Holy Week

praying through the center of our story

Junior year on Holy Saturday some friends and I decided to watch The Return of the King in the time between dinner and Easter Vigil at 11. We didn’t end up starting it right away and we needed to choose some scenes to skip in order to make it to the end with enough time to get ready for Mass. But we did it and it was beautiful. And as I stood outside in the dark, waiting for our candles to be lit by the Easter fire I realized that my emotions had been put in exactly the right state to enter into the great drama of Salvation History that the Easter Vigil bears witness to. The epic victory of light over darkness, the heroism required of each of the players in order to get there, and the deep beauty of their journeys helped me to see the same reality played out in history and in my heart with new eyes.

Below you'll find an edit of a sort of digital retreat I created during the Holy Week of 2020. It was a collective of ideas for ways to pray through and enter into Holy Week even when we were deprived of our normal Liturgical means. Hopefully now it can be ideas for how to supplement the normal rhythm of the Holy Week Liturgies and be a way of entering even more deeply and experientially into this center of our Story.

Our Story

Stories are a huge factor in my life in general but particularly in my prayer and they are especially skilled at moving whatever is going on in prayer from my head to my heart. That’s a crucial step because I’m a person, a body as well as a soul, a heart as well as a mind, and the more that the truth of who God is and how much He loves me penetrates every aspect of my being, the more I enter into a real and transforming relationship with Him.

Throughout the week, I’ll be pretty focused on The Lord of the Rings as a source of imagery for Holy Week. But feel free to use other stories as well. Another story that I’ve prayed with a LOT is Disney’s Tangled and I’m not ashamed. It’s spot on in the journey of every Christian to realize that their true identity (which has been hidden from them for most of their life by an insidious deceiver) is the beloved daughter of the King. Images from it have matched up with my prayer time and time again. But there’s one scene in particular, just before the floating lanterns, when Rapunzel’s mother and father are getting ready to go out and begin the tradition that symbolizes their hope for the return of their daughter who has been lost to them for eighteen years. The mother looks up at the father and sees his shoulders slumped and tears in his eyes, heartbroken that his daughter is gone, still doesn’t know who she is. I was watching it for the umpteenth time, with a sleeping baby in my arms, and I realized that his heartbroken face is the face of our Father, aching for us to know who we really are, for us to know how immensely we are loved. (I broke down crying. It was neither the first nor the last time that Tangled has made me cry.)

So this is my plan. Throughout the week I’m going to be offering ideas of how to spend time during Holy Week in entering into the Great Story of Redemption. A big piece of that will be imaginative contemplation as taught by St. Ignatius of Loyola. It’s a beautiful practice that has changed my life and that I’ll get into more tomorrow. So I’ll be sharing Scripture passages each day that will be conducive to that method of prayer and to the Story of the week. I’ll also be sharing ideas for how to make space for the Story of Salvation to happen in your heart - some practical ideas, some emotional ideas, certainly including watching The Lord of the Rings spread out over the course of the week. And, hopefully, some brief reflections on my experience with imaginative prayer and with stories to give you ideas of where to go. And in all the things, my hope is that you are able to enter into the Story of Redemption in a new way and that your renewed remembering will allow this Story to become yours.

Because a story that begins and ends with being loved so much that you are worth dying for is going to be a pretty epic story. And the more you live out the reality that this story of hope and redemption and impossibly heroic love, is your story - the freer and stronger and happier and more yourself you are going to be. And the more you will fall in love with the One who already loves you more than you can imagine. Because it’s a love story and you are the beloved.

Day by Day

Some brief reflections for each day of Holy Week

Palm Sunday

There's a scene in Endgame that I've reflected on a lot:
Captain America, thrown to the ground again and again, his shield splintered, his body too heavy with the beating, and utterly alone. And he fights his way to his feet. It seems impossible to even stand and he stands alone with all the powers of darkness arrayed against him. And only then, miraculously, do all the forces of good (that he had long thought lost to him) appear at his back. The mismatched, motley crew of the wildly unique heroes finding strength as well as improbable love in their unity. And in their unity, taking all the courage and strength and sacrifice they can muster, they find victory.
Rather than being too caught up in calculating the outcome, focus your strength on being faithful to the task you have been set.
I know it might seem a little bit dramatic, but honestly the feeling of being so alone and so beaten down by difficulty, sorrow, confusion etc. that it feels impossible to stand, is one that I relate to. I didn’t mean to spend a large chunk of a prayer time last week reflecting on this one scene in Endgame, but I just think it is so beautiful. I might feel things in a more dramatic tone than most, but I know that feeling lonely sometimes is part of the human condition and no matter where you are you probably have at least some inkling of what that feels like, now more than ever as the world waits in quarantine. And the readings from Mass today paint a picture of the same feeling, shared in by the Son of God.
It doesn’t really lessen the feeling of solitude, but it might help with finding the strength to stand. That Jesus did not hesitate to come to feel that same feeling with you, so that you would not actually be alone in it. And that the moment of greatest darkness is the one that precedes the greatest victory.

Monday

This is a slightly embarrassing story but one that also helps me remember a valuable lesson in a neat little package.
I went on a five day canoe trip with some friends in the Boundary Waters two summers ago and it was absolutely amazing. It was, by any objective standards, not actually that intense, but it was definitely the deepest into the wilderness I had ever been and it was hard work. The first day we started in the late afternoon and only rowed for a couple of hours before setting up camp. But it was exhausting, it was the first time for all the things and the prospect of five more days of this was daunting. So much so apparently, that I had a dream in which I was somehow offered the opportunity to just watch. To sort of sit out the hard work and just get to the end. And, I’m ashamed to admit, in the dream, I really wanted to choose that option.
Thank goodness that wasn’t actually an option and my only choice was to continue. Because those five days were incredible. They were amazingly exhausting and a huge test of my perseverance. But they were filled with joy and peace and camaraderie and immense satisfaction in achieving what you didn’t know you were capable of. And even though it was, in some ways, just a fun vacation of sorts, it changed me. I am better and braver and happier than I was before.
That adventure was, comparatively, very easy, but what was true there is true in a much larger context: adventure and struggle and even suffering can transform both us and the world around us. There will be challenges and difficulties to which “the only way out is through”. And going bravely forward, one step at a time, can bear fruit beyond our imaginings.
There are two quotes in The Fellowship of the Ring about Frodo facing moments like this (much harder moments and much graver difficulties than what I faced on the Boundary Waters, don’t get me wrong) that I think are deeply moving and inspiring. The first is (not in the movies) when the hobbits are lying trapped in the power of the terrifying barrow wights and describes Frodo’s movement from paralysis to courage which ends up saving them. The second is at the very end of the Council of Elrond and adds depth to a beautiful moment in the movie.

But though his fear was so great that it seemed to be a part of the very darkness that was round him, he found himself as he lay thinking about Bilbo Baggins and his stories, of their jogging along together in the lanes of the Shire and talking about roads and adventures. There is a seed of courage hidden (often deeply, it is true) in the heart of the fattest and most timid hobbit, waiting for some final and desperate danger to make it grow. Frodo was neither very fat nor very timid; indeed, though he did not know it, Bilbo (and Gandalf) had thought him the best hobbit in the Shire. He thought he had come to the end of his adventure, and a terrible end, but the thought hardened him. He found himself stiffening, as if for a final spring, he no longer felt limp like a helpless prey.

"A great dread fell on him, as if he was awaiting the pronouncement of some doom that he had long for seen and vainly hoped might after all never be spoken. An overwhelming longing to rest and remain at peace by Bilbo's side in Rivendell filled all his heart. At last with an effort he spoke, and wondered to hear his own words, as if some other will was using his small voice.
'I will take the Ring,' he said, 'though I do not know the way.'
Elrond raised his eyes and looked at him, and Frodo felt his heart pierced by the sudden keenness of the glance. 'If I understand aright all that I have heard,' he said, 'I think that this task is appointed for you, Frodo; and that if you do not find a way, no one will. This is the hour of the Shire-folk, when they arise from their quiet fields to shake the towers and counsels of the Great. who of all the Wise could have foreseen it? Or, if they are wise, why should they expect to know it, until the hour has struck?
But it is a heavy burden. So heavy that none could lay it on another. I do not lay it on you. But if you take it freely, I will say that your choice is right; and though all the might elf friends of old, Hador, and Hurin, and Turin, and Beren himself were assembled together, your seat should be among them.'"

Though it will rarely feel as epic as The Lord of the Rings, or even as cool as canoeing in the wilderness, there is much in our lives that requires this kind of courage. Continuing to hope in the darkness, continuing to love when you know how much it can hurt, facing the things in yourself that are broken and scary so that they can be healed… there are many times and ways in which we are asked to say yes to a path full of darkness and uncertainty in which all we can see is the hard work and the pain that will come. But this is the mark of an adventure. And when the One who writes your story and who is also the co-protagonist of your story is the all-powerful God of the universe who also happens to be madly in love with you, there is good reason to hope that the adventure will be worth it.

John 14 begins the “farewell discourses” which stretch through several chapters and are Jesus’ final words to his closest friends before they will go through the unimaginable confusion and darkness of watching Him die (and with Him all their hopes and expectations of what He was going to do.) These are words of love and encouragement and He speaks them to you as well.

Tuesday

The dialogue at the death of Boromir is fairly different in details (though largely to the same effect) from book to movie, but both versions are quite powerful and worthy of attention, which makes sense because this is an immensely powerful moment. In case you’ve lost track, Boromir has just massively failed. He
1.) finally succumbed to the nagging temptations of the ring and
2.) tried to take the Ring from Frodo which
3.) scared Frodo enough to make him leave the company triggering the breaking of the fellowship.
Boromir realizes what he’s done and is filled with remorse (very much not a fail) and throws himself into the defense of Merry and Pippin
4.) who are still carried off by orcs whose arrows
5.) mortally wound Boromir, the great defender of Gondor.
So as he’s lying there dying his line is, understandably, “I have failed.” Aragorn contradicts him in both book and movie, but the line in the book is much more striking:
NO, YOU HAVE CONQUERED. FEW HAVE ATTAINED SUCH A VICTORY. BE AT PEACE.
There is no external sense in which this is true, (few have attained such a victory?!?) but Aragorn sees and honors how difficult and heroic Boromir’s interior movements were: his repentance for the wrong he had done and his offering of self, laying down his life for his friends.

This is exactly the kind of place in which we always find Jesus. He seeks out the broken ones and, unafraid of their darkness, He sees them completely and loves them as they are. He loves them too much to leave them in their hurt and darkness and calls them higher, but He also sees and rejoices in even the tiniest of their victories.

I am always struck by the line in the Gospel for Mass today:
NOW IS THE SON OF MAN GLORIFIED
It comes as Jesus is about to enter into his passion, just after the striking line “it was night”. Glory tends to conjure up images in my mind of blinding light and lots of gold (which, sometimes it does mean) but this verse points to the depth of night and sorrow and suffering as the place of Christ’s triumph. And although the image is startling, it’s also congruous with a constant theme in the Gospels: the Shepherd who leaves the ninety-nine sheep to rescue the one, His rebukes of the Pharisees especially “those who are well do not need a physician but the sick do” etc. It is strange to sit in the darkness and to hear those words “now is the Son of Man glorified”, but whenever I think about it more I also can’t imagine a wilder or stronger testament to His power. That even what is broken and ugly He can transform into an even greater love and beauty.

And all of us are broken. So that’s good. Because all of our brokenness is capable of being transformed into who God made us to be. And the instructions for how to give our brokenness into His hands and to let it be transformed are found, well, in lots of places, but very beautifully in John 15. So if you can, spend some time with those words. Especially with what Jesus tells you, that “as the Father has loved me, so I have loved you.” and His invitation to “abide in My love.”

In the movie, more than in the book, the emphasis of this scene falls onto Boromir’s despair for the fate of his city, whose protection he had always felt was largely, if not entirely, up to him. But Aragorn comforts him, promising that he will take up the defense of Gondor and he will not let it be destroyed.
This is an important piece of the image. While we all have our part to play in the victory of light over darkness, at the end of the day Jesus is the one who conquers. His sacrificial love, shown to us on the Cross is the true death knell of all that holds us captive. It’s because of that great Victory that our own miniscule victories are enough and important, because they are made a part of it. Again, as in John 15, if we remain in His Love, every detail of our story becomes a part of His. And it is after this realization that the final victory is not up to him, that Boromir names Aragorn by one of my favorite titles for Christ:
MY BROTHER, MY CAPTAIN, MY KING.

Wednesday

I don’t know if you’ve ever prayed with an image of your heart, but I highly recommend it. I’ve had some beautiful prayer in which I held my heart in my hands, saw its wounds and bruises and disfigurement and allowed Jesus to touch, heal, and transform it. But for me, praying with my heart as a physical space into which I enter, that I can explore, discover, invite Jesus into and allow to be rebuilt, has been even more powerful. It’s been not only a powerful tool in self-awareness, but also a place of real encounter with Jesus - a way of entering into the inner room spoken of in Scripture, the deepest places of who I am.

Theoden being rescued from the spell of Saruman by Gandalf feels a lot like Jesus rushing to rescue me from whatever is holding me captive as soon as I give Him the slightest invitation. It’s the scene my prayer imitated the first time I entered the inner room of my heart and it remains a powerful image for the setting free and healing that Jesus is always at work on in each of our hearts.

When I was in early highschool, I went to an overnight retreat where I took the 2AM shift of Adoration. I don’t remember what I prayed about or any of the details of what happened. All I remember is the overwhelming peace and intimacy of being with Jesus there in the night and that that was when I fell in love. J.R.R. Tolkien was actually the one to mentor me in my fledgling devotion to the Eucharist. A single quote from a letter to his son has been with me for years, it’s meaning gradually unfolding to me as I grew.

Out of the darkness of my life, so much frustrated, I put before you the One Great Thing to love on earth, the Blessed Sacrament.

I really miss the Eucharist these days. It has always been the rock of my faith. The One thing that I always love and rely on no matter what else is happening in my heart, no matter how difficult I’m finding other aspects of being a Catholic. Much as I miss Him physically present in the Eucharist, I find the prayer of Spiritual Communion very comforting and feel it very tangibly as Jesus returning at my invitation to the inner room of my heart.

My Jesus, I believe that You are present in the Most Holy Sacrament. I love You above all things and I desire to receive You into my soul. Since I cannot at this moment receive You sacramentally, come at least spiritually into my heart. I embrace You as if You were already here and unite myself wholly to You. Never permit me to be separated from You.

I was praying with John 15 again last night and thinking that if all you did this week was pray with that passage it would be a beautiful week. It has helped me a lot, both at normal Masses and at weird, long-distance Masses, to pray with offering myself at the offertory. The bread of my ordinary life and the wine of my passions and joys and sorrows all offered to Him so that He can transform them into His own body and blood. It has been a concrete way for me to unite myself daily to Him, both in relationship and in joining in His mission - “His flesh for the life of the world.” Which, incidentally, Theoden will provide an image for as well when he gives what he can to lend aid to Gondor even though he knows it alone won’t be enough to conquer the foe. “Too few have come, we cannot defeat the armies of Mordor.” “No, we cannot. But we will meet them in battle, nonetheless.” And even though his army was not enough alone to defeat Mordor, his selfless offering was a key piece of the victory.

Holy Thursday

The weather in Milwaukee is absolutely bizarre. For instance, two days ago it was mid seventies and sunny, this morning it was snowing, now it’s bright and sunny. And this is fairly standard. I remember a few years ago when the winter was especially long that I had begun to feel that summer was impossible. I obviously knew that to be false, but the feeling was pretty substantial. I physically couldn’t imagine that the cold would ever end. And I kind of laughed out loud. If our hope is so fragile that we can’t even retain emotional hope in the seasons no wonder we have trouble trusting in what we cannot see.

Before the harrowing battle of Helm’s Deep, Gandalf had told Aragorn that he would return in five days with military help, “at dawn, look to the east.” And yet this assurance appears to have no impact on their hopes for the battle: - ride out with me - for death and glory - for Rohan.

Christ told His disciples that He would suffer and die but that He would rise on the third day. And still the crucifixion was (let’s be real, it’s definitely understandable) too much for them. They fled in fear and seemed to think this was the end of all their hopes, the end of the story.

This is part of why I love stories so much. They remind me that darkness has always felt like the end of the story, and that those who persevere through it, eventually reach the victory of hope.

And I also think that this must be why it is Sam who provides us with the beautiful insight into stories and to what they mean about reality. Sam is actually not a character I normally identify with. I certainly aspire to his faithfulness, but “steady” is not exactly a descriptor of my natural disposition. But I think it’s his steadiness, his faithfulness, and his trust in goodness and in those who are wiser than him that allows him to stay rooted in hope, constantly aware of the big picture.

I know, it’s all wrong. By rights we shouldn’t even be here. But we are. It’s like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger they were and sometimes you didn’t want to know the end because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened? But in the end, it’s only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you. That meant something. Even if you were too small to understand why. But I think, Mr. Frodo, that I do understand. I know now. Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back only they didn’t. They kept going because they were holding onto something. That there’s some good in this world, Mr. Frodo. And it’s worth fighting for.

I don’t know what it is you are waiting for, hoping for, maybe even hoping against hope for. Chances are, celebrating Easter this year is something that’s somewhat sad as well as something you’re looking forward to and that your sights are set on something that has more to do with COVID going away. Maybe it’s also something you were already struggling with, hoping to find victory over, and the quarantine just made those feelings intensify now that so many of the normal distractions and dilutions are gone. If that’s you, I hope it helps a little bit to remember that you’re not alone. But even more so to remember that darkness is not the end of the story. That the Great Storyteller loves you. And even though His plan may… excuse me, will surprise you, it will be by being more beautiful than you could have imagined.

So stay close to Him on Calvary. Don’t be afraid to walk through the darkness at His side. The resurrection will come, as sure as the Spring. But maybe not in the way you expected.

Good Friday

I’m such a words person that sometimes I forget a little bit how important music is for giving voice to the deepest places of the heart, places that the most skilled of words can only begin to touch. There is no song that has embodied this more strikingly to me than Allegri’s Miserere. It is long, but so very worth it. All of it is stunningly beautiful, but the piercing cry that it builds to is like nothing else I’ve ever heard. I had heard it multiple times and although I was stunned by how beautiful it was, I never quite knew what to do with it. Not that you need to “do” anything with music, but my heart hadn’t recognized the language yet. Then I prayed with it one Good Friday when my heart was massively broken. And finally I knew what it was. I recognized that melody as the only true expression of the ache of my heart, something no words had been able to give voice to. And it was so immensely cathartic. There’s a beautiful quote about this in Harry Potter which perfectly captures what I’m trying to say:

Somewhere out in the darkness a phoenix was singing in a way Harry had never heard before: a stricken lament of terrible beauty, and Harry felt, as he had felt about phoenix song before that the music was inside him, not without: it was his own grief turned magically to song that echoed across the grounds and through the castle windows. How long they all stood there listening, he did not know, nor why it seemed to ease their pain a little to listen to the sound of their mourning.

With this taking on of the music as the cry of my own heart, I also finally felt it as also the cry of every human heart, stretching down the dark length of centuries, spanning endlessly unique souls, each crying out their own variations, but also always the same. The plea for mercy and help, the piercing of grief, the ache of longing.

So pause. Please go listen to it now. Let the achings of your heart find voice in the music.

And once you’ve done that, there’s one more song I’d like you to listen to. Realize first that your pain breaks Jesus’ heart. That far more than anyone else ever has or will care about your hurt, He aches to rescue, to heal you, and to be in relationship with you always. And that is why He came and that is why He died. Not to make you miserable with guilt or to burden you with shame for what you’ve done but to rescue from the darkness and to pour Himself out for you in the magnitude and extravagance of His love.

This one might just be me, but every time I listen to Gabriel’s Oboe from the Mission, it creates such a vivid image of the compassion and care of Jesus. So I recommend that. But any praise music, polyphony, any true love songs that remind you of Jesus are fair game. Just spend time with Him. Bring to the foot of the Cross your deepest hurts and greatest desires and let His love, poured out like His blood, surround you.

Holy Saturday

Today’s meditation is a little bit long, it’s an adaptation of a talk I gave at an in-person Tolkien and the Triduum retreat a couple of years ago. And it’s also so very little of what I wanted to say, but it’s already getting to be late in the day. But that’s ok, I’ll just keep posting about stories, even after Holy Week is over. :)
I’ve always had trouble picking favorites, but there are at least two places where I can confidently claim a favorite in a category: 1. My favorite book is The Lord of the Rings and 2. My favorite Scripture passage is Isaiah 9:1-6.
Isaiah 9:1-6 is always the first reading at Midnight Mass on Christmas. It’s the one that begins: The people who walked in darkness / have seen a great light… it goes on to describe in vivid language the contrast between the suffering of the people and the beauty and triumph of the light that came to them. It climaxes in: “for a Child is born to us, a Son is given to us…” which is why it’s always used for Christmas.
I love this passage for a lot of reasons, perhaps primarily because it presents the essential Gospel message in poetry form (Isaiah has been sometimes called the fifth Evangelist). But the two things that I want to especially pay attention to in this passage are these: 1) Being honest about the nature of darkness is necessary if you want to bring real hope. 2) For most of the time that I’ve known and loved this passage, I unintentionally cut myself off from being one of those to whom it applied. To draw out why these two things are worth noticing, I want to talk about two stories: Eowyn’s and mine.

I. Eowyn
(**spoilers**)

When I was younger, I always used to pretend that I didn't identify with Eowyn because everyone identified with Eowyn - but I think, even then, I secretly loved her. So when my friend asked me to give my talk for this retreat on her, I was a little bit resistant and it took me a while. But reflecting on my story in light of hers proved very fruitful for my own prayer and self-knowledge. I saw in her story a cycle that is all too familiar to me: the presence of emotional wounds, leading to a desire that was twisted by the wounds, that twisted desire leading to a placing of hope in the wrong place, which inevitably will be taken away or disappoint. The loss of that hope causes enormous suffering, but is the necessary step to a greater healing and wholeness and, eventually, the happy ending.

My friend said of her that "she has separated herself from the company of the lovable" - a striking comment, not the least because he could have been speaking of me at many points in my life. But it makes sense. She lost her parents at a young age; watched helplessly as her adoptive father fell under the corrupting influence of Wormtongue and with him, the kingdom; and, as if that wasn't bad enough, was constantly dealing with the creepy romantic attention of the very source of the corruption. Now, once you have lost your sense of inherent worth, you generally start looking for a way to earn your worth (the desire to be loved doesn't go away with the belief that you are not lovable). In the decaying kingdom of Rohan, with evil growing on both sides, the battlefield is the place where people are able to actually do something, to make some stand against the darkness. That, coupled with her natural courage, makes the desire for "great deeds and renown" strong in her.
It is in this state that she meets Aragorn (falling for Aragorn is another way in which I identify with her, because, honestly, who wouldn't?). Aragorn is the consummate leader and warrior, making more progress in the saving of Theoden and Rohan in a single day than anyone has in years. And he's also amazing. She falls in love with him, but, I think, also places all of her hope of a better life in him. And so when she finds out that his heart belongs to another, that hope is taken away and she despairs. She desires nothing more than a heroic death in battle and she rides with the Rohirrim to seek it.
On the fields of Pelennor, she achieves enormous glory and, effectively, turns the tide of the battle. But the act that brought her that glory was motivated, not by her long standing desire for glory, but by her fierce love for her father (Theoden). With no hope of success or survival, she puts herself between Theoden and Witch King of Angmar - and defeats the most terrifying enemy on the battlefield. But the fulfillment of her long-standing desire does not fulfill her and she languishes on the point of death, until she is reawakened by the voice of her brother Eomer. For love of him she returns to life, but still not to hope. She is trapped in the houses of healing, waiting for tidings of the assault on Mordor and it is there that Faramir sees her as she is and loves her. When the tidings of victory come, that still does not heal her - she has separated herself from the company of the lovable and so, in some way, the victory does not apply to her. It is only when she allows herself to receive the love of Faramir that "the heart of Eowyn changed, or else, at last she understood it", the shadow departed, and she was healed.

II. Me
Eowyn’s story is almost an aside in the big picture of the trilogy (other than her slaying of the Witch King) but it’s incredibly powerful, gave me a helpful lens to understand what was going on in my heart, and is a poignant image of healing.
The time I felt the most like Eowyn was in the slow and tremendously painful letting go of a codependent friendship. My wounds, like hers, of low self worth had twisted and stunted my desires and the scope of what I hoped for. And so I placed my worth in the hands of a friendship and I became enslaved to my need for affirmations from it. The story of how I came to be free is (in retrospect) actually kind of beautiful (see my friend Carrie’s podcast, I Choose Grit for a longform version of this story) but it was also amazingly painful. Like Eowyn, I lost what I had put my hope in and I floundered. Still choosing to try but feeling no hope of healing. Like Eowyn, things that should have brought me joy and even healing didn’t. And though time and distance made the pain less constant, it was still there.
When I wrote and gave this talk my belief that I was unloveable was still in the present tense. Though I knew intellectually those beliefs to be false, my heart still felt them as true. But like Eowyn, I was seen and honored by one whose words mysteriously carried the weight to bring the truth from my head to my heart.
Our lifelong stories are longer and more complicated than stories in books and that moment didn’t lead for me to happily ever after, but it did dramatically heal me of damaging patterns of thought that I had fought with for years and that felt like they would never be gone. And Eowyn’s story helped me to put some of the steps along the way into their proper context - necessary steps of the surgery that would lead to my healing: breaking down the defenses and the ways that I was separating myself from the company of the loveable.
I remember one time in particular in prayer getting super discouraged and weighed down by the fact that I was still struggling with the same patterns of wounds and sins. I was wrestling this for a good chunk of time before it finally dawned on me: I am the one who walks in darkness. This might seem like a laughably obvious conclusion, but to a very real degree I had never associated myself as one of the people who walked in darkness from that Isaiah passage. I always had a fairly easy time seeing the truth of that passage in other people's lives: hearing about their sins, their addictions, their sufferings, I never had much trouble seeing that they were still a beloved child of God and that He wanted to heal them. But as absurd as it sounds, I held my own darkness to a different standard - often thinking of it as some impossibly massive thing that I had to conquer before I could be loved by God. But He was born in a filthy stable and He died on a Cross for me. As scared as I am of my own darkness, it is absolutely no match for the One who literally took the weight of every age and every nation's sin on His shoulders and defeated it. By separating myself from the company of those who walk in darkness, I had also separated myself from the company of those to whom the Light had come.

The waiting and the wading through the muck and the darkness is miserable, but it can also be a transfiguring thing. And this is another widespread theme of many stories. Whether it’s today or in the next week or so, I’ll try to share a smattering of examples of this from lots of different kinds of stories. As Tolkien says:

“‪It is one of the lessons of fairy stories - that on callow, lumpish, and selfish youth peril, sorrow, and the shadow of death can bestow dignity, and even sometimes wisdom”

But for now I hope and pray that, wherever you find yourself in the waiting, that this Holy Week has been a time for you of entering more deeply into the Story of Salvation and of finding it to be your story as well. And that even if the struggle and the suffering have not lessened, that you have found, in whatever small way, your hope renews.

Easter Sunday

I kind of have a thing for names. Not as in I’m good at remembering people’s names. I wish I was, but I’m solidly mediocre. But my name is generally pretty tricky for people to figure out so I think that’s part of why I find it a little bit striking when people bother to call me by name. It’s a very small thing, but I think it’s kind of beautiful. And it makes me notice phrases like, “I have called you by name” and moments like in John 20, when Mary at first doesn’t recognize her dear friend Jesus. But then He says her name and she does. And I like to try to imagine what it must have sounded like. And how any little surge of warmth and feeling seen that I’ve ever experienced at the sound of my own name is a faint shadow of what it must have felt like for Mary to hear her name from her rise King.
And then I remember that He actually calls each of us by name, in kind of exactly that same way.
With all the tenderness and love He had for Mary, He greets us and embraces us in the joy of the Resurrection.
Because He did it all for love of me. For love of you. Not as a faceless collective but individually, for each unique, beloved soul.
Although I technically, definitely knew that this was true, hearing it in this image was deeply striking to me. That if you were to set a ladder and climb up next to Jesus on the Cross and ask Him why, “why are You going through this horrifying torture and death?” He would turn His bleeding head to you with love in His eyes and say,
BECAUSE YOU ARE WORTH IT
Imagine His joy then to return to you. Having plumbed deeper into the depths of human suffering and darkness, deeper than any of us will ever go and redeemed them. Having achieved the astounding victory of creating even greater heights of love and glory by means of our fallenness. Having accomplished His rescue mission for the sake of your heart, He turns to you and says your name.

Sing now, ye people of the Tower of Anor,
For the Realm of Sauron is ended forever
And the Dark Tower is thrown down

Sing and rejoice, ye people of the Tower of Guard,
For your watch hath not been in vain,
And the Black Gate is broken,
And your King hath passed through
And he is victorious.

Sing and be glad, all ye children of the West,
For your King shall come again,
And he shall dwell among you
All the days of your life,

And the Tree that was withered shall be renewed,
And he shall plant it in the high places
And the City shall be blessed.

Sing all ye people.

Notes on Ignatian Contemplation

FIRST OF ALL: Important Note: I am not qualified! I’m not a spiritual director. I’m not trying to claim any authority in any of this. I just want to share some of the things that have helped me and that is all.

I was first taught the actual rules for how to do Imaginative Contemplation about four and a half years ago and although I loved the concept, I struggled with the practice. Partly because, it can legit be hard. Partly because my imagination defaults to feelings and patterns over concrete specific details. And partly because the realm of daydreams and personal fantasy was very familiar to me and it was hard to trust that this form of prayer was anything different or that it was anything real.

I was called out in that, on several occasions actually, always to the effect of “but do you believe that God is stronger than your imagination?” Even so, I had to get over the block of “but can’t my sin keep Him out?” And this was when I discovered that the preparatory prayer is key. In it you ask God to bless and guide your meditation, giving Him permission to be the one in charge of it. You are still at work but you have given Him permission to guide. And from there you can trust that He will bring fruit from the time you give Him.

And it wasn’t just clear sailing from there for me or anything. I would have amazing prayer times and dry prayer times and super frustrating prayer times. But hands down, practicing this kind of prayer has changed my life. Sanctifying my imagination and allowing it to become a place where God can meet me has made it the place of some of my most profound and real encounters with Him. And it has also become an invaluable tool in sorting through and understanding what’s going on in my heart.

I’ve seen how overflowing with life and enthusiasm Jesus was as He emerged from the waters of His Baptism to begin His mission of healing the world. I’ve felt His endless patience with and compassion for me as we sat beside the waters of the pool of Soloam and we worked through my roadblocks to being healed. I’ve sat in the quiet of the mountains at night with Him and the only reason that I feel and cherish a devotion to the Holy Family is that I spent a whole series of meditations living life with them in which Mary taught me how to imitate her by letting me be her in the scene. And I could tell you about how warm and beautiful the sleeping baby Jesus was on my chest and how protected and loved I felt by Joseph standing beside me.

None of this is because I’m particularly good at praying or anything, it’s simply the vibrant life of the Gospels that opens up to you if you give it time and attention.

And it was also because of this kind of prayer that I’ve learned to default to images when I’m trying to understand anything in prayer. There was a long string of prayers in which I would “go into my heart” and it looked like a throneroom. The first time I came there it was dark and overgrown and I was chained to the throne in the middle. In that prayer Jesus came bursting into the room and a very Theoden-being-freed-from-Saruman scene took place. And it was a different prayer time several weeks later when those chains were finally cut loose, I invited Jesus to take the throne of my heart and the darkness began to transform - very like the ending of the enchantment in Beauty and the Beast. (I trust you see the pattern that I talked about yesterday). I returned to that image again and again. It was in the context of that image that I found and named a core wound which was the beginning of its healing. It looks very different now than it did then - which I attribute to how much healing I have experienced. But it remains “my inner room”, a place where I go to meet Jesus.

So I want to invite you to try this. There will be detailed instructions in my story, which I will also save to its own highlight on my profile so that it remains easy to find. But I especially want to invite you to:

Invite God to be in control of what happens
HAVE PATIENCE WITH YOURSELF
Allow yourself to be surprised by what happens