of promoting abortion to the moment of birth, expanding euthanasia for any reason, as well as promoting many other evils that seek to rid our culture of the magnificent beauty and saving power inherent in the sacrifice of suffering. By erasing all the splotches, they destroy the masterpieces of life that God Himself has offered for our good.

Despite a culture of death that insists suffering be eradicated at all costs and by any means, we must remember that as long as suffering is approached with resignation and not bitterness, it can be redemptive and leads to greater union with God. As C.S. Lewis said,

“God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks to us in our conscience, but shouts in our pains: It is His megaphone to rouse a deaf world.”

Saint Teresa of Calcutta said,

“…remember pain, sorrow, suffering are but the kiss of Jesus — a sign that you have come so close to Him that He can kiss you.”

Blessed are those who suffer — how counter-intuitive in today’s society!

Well, after my little pep rally above, here we sit. In the midst of suffering. Our pom-poms may not wave quite so high behind closed doors. But we are learning slowly but surely how to be grateful. And having witnessed role models like my father-in-law certainly helps. The question is, will we stand too close to the painting and focus on the mess of “splotches”? Or will we stand back and appreciate the masterpiece that our current situation truly represents? With God’s grace as the paintbrush, we’re hoping for the latter.

Recently I read some encouraging words by Lorenzo Scupoli. Perhaps I should post them around the house as a reminder —  both for us and for our children:

Now that you are in a position to please Him more than ever, speak from the fullness of your heart and say: “[This] is the will of God that is accomplished in me. From all eternity God’s love has chosen me to undergo this suffering today. May He be blessed forever!”  – Spiritual Combat, pg. 74-75

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Artwork: The Crucifixion by Diego Velazquez (from Wikimedia Commons)

Giving up the Fight

Who among us had not endured pain so excruciating that at the time we could not even whisper our Lord’s name?  It is in those moments that we most willingly lift our hearts to Him.  When we can do nothing else, we offer whatever we have left. We surrender.

Ahem. I am a fighter.  Had I been on the Titanic, I guarantee you I would not have been the picture of peace, praying the rosary on the promenade deck.  I’d have been 1024px-Christ_Falling_under_the_Cross_MET_DP805728scrounging up wood to build a raft.  I might have gone down, but I would have gone down fighting.

In some ways, my fighting spirit has been invaluable to me.   When I was young, I overcame what some would call “difficult circumstances” to become the first person in my family to graduate from college and obtain a master’s degree.  Before I became a stay-at-home mom, I had a promising career as a marketing manager for an innovative division of a giant telecom company.  And today? Well, at this moment I am wading my way through life with four teenagers and two high energy little ones, and have been homeschooling for the last 17 years (which definitely takes a bit of resolve).

All well and good.  But frankly, while determination has served me well in this world, having a fighting spirit makes for a pretty crummy spiritual life at times.

You see, I’m a doer.  If I have a problem, or if anyone I love has a problem, by golly, I won’t rest until I solve it.  And if I don’t have the necessary knowledge at my disposal, I will go to the ends of the earth to find it.  Or Amazon.  Which is probably the same thing.

If you could see my selection of spiritual reading books, you might think you’d entered your local Catholic book store.  And believe it or not, I’ve read most of them.  But putting them into practice? That’s another subject altogether.  Every book I have ever read on the spiritual life has advised me to “Be.”  Be present.  Be silent.  Be open.

Essentially, surrender.

Surrender is not something I do well.  That is unless I’m laid out on the floor with nary a breath left in my body.

And then?

Well…and then…it’s beautiful.  There are no words to describe the peace that accompanies true surrender.

I have a feeling I’m not alone.  Who among us had not endured pain so excruciating that at the time we could not even whisper our Lord’s name?  It is in those moments that we most willingly lift our hearts to Him.  When we can do nothing else, we offer whatever we have left. We surrender.

I think the most poignant description of this experience I’ve seen comes from Fr. Walter Ciszek, who spent some 23 years in Russian concentration camps during and after WWII:

I had talked of finding and doing his will, but never in the sense of totally giving up my own will.  I had talked of trusting him, indeed I truly had trusted him, but never in the sense of abandoning all other sources of support and relying on his grace alone.  I could never find it in me, before, to give up self completely.  There were always boundaries beyond which I would not go, little hedges marking out what I knew in the depths of my being was a point of no return.  God in his providence had been constant in his grace, always providing opportunities for this act of perfect faith and trust in him, always urging me to let go the reins and trust in him alone.  I had trusted him, I had cooperated with his grace – but only up to a point.  Only when I had reached a point of total bankruptcy of my own powers had I at last surrendered.  

That moment, that experience, completely changed me.  I can say it now in all sincerity, without false modesty, without a sense either of exaggeration or of embarrassment.  I have to call it a conversion experience; it was at once a death and a resurrection. (He Leadeth Me, p. 78)

Which of us does not desire with all our heart to experience the resurrection?

I would venture to guess that most, if not all of us would give anything to unite ourselves so closely to Christ.  So the question becomes, Why must we endure such excruciating pain before we can simply and without obstacle, raise our hearts to God?

According to scripture, …unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains just a grain of wheat; but if it dies, it produces much fruit.  Whoever loves his life loses it, and whoever hates his life in this world will preserve it for eternal life. – John 12:24-25.  Or, as one priest used to summarize it, “No cross, no crown.”

Father Ciszek experienced this mysterious truth in a profound way: …it was at once a death and a resurrection.

Usually, I’m unwilling to die.

Except for those times when the suffering is so acute (whether physically, emotionally or spiritually) that death doesn’t sound like such a bad alternative.

Thankfully, as I get older, I’ve noticed those times come more frequently. For me, desperation has not so much come from physical illness – more often I’ve been blessed with other types of battles.  Regardless, with age has certainly come the wisdom to know that all the fighting in the world will not solve some problems.

So, while I have a long way to go, I do see a ray of hope in the distance. Eventually, I’ll either learn to give up the fight, or I’ll have all the fight knocked out of me.  Either way, at that point (God willing), my surrender will be complete.  In this world, many may consider that a cause for concern.  But in the beautiful, complete and perfect world of God’s grace, it will be a good thing.

 

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Art: Christ Falling under the Cross by Charles Nicolas Cochin II (Wikimedia Commons)

Janusz Korczak: A Hero of the Holocaust

If you were to walk through the entire cemetery, gazing upon stone after stone after stone, you would find only one engraved with a name. That name, is Janusz Korczak.

“God, give me a hard life but let it be beautiful, rich and aspiring.” — Janusz Korczak, Prayer from his youth, recorded in the Warsaw Ghetto Diary

The name Janusz Korczak may not ring a bell for many Americans. If you’ve heard of him at all, you probably read The Zookeeper’s Wife by Diane Ackerman. But even there, Korczak was one of many stories featured tangentially alongside the feature story of the Zabinskis, a husband and wife team of zookeepers in Warsaw who used their property to hide Jewish refugees, protecting them from the Warsaw Ghetto and from unspeakable concentration camps once the Germans invaded Poland in 1939. Or perhaps you read about him in The Pianist by Wladyslaw Szpilman, which is the autobiographical account of Szpilman’s own years in the Warsaw Ghetto. In both books, Korczak is but a side story, an annotation on a central plot. You may have even read right past him amidst all the other compelling tales. But in Europe, Janusz Korczak’s story is legendary. In fact, in Europe, Janusz Korczak is as well known as Anne Frank. There is a monument to him at Yad Vashem in Israel, another in Warsaw and a memorial stone dedicated to him at the concentration camp in Treblinka, where he died.

By education, Janusz Korczak was a pediatrician in Poland at the dawn of the twentieth century. His passion for writing and for children catapulted him to fame in another area, as the author of several books for and about children, which are still available to Polish families today. In 1912, his love for children resulted in his establishing an orphanage for Jewish children in Warsaw. Korczak, himself, was the director. When the Warsaw Ghetto was opened in 1940, the children were ordered to abandon their home and relocate within the heavily guarded walls of this 1.3 square mile living hell, along with 400,000 other Jews. Korczak was offered refuge on the “Arian side” of the fence, but he chose to escort his children into the Ghetto and to remain with them there.

For three years, Korczak devoted all his energy to creating some semblance of home for his children amidst the atrocities of the Ghetto. He treated each child with dignity and respect. He ran his orphanage like a democracy, with a court system run by the children themselves, teaching them always to show kindness and consideration toward others. He begged for food for the children for hours each day, if only to bring home a few crusts of bread or a bit of watery broth to share. And then in 1942, there were rumors that Ghetto residents were to be rounded up and placed on a transport to the Treblinka Extermination Camp. Shortly before the transport arrived, Korczak directed his children in a play about a little boy that dies. At the moment of death, the boy sees a radiant light, feeling immense joy and happiness for which there could be no parallel in this world. Many have claimed that Korczak chose this play because he wanted to prepare the children for what was to come. He had a great desire to protect them from fear.

In early August 1942, troops arrived and transport carriers stopped outside the Warsaw Ghetto. Along with thousands of others, the children were requested to board the trains. Again, Korczak was offered an escape via the Polish underground. Instead, witnesses watched, amazed as he and all 196 children exited the orphanage, dressed in their best clothes, each child carrying a favorite toy. There were no tears. There was no distress. Korczak, along with his children – some as young as two or three years, with the oldest being no more than thirteen –  walked peacefully together, hand in hand, toward the train. They boarded together. Once SS officers slammed the doors shut, Korczak and his children were never heard from again. Later, it was confirmed that they had been executed together in the gas chambers at Treblinka, along with hundreds of thousands of others; Treblinka was second only to Auschwitz for its number of executions.

If you were to arrive at Treblinka today, you would find an awe-inspiring memorial to all those who lost their lives in that horrendous place. There is a symbolic cemetery set up to honor hundreds of thousands of Jews who were killed in the gas chambers there. In the “symbolic” cemetery, there are 17,000 stones standing erect, representing persons, families and populations of entire towns that were destroyed at the Treblinka death camp. But if you were to walk through the entire cemetery, gazing upon stone after stone after stone, you would find only one engraved with a name. That name, is Janusz Korczak.

It is puzzling to think that of 70,000 stones, only one is engraved with the name of a person. Is that perhaps because, amidst the hundreds of thousands of victims, this one man very clearly, at every turn, before and during the atrocities of WWII, sacrificed himself and his safety and security for the most vulnerable of all? Could it be because Korczak did not have his life taken from him, but rather that he laid down his life for the weakest, most defenseless of his “friends?”

korczak stone

We call this, this life, sans wealth, sans freedom, sans accolades, given over for the most vulnerable and ending in a gruesome death that did not have to be – this life that placed God before self and served others on His behalf – we call this sacrifice.

 

The Jews, our older brothers and sisters in Christ, have a tradition which states that in every generation, there will be 36 Just Men, whose shoulders bear the weight of salvation. These men, through the purity of their souls and the righteousness of their lives, provide a foundation on which rests the security and the future of the world. It is widely held that Janusz Korczak was one of those precious 36.

 

 

NOTE: Be Alarmed: I share the above story in honor of Holocaust Remembrance Day, which has been designated for observance this entire week (4/12-4/19).  Sadly, it seems that fewer and fewer Americans are being educated about the Holocaust at all. Thursday an alarming survey was released  showing that a full 41 percent of American adults do not know what Auschwitz was – this figure includes 66 percent of Millennials. In fact, 22 percent of Millennials had never even heard of the Holocaust. Be vary wary – those who don’t know history are doomed to repeat it.

We need to help our children and young adults to learn more. There are so many books to help readers to gain some understanding of that time period in history – education need not be limited to “boring” textbook accounts. Check out some of these harrowing stories, mostly nonfiction, some historical fiction, that will hopefully inspire further curiosity about this unbelievable time in human history:

The Boy on the Wooden Box by Leon Leyson….(autobiographical account of the youngest Jew saved by Oscar Schindler)

Night by Elie Wiesel (about his experiences at Auschwitze and Buchenwald concentration camps with his father from 1944-1945, at the height of the Holocaust)

Anne Frank: The Diary of a Young Girl (Diary of a Jewish girl in hiding for two years during the German occupation of The Netherlands)

The Zookeeper’s Wife by Diane Ackerman (true story about a couple that owned the Warsaw Zoo, and saved over 300 Jews on their property through the war)

The Pianist: The Extraordinary True Story of One Man’s Survival in Warsaw, 1939-1945 by Wladyslaw Szpilman (inspiration for Oscar award-winning movie, The Pianist)

Schindler’s List by Thomas Keneally (award-winning novel and inspiration for the movie by the same name; based on detailed testimony of “Schindler’s Jews” – demonstrates beautifully the courage and cleverness of Oscar Schindler and his ability to work agains his own to save over 1,200 Jews from certain death)

All the Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr (pure fiction, but places you right in the setting of WWII – on both sides; this amazingly well-written novel follows a blind French girl and a German boy through their parallel experiences during WWII – Pulitzer prize winner with great historical accuracy; does not focus concentration camps, but rather the chaos of the war, and the evil that begat it)

11 Inspirational Quotes about Sacrifice

We are called to give everything, without holding back. Sometimes it’s hard to comprehend the lengths to which we are asked to extend ourselves. Perhaps the quotes below will help to inspire you to desire the love that He desires for you; if not, perhaps at the very least they will provoke a deeper reflection of your Christian vocation.

We have entered the second week of Lent. Most of us are hopefully at least ankle-deep in Lenten devotions, carving time out of daily schedules for prayer, fasting and almsgiving. jesus carrying crossJust in case you need a little motivation, perhaps you could be inspired by Christ’s Summons to His would-be followers:

If any man would come after me, let him deny himself and pick up his cross and  follow me. For whoever would save his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it. For what will it profit a man, if he gains the whole world and forfeits his life? — Matthew 16: 24-26

Christ does not mince words here. We can slice and dice this quote all we want; but as Christians, we are called to love with a special kind of devotion. We are called to give everything, without holding back. Sometimes it’s hard to comprehend the lengths to which we are asked to extend ourselves. Perhaps the quotes below will help to inspire you to desire the love that He desires for you; if not, perhaps at the very least they will provoke a deeper reflection of your Christian vocation:

  1. The sacrifice the good Lord wants of us is to die to ourselves. – St. Charles of Sezze

  2. A sacrifice to be real must hurt, and must empty ourselves. Give yourself fully to God. He will use you to accomplish great things on the condition that you believe much more in His love than in your weakness. — Saint Teresa of Calcutta

  3. He gave Himself wholly to you: He left nothing for Himself. – Saint John Chrysostom

  4. There is no place for selfishness-and no place for fear! Do not be afraid, then, when love makes demands. Do no be afraid when love requires sacrifice. — Pope John Paul II

  5. The day men forget that love is synonymous with sacrifice, that day they will ask what selfish sort of woman it must have been who ruthlessly extracted tribute in the form of flowers, or what an avaricious creature she must have been who demanded solid gold in the form of a ring, just as they will ask what cruel kind of God is it who asks for sacrifice and self-denial. — Archbishop Fulton Sheen

  6. In the cross alone do we find the soul’s eternal salvation and hope of everlasting life. Take up your cross, therefore, and follow Jesus and you will pass into unending life. — Thomas A’ Kempis

  7. The more intense the love, the less we think of a sacrifice involved to secure what we love. — Archbishop Fulton Sheen

  8. I have found the paradox, that if you love until it hurts, there can be no more hurt, only more love. — Saint Teresa of Calcutta

  9. I have seen clearly what I can do in my own corner of life. Above all, to work on myself, to try to develop in myself all the instincts God has given me; to strengthen my will by regular work; to elevate my soul unceasingly by sacrifice and the acceptance of my usual sufferings, and by a constant and tender sympathy for all who approach me. — Elisabeth Leseur

  10. Love is the soul of sacrifice. — Archbishop Fulton Sheen

  11. It is right to offer sacrifice to God as a sign of adoration and gratitude, supplication and communion: “Every action done so as to cling to God in communion of holiness, and thus achieve blessedness, is a true sacrifice.” — CCC  #2099 (quoting St. Augustine)

Pain: A Path Leading to Virtue

Learning such a love does not necessarily come easily. Indeed, the acquisition of virtue is often—if not always—a painful process.

by Rev. Jeff Loseke

When a child is brought to be baptized, the  parents and godparents are reminded over and over again by the Church’s minister of their responsibility to teach their son or daughter Ste-therese-on-deathbedhow to love God, how to love their neighbor, and how to constantly practice their faith.  These exhortations always remind me that, because of our fallen human nature and the inclination to sin (i.e., concupiscence), the love to which God calls us must be learned and practiced over time.  Learning such a love does not necessarily come easily.  Indeed, the acquisition of virtue is often—if not always—a painful process.

For those engaged in the practice of Christian love and virtue, it is not uncommon to experience painful emotions such as shame, shock, anger, discomfort, confusion, and so forth.  As an example, think of the person who goes on a mission trip for the first time.  His or her encounter with poverty, injustice, suffering, and other evils can be difficult to process at first.  The experience of negative reactions and emotions, however, should not be interpreted as a bad thing or as a moral evil.  Rather, this painful path is more in accord with Aristotle’s theory that those being schooled in the virtues do not actually enjoy practicing them.  Nevertheless, the path of pain leads a person to see things more clearly and to recognize what it true within oneself regarding his or her complicity in the injustices and sins of the world.  In reflecting upon the path of virtue through pain, I am reminded of something C. S. Lewis wrote in The Problem of Pain: “Pain insists upon being attended to.  God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our conscience, but shouts in our pain: it is His megaphone to rouse a deaf world”.

While the process of growing in virtue—especially in the virtue of justice—may be painful or uncomfortable, I firmly believe that it should not be avoided.  The challenge to parents, educators, and all who guide others, however, will be to provide the tools and the resources to help learners process their painful experiences in order to grow from them.  As a spiritual director and confessor, I often have to challenge my directees and penitents to delve more deeply into the shadows, the brokenness, and the pain in their lives in order to arrive at the deepest level of truth about themselves.  Walking with them in order to help them face those difficult emotions, feelings, and spiritual realities is part of my ministry as a Priest.  Even more, it must be part of our lives as Christians.  Jesus reminds us in the Beatitudes that we are blessed when we mourn or suffer pain.  He also reminds us that we are blessed when we work to alleviate such pain by working for a more just world.

 

The Reverend Jeffery S. Loseke is a Priest of the Archdiocese of Omaha and is currently the pastor of  St. Charlccn_father-les Borromeo Parish in Gretna, Nebraska.  Ordained in 2000, Fr. Loseke holds a Licentiate in Sacred Theology (S.T.L.) from the Pontifical Athenaeum of St. Anselm in Rome and is working to complete his doctoral degree (Ed.D.) in interdisciplinary leadership through Creighton University in Omaha.  In addition to parish ministry, Fr. Loseke has served as a chaplain in the U.S. Air Force, taught high school theology and college-level philosophy, and has been a presenter for various missions, retreats, and diocesan formation days across the country.

 

Art: St. Therese de Lisieux on her Death Bed by Anonymous, 1925 (Wikimedia Commons)

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