Be Here Now

Posted on December 6, 2016 by admin

“Be here now” was Fr. Dacian’s mantra. He was the director of my novitiate in the Franciscan seminary. A novitiate is a year dedicated to prayer and discernment of one’s vocation. It should be ideal for focusing on the present moment. Yet even there, we novices would joke that “being there then” was far easier.

Many of my clients are dealing with anxiety or depression. Both arise from or get worse when I can’t be here now. With depression, I tend to dwell on past negative experiences. These may be from early childhood or more recent. I may ruminate on how my mom or dad wasn’t there for me, or how I was picked on in grade school, or over lost health, relationships, jobs, or social status.

Ideally, therapy helps me to work through these hurts and losses. I’m able to see how even my negative experiences have helped me to become the person I am now. I begin to see how the most difficult times sometimes yielded tremendous fruit, in terms of growth in patience, compassion, trust, and gratitude. With the wounds healed, I gain more energy to focus on the positive and live in the present. I’m better able to be here now.

With anxiety, I live in the future. I focus on the next bad thing that could happen. Things may be going well right now. But will they last? Nothing is certain. It’s like I’m wearing fear-tinted goggles that highlight possible threats. When one anxiety is resolved, I find another to focus on, like a bird leaving one branch only to light on another. I am “there then”. I’m dealing with some possible future negative. I’m not “here now”.

Probably the most helpful exercises I teach anxious clients are deep breathing and sensory awareness. They learn a particularly type of breathing that helps them to relax their psoas muscle, where we tend to store a lot of our tension. While “psoas breathing”, they focus on how their feet feel, then their ankles, calves, thighs, and so on throughout their body. They are often surprised at how relaxing so simple an exercise can be.

We then talk about how anxious people often “practice” being physically tense for years. They’re gearing themselves up for the next bad thing to happen. So it’s important for them to form a new habit. They need to practice being physically relaxed as often as possible. We also discuss anxiety’s future orientation. Sensory awareness is inherently relaxing. Anybody who’s luxuriated in a steam bath or enjoyed swimming on a hot summer day knows this. But such awareness is also healthily distracting and necessarily present-focused. If I’m thinking about how my toeser-woesers are feeling, I’m not thinking about how I’m ever going to get the house ready for the out-of-town guests. I’m feeling these physical sensations now. I stop and smell the roses: I slow down enough to experience the simple gift of sensory awareness in the present.

We instinctively do this soothing and distracting with children when they’re upset. When my son was a toddler and got scared, I’d take him into my lap and speak softly, repetitively, and reassuringly to him. He’d stop focusing on the thunderstorm or bad doggy and start focusing on the sound of my voice, the smell of my deodorant, the feel of my arms around him. And he’d relax.

You don’t have to be particularly anxious or depressed, however, to struggle with being here now. We all do. I am amazed at how I can worry, worry, worry about something. Then it’s resolved. I’m relieved. But I rarely relish the resolution. I may tell a few people the good news and thank God for His grace. But shortly after, I’m off to the races again. I’m focused on the next hurdle. I start to worry about how I’ll negotiate that.

It is so puzzlingly difficult to stay fixed in the fact that the mercies of the Lord endure forever; that His faithfulness is great; that all things work to the good for those who love God and are called according to His purpose. It’s also so hard to stay in a stance of gratitude. When I know I’m rushing too much, that I’m too frazzled, I (not often enough), stop to thank God for all that is. I thank Him for the things I’m delighted about, and the things I’m really frustrated by. I thank Him for those that I have trouble with, and those that are easy to see as blessings. I thank Him for the world situation, the U.S. situation, my health and my aches and pains, what needs to be done and what I’ve accomplished.

What a healing and blessed exercise! It firmly situates me in the here and now. And the here and now is the only place where I can meet the Lord – or anyone else, for that matter. It’s, of course, the only place I can be at all. Here. Now.

 

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Waiting for Fire

Posted on November 29, 2016 by admin

Advent has begun. Once again, we are waiting for the light. The days have barely begun to darken, and already we’re waiting for them to lengthen and lighten. As Advent begins, the Mass readings look forward to Jesus’ return as the Light and the Lord of the World. He had hardly ascended when that long wait began.

Yes, I’m waiting for the light. But really, I’m waiting for fire. As the title of my blog indicates, sometimes I feel like I’m on fire. It’s burning me up, making me restless, keeping me just on the edge of tearing my (every more scanty) hair out.

If I say, “I will not mention him,
    or speak any more in his name,”
then within me there is something like a burning fire
    shut up in my bones;
I am weary with holding it in,
    and I cannot. (Jer 20:9) 

For years, I thought this was only me. Then a trickle of books came out, better- or lesser-known a couple of decades ago, Ralph Martin’s The Catholic Church at the End of an Age and Michael D. O’Brien’s Father Elijah and Eclipse of the Sun. Someone else saw the crisis! Someone else felt the agonizing frustration of millions abandoning the Catholic Church. Someone else saw that the pallid preaching, the cold congregations, the perpetual inward focus of business-as-usual Catholic parishes was driving people out of the doors. They fled, either into nondenominational megachurches, or more commonly into easy agnosticism.

More recently, the trickle has grown to a stream. Forming Intentional Disciples by Sherry Weddell, Rebuilt by Michael White and Tom Corcoran, and Divine Renovation by James Mallon sounded the same call. “The parish model is deader than dead. We are using 1950s methods – which probably weren’t all that effective then – in a culture that has morphed from indifference toward active dislike of Christianity. We’re dying, folks!”

Ironically, only after reading these books did I learn that the popes from Paul VI to Francis have been hammering on these themes since Vatican II. A river whose name is “the call to evangelization” has been flowing from Rome. Many Catholic fountains flow from that source. They are fed also by strong streams of renewal in the evangelical Protestant churches. All note the same problems. All offer the same solution. Not a coincidence, as all draw from the same Word of God.

The solution? First, discipleship: coming to make a personal decision for a real relationship with Jesus Christ, something our Protestant brethren have been preaching far more clearly than we. Second, communion: knowing, welcoming, loving, and supporting the people in our Catholic communities through the formation of small, intentional faith communities within the larger parish. Third, mission: for us to be so filled with Jesus, and so loved by our communities, that we can’t keep it in. The love of Christ so urges us on that we have to share Him with others.

The embers are heating up, brothers and sisters. There are a thousand points of light in Omaha alone – brethren filled with the same fire, constrained with the same fervor. Through difficult marriages, financial hardships, deaths and other losses, I am amazed and heartened at the oak-solid, ocean-deep perseverance and faith of clients and friends in the Omaha area. Hearts are burning to know Jesus more deeply and to bring others to know Him. You won’t see it in the news – but it truly is good news.

The Christian martyrs in the Middle East, China, and Africa are daily holocausts. They are fragrant offerings for the sake of the Gospel’s spread. Along with their witness, the cry truly goes up from millions of hearts, exclaiming with Jesus, “I came to bring fire to the earth, and how I wish it were already kindled!” (Lk 12:49) In the midst of the West’s increasing darkness, the embers of drastically needed renewal in the Catholic Church and throughout the Body of Christ near their critical mass. Just a spark is needed. Just another point in the matrix waits to be aligned. The fire we are waiting for will blaze inextinguishably. We are holding on. We are trusting. We are praying. We are waiting for fire.

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Radiant Femininity

Posted on November 22, 2016 by admin

On a recent retreat, I meditated on the story of Mary’s visit to Elizabeth. What icons of radiant femininity these women of God are!

The episode (Lk 1:39-56) is familiar. Mary has just found out she will be the mother of the Messiah. She has also learned that her aged cousin Elizabeth is six months pregnant. So she makes the trek to the hill country of Judah, to congratulate and to help Elizabeth in the final months of the latter’s pregnancy. When they meet, joy and celebration break out. Elizabeth’s baby, John the Baptist, leaps in her womb. Elizabeth cries out how blessed Mary is. Mary praises the wonders of the Lord.

Radiant femininity shines out throughout the passage. Mary has just received the joyful yet disturbing news that she will bear a son from no human husband. She puts her cares aside to help her elderly relative. Unasked, she sees what needs to be done and does it. She breaks out of her own compartment into another’s. Doubtless, when she got to Elizabeth’s house, she saw a dozen things Elizabeth hadn’t been able to get to – which a guy visitor would have missed completely, I think – and did them.

Years ago, I was visiting my wheelchair-bound cousin, Patrick. I commented how, at holiday dinners, the menfolk would tend to sit and chat before and after dinner while the women unobtrusively cleaned up around them and got the table cleared for dessert. How unthoughtful of the men! Meanwhile, my aunt Katherine was quietly cleaning up the tea things around us while I sat and chatted with Patrick. Patrick smiled a bit as the irony of the situation dawned on me.

When Mary arrives, Elizabeth exclaims with joy, “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb! And why has this happened to me, that the mother of my Lord comes to me? For as soon as I heard the sound of your greeting, the child in my womb leaped for joy. And blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her by the Lord. (Lk 1:42-45)” In her radiant femininity, her praise of Mary is full, unabashed. Filled with the Spirit of Love, she cries out in love. How easy it would have been for her to rush up to Mary and say, “Mary! Wait until I tell you my news!” But she unselfconsciously lays it aside to rejoice with her cousin.

Women at ease with their femininity are amazing at this. They affirm each other with an openness that would feels awkward and forced among guys. “I love your dress! Where did you get it? And you did something with your hair – it looks fantastic!” “You do such a wonderful job with your Christmas decorations! And the dinner was delicious. I could never pull that off.” A friend of my wife’s told her, “We need to go for a long walk soon. I need my Mary fix!”

What in a group of men would be gushy and weird comes across as warmly comfortable with women. Had I been the one to greet Mary at the visitation, I probably would have said, “Yo! Great news, I hear. You must be very pleased.” Pleasant, but understated. If Joseph had strolled up with Mary, I might have added, “Good to see you, buddy!” Friendly, but not over-the-top.

It’s not just how women can be among themselves. It is so refreshing when a wife openly praises her husband, or a sister her brother, or a woman her male friend. I say “refreshing”  because our society fights against such expressions. The unwritten rule is that women and men must be in competition. In sitcoms, ads, and movies, women and men score laughing points by sniping at each other. Witty sarcasm, not open affirmation, is the politically correct requirement. How healing when genuine affirmation nevertheless happens. How radiantly feminine! This goes both ways, of course. A few years ago, the bumper sticker “I Love My Wife” was popular. You’d think that such a sentiment hardly needed to be expressed. But that it, too, had a healing quality highlights how rarely we openly appreciate the other gender.

Mary’s radiant femininity blazes in fullest force in the Magnificat. She praises the Most High, who reverses the fortunes of rich and poor, proud and humble, well-fed and hungry,  kings and lowly ones. Her heart is wide, wide open, in the perfect humility that is truth. All generations will call her blessed – but it is the Almighty’s gift. She is a lowly handmaid – but “He has done great things for me, and holy is His name.”

There is nothing so radiantly feminine as a woman wholly in love with the Lord. There is nothing so wonderfully masculine as a man passionately in love with Jesus. Our femininity, our masculinity become most feminine, most masculine, when we become most ourselves. And the only path to complete, full, radiant identity is to lose ourselves and find ourselves in Him. Mary and Elizabeth, in their radiant femininity, have done so on a scale few of us approach. Let us pray for a portion of their spirit.

 

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Real Life Is Meeting

Posted on November 15, 2016 by admin

“Real Life Is Meeting” is a line from Martin Buber’s classic theological/philosophical work  I and Thou. Buber, a devout Jew, distinguishes between “I-It” relationships and “I-Thou” relationships. In “I-It” relationships, I treat the other as an object, a means to an end. In “I-Thou” relationships, I treat the other as a subject  – someone with his or her own aspirations, loves, hates, thoughts, feelings, and experiences. “All real living is meeting”, says Buber [emphasis mine].

Yesterday I had a disturbing experience. A friend of mine let me know that her friend’s friend (Justin) had a question. Justin wanted to know whether I did reparative or conversion therapy for people with same-sex attraction. She was pretty sure that if I responded “yes”, Justin would put me on a list of “therapists who hate gays and trans-gens”. Next, I found a post on my Facebook page, with Justin asking the question my friend had alerted me to. I asked my friend to give Justin my office number. “I’d rather build bridges than burn them. I’d be happy to talk by phone or even do lunch with him.”

Really, I strive not to hate anybody at all. I certainly don’t “hate gays and trans-gens”. From disagreeing with many aspects of the gay lifestyle to hating everyone in that lifestyle is a tremendous leap. I doubt that Justin hates, for example, all therapists who do reparative therapy, however much he disagrees with it. At least, I hope he doesn’t. But neither of us can be certain, because we haven’t met. Real life is meeting. We can’t know someone we haven’t met. And given the complexity and depth of any person, getting to know someone well requires many meetings. The person I haven’t met tends to be an “It”, not a “Thou”.

If Justin and I talk, or better still, meet face to face, there’s a fair chance we’ll like each other. I haven’t locked him into “It” status, and I hope that he hasn’t done that to me, either. It’s very unlikely we’ll change each other’s opinions, but we may come to understand each other better. To “agree to disagree” really could happen on a meaningful level.

A few months ago, Mary and I went to a presentation by a local group. It presented itself as promoting dialogue about how Catholics could welcome gay people into their parishes. Unfortunately, the presentation was misleading, strongly implying that one could be a Catholic in good standing while in a sexually active, gay relationship. I presented the Church’s teaching at the open mike, while acknowledging the sore need for the Church to reach out to those with same-sex attraction. One of the presenting couples, parents of a gay man, told me they’d like to continue that discussion over lunch some time. We did.

I was nervous about meeting them for lunch, as perhaps they were. None of us knew what to expect, and I don’t care much for conflict. We didn’t change each other’s minds, but there was a bit of mending fences. They love their son greatly, and they don’t see how they can truly love him without supporting his love for his partner, too. I agree, of course, with their loving their son. For reasons I’ve given in other posts, I don’t agree that endorsing his gay partnership is the best way to love him. I did wholeheartedly resonate with their frustration at the lack of support and guidance they found from the local Church in addressing their pain. We parted with hugs. I asked them to pray for me and promised my prayers for them. If we were ever “Its” to one another, I don’t think we are now.

Northern Ireland is well-known for the abiding hostility between Protestants and Catholics, dating back to the 17th century. Of the many attempts at reconciliation, very few have succeeded. Two ventures that have are the Irish Children’s Fund and the Children’s Project Northern Ireland, both begun in the 1980s. Each brings together Protestant and Catholic children ages 11-15 in weekend activities and summer camps. This brings them out of their respective Protestant or Catholic “bubbles” into face-to-face contact and shared, enjoyable activities. Real life is meeting. Prejudices are broken down or at least eroded. The “It” starts to become a “Thou”. Granted, it’s a drop in the bucket of still-intense hatred between the sectors. Granted, that the parents even allow their children to participate implies some degree of initial openness. But it’s a step.

Our nation has an ever-increasing, seemingly limitless number of “bubbles”. We tend to make “Its” of those not in our bubble. What we know about the other bubbles largely depends on the media, and as most Americans agree, the media is deeply biased. Growing up in Chicago, for example, it was far too easy to make it through senior year high school meeting few Protestants and no Jewish people. To this day, I can count on one hand the number of Muslims I’ve met, or Middle Easterners of any sort. An acquaintance from Nebraska City noted how everybody he knew growing up was Christian. It took working on the East and West coasts for him to meet agnostics and atheists. In my graduate program in psychology, I was the intruder in the secular bubble of political correctness. Few there had ever met an educated, committed Christian.

I regret to say that I have had virtually no sustained conversations with a homeless person. I have one friend in prison. Through a friend who works with them, I have had one conversation with an African-American ex-gang-member. Aside from several clients and a number of my siblings, I have few liberal Democrat acquaintances. Overwhelmingly, I move in circles of conservative and often devout Christians. My window into the other bubbles is mainly the distorted lens of the media. That makes me very liable to “I-Itting” those unlike me.

Pope Francis rightly castigates many of us Catholics for being too inward-looking. The anemic Western Church is far too focused on maintenance rather than mission. We are much more like cliques than like field hospitals. Jesus Christ emphatically commands us to break out of our bubbles. “Go, make disciples of all nations!” (Mt 28:19). St. Paul tells us that in the Church as it should be – and outside of the First World, often is – “There is no longer Greek and Jew, circumcised and uncircumcised, barbarian, Scythian, slave and free; but Christ is all and in all.” (Col 3:11)  I, you, we need to get out into the world, transforming the Its into the Thous, building instead of burning bridges. Real life is meeting.

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Election Reflection

Posted on November 8, 2016 by admin

In my 39 voting years, no election has inspired such controversy as this one. Conflict, anxiety, and divine reassurance came to mind on this momentous election day.

Battle lines are being drawn. That line from the 1966 Buffalo Springfield classic, “For What It’s Worth” applies more than ever five decades later. Our nation is frighteningly divided. Chasms of conflict yawn between classes, genders, races, political parties, and religions. Each sector appears to have its own reality. It’s like my worst cases of couples counseling, in which dialogue has become impossible. Neither spouse can even agree about what happened in the last five days, months, or years of their marriage, much less talk through and resolve it.

Several years ago, I remarked to an acquaintance that the U.S. is going down the tubes. “It’s not Rome before the fall, it’s Rome in the midst of the fall.” I pointed out the dramatic rises in teen STDs and sucides, in out-of-wedlock pregnancies, and in broken families. My acquaintance said my statement was ridiculous. The economy was rebounding, unemployment was down, lots of government programs were helping the poor – what was the problem?

Each of us could have discussed his view with his immediate circle of friends. Each circle would have endorsed its member’s view. Each would have found the other circle’s perspective completely opaque. The Collapse of Western Civilization. Happy Days Are Here Again. Which is it? Depends on whom you ask, even in the same state, town, or neighborhood. The Trump-Hillary divide is just one symptom of a raging disease.

My heart needs to catch up with my Christian convictions. I know that Jesus Christ is the Lord of history. I know that God foresaw this election day from all eternity. I know that the safest place I can be is in the will of God. But in the last few months, as the election day clouds have loomed, I’ve experienced a new kind of anxiety. Out of nowhere, my shoulders and neck will tighten up and pull forward. It’s painful and annoying. I do some deep breathing (really!) and the muscle tension eases up a bit.

But I find myself wondering if the present state of heightened anxiety is a hint of how the Jews felt as the Nazis gained power. A relative of mine made the remarkable observation that she didn’t see any anti-Christian bias in the media. But then, she’s not Christian. For the Christians I know, the bias is obvious throughout the news, movies, and television. Christians and overweight people seem to be the two acceptable groups to mock and denigrate. I could multiply examples but (see above), you either see the reality or you don’t.

For my birthday, my son gave me the recent bestseller and Pulitzer prize winner, All the Light We Cannot See. Great book. But I had to put it down. I have enough tension without seeking it in my leisure reading. The atmosphere of impending doom in pre-Nazi-occupation France and Nazi Germany just felt too familiar. More and more frequently, I wonder what I’ll do if or when I lose my psychology license for refusing to toe the line of political correctness. But not just that: Could I withstand torture? How would I handle prison? Worse, what if my loved ones had to suffer like that? Without God’s grace, no way I can make it.

So I know I need to rest more in the Lord’s promises, pray more earnestly, and seek more intensely the fellowship of others who can remind me that Jesus has the victory. “Let not your hearts be troubled.” (Jn 14:1) “Now when these things begin to take place, look up and raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near.” (Lk 21:28) In The Hiding Place, one of its real-life heroes of the Dutch resistance to Nazism finds that the Lord gives the strength needed at the moment it’s needed – not a second before. Wherever He takes us, He will give us the ticket just before we get on the train.

We are exactly where we need to be. Mary and I were talking yesterday about various ways the Lord has freed us up, healed us, and worked in our lives, especially since our coming to Omaha. We feel a stillness, a readiness that we have never experienced. We don’t know what’s coming, of course. But we feel that God has us just where He wants us. He has opened up doors in our hearts just in time.

In another passage from The Hiding Place, someone remarks, “If God has shown us bad times ahead, it’s enough for me that He knows about them. That’s why He sometimes shows us things, you know – to tell us that this too is in His hands.” In His mercy, God has has brought us to Omaha, a real center of Catholic Christian renewal. He has placed us in a number of intensely committed faith-sharing communities. He has deepened my family’s reliance on Him as our Father, Mary as our Blessed Mother, and Jesus as our Brother and Friend. Out of His graciousness to us and those He’s connected us with, He has equipped us to give and to share in these upcoming days of trial and glory. And of course, He’s similarly doing working in the lives of all who cling to Him. That’s an election reflection to hang on to.

 

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Divorce and Other Lies

Posted on October 25, 2016 by admin

Good parents strive to be honest with their children. They want their children to know that they can trust their parents, no matter what. Yesterday, I was on Relevant Radio’s On Call show, with Wendy Wiese. A grandmother called in. Her grandson had found his pet fish lying dead at the bottom of the tank. Flustered, the grandmother told him that the fish was “hibernating”. She knew he’d be very upset if he knew the fish had died. Behind his back, she had the dead fish replaced with a live one. But next time he saw her, the grandson refused her kiss. Had he found out about the switcheroo? Should she tell him? Oh, what a tangled web…

I applaud the grandmother’s commitment to honesty, scrupulous as it may be. If only we could be so scrupulous about the lies we tell ourselves about divorce. I am saddened to see how often the lies are identical for Christians and for secular cultures. The lies stem from the pop psychology anti-gospel of self-fulfillment. They may even be couched in Christian terms, but they reveal a Cross-less Christianity. Here are a couple of the lies:

“Kids are resilient.” “Sure, it will be tough at first, but they’ll rebound.” I’ve had couples in which one or the other is seriously considering divorce after three years or less of marriage. They have a child or children under two years old. (The reasons vary, from “I don’t feel listened to” to “I caught him looking at porn” to “She never wants to have sex” to one or the other having an affair.) Because women generally have higher expectations of marriage, they are also more likely to file for divorce.

There is a veritable mountain of literature outlining the devastating effects of divorce on children, even older children. Even in amicable divorces, the children struggle with poorly formed identities the rest of their lives. This is because they have to live in two worlds, under two sets of rules, according to which parent they’re staying with.

Too often, the father remarries, starts a new family, and devotes all of his attention to that. Or one parent may bitterly resent the other, letting that bitterness trump the children’s need to have a father and a mother by slandering the ex or engaging in endless custody battles. In almost all cases, the strain of now having two households to support puts the entire family under financial strain.

In divorce the children always lose: a stable home, time with one or both parents, and often their neighborhood, friends, school, church. They may also lose their parents’ emotional availability. One or the other parent may become too anxious or depressed about the marriage to attend to the children’s emotional needs. A parent may rush into a new relationship, sometimes with prospective stepchildren involved. This deprives the birth children of accustomed parental time and attention. The parent may use his or her newfound “freedom” to revert to adolescence, hanging out with the girls or boys at the bars, drinking to excess and flirting. “It’s about time I took some time for me.” The children effectively lose every birthday, Christmas, Easter, Fourth of July, Mothers’ Day, Fathers’ Day, as the parents and grandparents juggle schedules to accommodate the divorce.

Worst, the children learn that parents (or a parent, when one wants to divorce and the other doesn’t) don’t keep promises. Imagine going to a wedding where the vows were, “I promise to be true to you until it gets too difficult. I will love you and honor you until you really, really hurt me. For better, for worse, unless the worse gets terribly bad.” Certainly, annulments are legitimate in certain atypical situations. And to separate in the face of physical or chronic, severe emotional abuse may be necessary. But there’s a reason that the vows are so absolute. We want to believe that promises can be kept, no matter what. “I will love you always, always, always.” It is the profoundest echo of God’s heart. It is the image of His crazy love for the Church, and the Church’s ideal love for Him.

“God couldn’t possibly want me to stay when I’m so unhappy.” This is straight from the pop psychology anti-gospel. It preaches that our hopes are indeed limited to this life. It tells me that I deserve to be happy, in the sense of realizing my potential and not suffering too much. The sufferings of the present are heavy indeed, not to be compared with the dim hope of “some heaven lightyears away”.

Yet God sometimes calls us to persevere in extremely difficult situations. There was a reflection on marriage which the Church formerly allowed in place of the wedding homily. Part of it ran something like, “Love normally requires suffering. And great love requires great suffering. But if the love is great enough, the suffering becomes easy.” Our hope is not limited to this life. To a friend who was considering divorce, and whose marriage was objectively quite difficult I pointed this out. I told “Mark” that yes, he could be looking at another thirty years of difficulty, unless things changed in the marriage. “But imagine, as you cross the threshold of death, hearing the Lord’s words: ‘Well done, good and faithful servant. Enter into your Master’s joy.'”

I don’t think many of us truly believe in Heaven – that this life truly is “a bad night in a poor inn”, the merest moment next to the unimaginable expanse of Eternity. The present, the tangible, so seize our attention, mine included. But it’s illusion. Keeping forever vows demands a forever perspective. Let’s drop the “option” of divorce, and the other lies that go with it. Let’s be forever faithful. The Lord guarantees that we can.

 

 

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“As Is” : The Real Deal – Part II

Posted on October 18, 2016 by admin

To be taken “as is” is an essential ingredient of counseling. Carl Rogers was a therapist known for his theory that “unconditional positive regard” is the basis of good therapy. He actually saw it as the only necessary ingredient, which isn’t so. But it is an essential one. Obviously, Christ-centered therapy offers a rock-solid basis for this emphasis. Such counselors can pass on the unconditional love that they themselves have received.

With clients new to therapy, I sketch briefly what counseling involves. I tell them that the counselor is someone who has had substantial training in counseling. He or she has helped many people work through situations that are roughly similar to the present client’s difficulties. He or she an offer an objective view, not being emotionally involved in the situation. Most important, the counselor provides a safe place to process emotional issues in a confidential environment where the client won’t feel judged. That is, the counselor’s job is to take the client “as is”.

Most clients come to me because they want to be there. They’re in distress, and they want to look at and face their issues or some complex situation. They are generally likable, sincere, motivated people. So, in many ways, taking them “as is” easy. Still, because I want to help, and I’ve had training, and I’ve probably seen similar situations, I have to resist jumping in and “fixing” the client. Taking him or her “as is” requires that I first listen. The listening is reflective and active, to make sure I’m capturing what the client is saying. Capturing the client’s emotion is particularly important.”So it sounds like things have improved a lot between you and your Dad. But there’s still some hurts from the past you need to resolve.” “So your son’s a good kid over all, but you’re disappointed that he’s not more disciplined about his schoolwork.” “So you know that God’s forgiven you for some of the sexual stuff you did, but you’re having a hard time forgiving yourself.”

If the client’s never been in therapy before, it may be his or her first experience of introspection and processing emotions. I need to take this “as is”, too. My first impulse is to heap insight upon insight. But this can overwhelm the client. It’s like giving a huge, rich meal to someone who hasn’t eaten for weeks. It’s best to focus on one issue at a time. Then the client has time to work on and assimilate one thing before moving on to the next one. For clients from traumatic backgrounds, for example, the first item on the agenda is to help him or her gain a basic sense of personal safety: if the client is constantly on the edge of panic, nothing else I offer will do any good.

Accepting clients “as is” often means “normalizing” their experience. Frequently clients come from backgrounds where emotions were minimized or not talked about. To let clients know that their emotional reaction is normal and expected, given the situation, can be a profound relief to them. One client tended to see virtually all of his emotional reactions as “stupid”, having had that lie hammered into him throughout his childhood. Given his highly traumatic background, it was a relief for him to hear, “What you’re feeling is a normal, healthy reaction to an abnormal, unhealthy situation.”

Sometimes the work is to help clients accept themselves “as is”. This may involve helping them feel their feelings by, in a sense, feeling their feelings for them. I’ve found myself getting teared up when a client tells of her grief over a great loss. It’s a natural reaction, but it ends up giving her permission to cry, too. Or I may express anger about the client’s abuse, and this helps him get in touch with long-buried rage.

The “as is” acceptance is of who the client is, not necessarily of what the client is doing or has done. To love someone doesn’t mean loving all of his or her choices. But being accepted as we are helps us become who we are called to be. This is God’s whole modus operandi. “We love, because He first loved us” (1 Jn 4:19). The power so to love has to come from Him. It is amazing and inspiring to see how clients blossom in this atmosphere of unconditional acceptance: to be taken “as is”.

 

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“As Is”: The Real Deal – Part I

Posted on October 11, 2016 by admin

“As is”. When I see an ad for something being sold “as is”, the associations are mainly negative. The computer, car, or house is unusually low priced, yes. But the vendor knows that the item has some problems. He or she is forestalling any complaining or reneging on the sale, once concluded. Am I getting a good deal? Or am I being taken?

Yet to take or be taken “as is” is one way to define unconditional love. It’s the heart of the marriage vows, for example: “For better, for worse; for richer, for poorer…”. I take you, my spouse, “as is.” But it’s not always easy to believe that even those closest to us, truly take us “as is”.

A few months into our marriage, Mary and I were in our kitchen, getting dinner ready. I was, for no reason I could figure out, in a bad mood. I was civil, but Mary picked up on it. “You’re kind of owly today,” she commented. At first, I made some lame excuses. I wasn’t really owly. It was just so busy. Or hungry. Or tired. Whatever. Eventually, unwillingly, I admitted, “I guess I am.” I waited for the criticism or condemnation. Something like, “What’s wrong with you?! Why are you so moody? What do you have to be grouchy about?” Instead, Mary said matter-of-factly, “I thought so.”

For me, this little interchange was a revelation. I could be grouchy, and loved and accepted, at the same time. For a variety of reasons, I’d always felt that grouchiness or moodiness was just not allowed. I had to pretend I wasn’t feeling irritable, down, or some other emotion, or avoid people until I got in a better mood. But Mary saw my grouchiness and commented on it, without judgment. I assume she was opening it up, along the lines of, “Anything you’d like to talk about?” Strangely, my mood lifted. The permission to be grouchy helped me be less grouchy.

Years later, Mary and Michael and I were out driving. I was sarcastic or in some other way demeaning to Mary. Michael said, “I can’t believe you talk to your wife that way.” OUCH. I was stunned. I didn’t know what to say. But I realized that something was seriously wrong. Something had to change. We’d never done the cussing at each other thing, but…what kind of example was I giving my son? How was I treating my wife? I made some resolves at that point – not my usual, “I’ll be nicer until I’m out of the doghouse” ones. It being the beginning of Lent, I used those 40 days to practice, deepen, and consolidate the changes.

I discovered that, when I had the impulse to say something unkind to Mary, or respond with impatience, the pressure to do so was at first very strong. But if I took a time-out and sought the Lord’s grace, that pressure lightened considerably in 5, 10, maybe 20 minutes. I was able to come back into the conversation with no damage done. Also, it helped immensely not only NOT to make the nasty response, but to make a loving, appreciative response instead. By the end of Lent, I had begun to form a new, more loving pattern with my wife. It hadn’t been that difficult.

One morning, shortly after the new normal was in place, I was praying about this. I realized, “If I’d exerted this effort years ago in our marriage, how much hurt I could have spared Mary!” I was disgusted with myself and the years of selfishness. Mary came out and saw me crying. I told her how sorry I was for what I’d put her through. I waited for the, “It’s about time! Would it have been that hard to change sooner?”

Instead, she said something like, “You seem to be surprised that you’re not perfect. But I know you’re not. I don’t expect you to be. It’s no big deal. Sure, it took some time, and there were some rough words over the years. But it’s okay. You’re a good husband, and we have a good marriage.” Wow. Taken “as is” again. Do I have a sweet wife, or what?

“As is”. Maybe that’s not such a bad deal, after all.

To be continued…

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Change of Scenery

Posted on September 27, 2016 by admin

Everybody needs a change of scenery now and then. That’s what vacations, weekend getaways, and summer homes are all about. But God sometimes calls us to changes of scenery that also lead to changes of heart. Some time ago, an acquaintance was discerning whether she and her family should relocate to a different diocese. The diocese has the unusual combination of solidly Catholic schools with very low tuition. She had been homeschooling her many children. But some personal struggles and the special needs of one of her children were making that increasingly unmanageable.

We started talking about how prominent changes of scenery are in the Bible. With few exceptions, the relocations are acts of faith, steps out of the boat, that lead to deeper conversion. Even the involuntary relocations often bore good fruit. Right off the bat, Adam and Eve had to relocate from the bliss of Eden to the grind of earthly toil. Most unfortunate, but in God’s mercy, we have to trust that the resulting suffering helped them turn back to him. Adam and Eve discovered how love and work can recreate some hints of paradise even in this valley of tears. As Adam says of Eve in Mark Twain’s humorous but touching Excerpts from Adam’s Diary, “Wherever she was, there was Eden.”

The Flood forced Noah and his family to relocate, by means of their long, watery voyage, to a place where humanity could make a fresh start. Esau’s murderous rage against his deceitful brother Jacob forced the latter to flee to his uncle Laban’s farm (Gen 27-28). For decades he slaved for Laban in order to win his beloved and less-beloved wives, Rachel and Leah. But in the process, he became a new man, faithful to the Lord and devoted to his family.

Earlier, Abram’s voluntary change of scenery from Haran to Canaan was an act of faith that changed the world. He obediently relocated 900 miles, a city boy willing to spend the rest of his life as a nomad. He left behind his fathers’ gods to worship the one God. He became a man of generosity, giving the best land to his nephew Lot (Gen 13:8-10). A model of Eastern hospitality, he humbly served his angelic guests (Gen 18). His willingness to sacrifice his son Isaac at the Lord’s command made him our father in faith.

The title of the second book in the Bible, Exodus, literally means a change of scenery, a “going out”. The multitude that left Egypt wavered often. But they put their faith in the Lord and His servant Moses’ promise that risky freedom was better than complacent slavery. By the time they entered the Promised Land, their journey transformed the Hebrew people from an idolatrous, faithless crowd into a fearless, faithful warrior band. The timid whiners in the desert became the steadfast and courageous conquerors of Canaan.

Why is a change of scenery, when the Lord calls us to it, so powerful? First, it causes a fruitful disorientation. We don’t have our bearings, so we must cling more to Him. Our move from Milwaukee to Panama City in 2001 was not only a geographical, but a cultural move from North to South. I was also launching a private practice as part of an association of Christian therapists whom I barely knew. Mary was homeschooling Michael, so that she and he were getting to know a whole new group of other Christian homeschooling families. Before making solid connections with some wonderful friends there, we had to keep coming to the Lord, seeking His grace for the transition. The move 8 years later from Panama City to Omaha involved similar dynamics. Many couples we’ve met who’ve similarly relocated due to the Lord’s leading have told us of analogous graces.

Second, a change of scenery can shake out what matters from what doesn’t. When we stayed with Mary’s mother during her battle with ALS, we knew virtually no one in Janesville, Wisconsin. But we discovered that, as good as a large social network can be, having each other was enough. “Wherever two or more are gathered…” Jesus was with us. He sustained us during that difficult but beautiful year of caring for my mother-in-law. It was such a privilege to get to know so remarkable a woman so well as she prepared to depart this life.

Third – and this is mysterious – a change of scenery seems to free us to adopt a different mindset. This may partially result from the acts of faith that a God-initiated move involve. But it appears to have a psychological basis as well. Perhaps supporting each other through intimidating transitions has something to do with it. Our son Michael noticed how our move to Omaha transformed our marriage. “You two never fight any more!” Not that our marriage wasn’t good before. We certainly never physically fought, nor cussed at each other. But we experienced a new level of tranquility, joy, and security in our marriage after moving here.

“Go from your country and your kindred and your father’s house to the land that I will show you”, the Lord told Abram (Gen 12:1). The call to “go” won’t always mean a literal change of scenery. But when the Lord calls us, and we respond in trust and faith, the fruit is great.

Posted in Catholic Prayer | Comments Off on Change of Scenery

The Depth of the Lay Vocation

Posted on September 20, 2016 by admin

The depth of the lay vocation is like a treasure hidden in a field. It often isn’t obvious, even to the lay person him- or herself. But it’s truly there and truly precious. In comparison with the priesthood, the lay person’s gift to the Body of Christ is often one of depth vs. breadth. Of course, clergy can touch people deeply. And a lay person can influence many people. But a recent experience with a Catholic acquaintance highlighted the depth of the lay vocation.

The acquaintance is a homeschooling mom with a large number of young children. She tends to see committed priests as the “rock stars” of the Church. They can touch so many people. They’re so busy bringing people to the Lord, or bringing them deeper. They inspire by their preaching. They console the grieving. They counsel in crises. They think about and talk about and “do for” God all the time.

She saw her own role as a wife and homeschooling mother as not too important. Her daily life is a series of little tasks. She’s just trying to get her kids to understand Math and Reading. She’s managing their squabbles. She’s trying to keep the house from falling into chaos.

She wakes the kids. She gets them breakfast. She settles them into their schoolwork. She picks up a bit around the house. She takes the kids to some activity with other homeschoolers. She makes dinner. She talks with her husband when he gets back from work. She goes to bed. Next day it’s the same routine.

But as she spoke about her days, it was clear that they were soaked in the love of Christ. She’s praying constantly, an ongoing conversation with the Lord. She listens for the Holy Spirit’s leading moment by moment. How to respond to this child’s complaint? Do they need to go to this activity? Or would the day be more peaceful and productive if they skipped it this once? One of the kids had an argument with a friend – she drops the plans of finally straightening out the garage and listens to her daughter’s troubles.

My friend’s holiness is obvious to me. She has a hard time seeing it. She’s not bringing scads of people to Christ, as a priest or nun might. But as Chesterton said about work in the public square vs. motherhood, “How can it be broad to be the same thing to everyone, and narrow to be everything to someone?” Her effect on her family is incalculable. Her holiness can set her family on fire.

A priest’s vocation necessarily limits his involvement in any single person’s life. He can touch many people, but he must sacrifice deep involvement with any one person for the sake of tending to the many he shepherds. He can get to know many deep things about many people. But he cannot attain the depth of knowledge and influence that the 24/7 vocation of family involves.

My work as a Catholic psychologist overlaps with the work of a priest in certain ways. I hear confessions, although I cannot absolve. I’m privileged to get to know many people in some personal depth. With Christian clients, I pray and encourage them to find the healing and fullness of life that Jesus Christ gives. I believe that the Lord has touched many of them, through me, for good. (I know that He’s touched me through them.) I love my ministry/job. I sometimes can’t believe I’m getting paid for something that’s so life-giving.

But unlike the priest’s priesthood, psychology is not my primary vocation. As a layman, when I leave work, I need to shift gears. I’m leaving my job, and entering my vocation as a husband and a father. I influence my wife and son immeasurably more than I do my clients – of course. The time we spend with each other and the depth with which we know and love each other is – naturally – far greater. Family members powerfully shape each other for good or ill, holiness or lack thereof.

If I died tomorrow, my clients’ lives would go on without major damage. Sure, there might be some sadness or some initial difficulty shifting to a new therapist. But it’s my family that would struggle long and hard, just as I would if my wife or child died before me. The particularity of the lay vocation leads to depth, as the non-exclusivity of the priestly vocation leads to breadth. Both are necessary elements of the Body. Good priests are powerful for the kingdom. We need to let them know we love and support them. But let no one disparage the holiness and depth of the lay vocation.

Posted in Church Renewal, Family Life | Comments Off on The Depth of the Lay Vocation