Autistic Egypt

The Lenten season of 2021 is just ahead, with all the usual encouragements of prayer, fasting and almsgiving – all of which are very good exercises, and necessary for our spiritual growth.  But for many of us (and not just autistics), too formulaic of an approach can separate Lent from its true roots, which stretch all the way back to the Exodus from Egypt.   Furthermore, many autistics find ourselves feeling lost and frustrated as we diligently apply these formulas and still find nothing but spiritual desert.  Perhaps a survey of the desert itself can provide perspective to help map out the right journey in the first place.

The Exodus took place when Moses led his enslaved Israelite brethren from Egypt to a place they could worship God.  The key here is that God desired communion with His people, free from coercion and distraction, to the point where He would escort them out of the land of their oppressors into an area of wilderness.  The gross oversimplification of this story finds many and varied reactions among those making the journey.  Some found it hardest to leave conveniences behind.  Others were challenged to believe this was really and truly the will of God.  Others questioned the trustworthiness of Moses.  And some were steadfast in their belief that such an unfathomable series of events could only be possible if God were leading them.  But the purpose of this journey was the same for everyone: Leave the spiritually empty rituals of slavery behind, no matter how familiar they are, and simply be with God, and let God speak to their hearts.

With that as our focus as seekers today, Lent is about leaving behind what is spiritually empty to simply be with God and let God speak to our hearts.

Easier said than done – especially for those of us who rely heavily on concrete, visual, and activity-based processing!

Let us then look, then, at the experiences of the Israelites in the Exodus story which we may recognize in our own lives today.

  • Repeating spiritually empty routines
  • Working primarily to satisfy others
  • Dismissing, or delaying, our own needs of body, mind and spirit
  • Accepting our status as “less-than”

Again, at the risk of oversimplifying, the Israelites lived in 13th century (BCE) Egypt as slaves, compelled by harsh drivers who judged their worth as laborers without regard to human dignity.  The Israelites had no choice but to wake up, day after day, and please those who had no concern for anything but the quality of their performance.  Their work had no dignity but to serve the Egyptians, whose spirituality was based more in appeasement and demand than anything resembling love.  The rituals to the false gods were devoid of meaning to the Israelites who were pressed into compliance with their overlords.  In order to survive, the Israelites adapted to their status as slaves and labored away in great emptiness.

The conditions of our lives are far from actual slavery, but it’s likely that most of us can name at least one or two ways we relate to the four points above.  So, then, if Lent is meant to echo the Exodus from Egypt, the path to being-with God is likewise an exit from the patterns that drain us of our spiritual connection to the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob (who knows and loves each of us individually, to the point of sending Jesus Christ to redeem each of us, individually).

Now, here’s the rub: Our very being autistic can, at times, set us up to operate under these conditions on a regular basis…

  • Repeating spiritually empty routines
  • Working primarily to satisfy others
  • Dismissing, or delaying, our own needs of body, mind and spirit
  • Accepting our status as “less-than”

This is not necessarily true all the time, but I venture there are moments each of us have experienced one or all of those in our schooling, our families, our professional lives and our spiritual formation as a consequence of being autistic.  For instance: Some of us truly strive to understand the meaning behind the teachings and precepts of the Church, but are not yet at a place where we grasp the truths of some of these practices and devotions as pathways to connecting with God.  It may take years for some of us to experience that meaning personally, and yet we continue to follow the rules because, we are told, “that’s what we do.”  Yes… that repetition may be the path to finally, one day, understanding.  But if it feels empty, it can just as easily lead to resentment and apathy.  If that is the case for anyone reading this, then Lent might be a time to ask questions, and persist in the quest to discover spiritual meaning, as in Matthew 7:7.

Autistics are familiar with support services to help us navigate the neurotypical world and the expectations of those around us.  The benefit is learning what others want us to do.  The downside to that is a pervasive sense of not being enough as we are on our own.  It’s hard being autistic and not carrying even a little bit of this sense wherever we go.  Yet, God does not create people to be “less.”  Do we truly believe this?  Perhaps our goal this Lent is to notice how we see ourselves, and where we might have adopted habits of working only to please others, or believing ourselves to be less-than those around us simply because we process differently.  It may not sound like a spiritual exercise, but the foundation of this is to better understand what is pleasing to God – and how that differs from what is pleasing by worldly standards.  Yes, we ought to strive to please God – but only if we understand what that means!  We might start with the first psalm, and realize “the law of the Lord” can be summarized by Matthew 22:35-40.  And that leads to the last point –

How often do we dismiss or delay our own needs of body, mind or spirit?  Isn’t this the whole idea of giving things up for Lent?  Isn’t that the very definition of “sacrifice”?  Well, yes.  But.  In Matthew 9:13, Jesus exhorts the Pharisees to learn what it means when God says, “I desire mercy, not sacrifice.”  There is a time and a place for sacrifice, absolutely.  But it can be very difficult to give from a deficit, and when we have denied our own needs as a matter of course, our deficit is quite large.  It seems counter-intuitive to suggest a Lenten program of finding comfort, but the simple fact is this: “Love our neighbor as ourselves” means that we cannot truly show mercy to others unless we hold ourselves to that same standard.  If our thoughts toward ourselves were audible to those around us, would they be appalled by the way we demand, criticize, ridicule or dehumanize?  We may not even be aware of how often we do this, as these habits develop over time and are shaped by the implicit messages we receive our whole lives.  Autistics, on the whole, generally receive more critical messages than supportive ones, including those from people trying to help us.  Our sensitivity and anxiety can magnify those messages into harsh internal criticism which then filters through how we look at ourselves, how we treat ourselves and how we dismiss our basic needs.  Perhaps what we need most is to study mercy and learn how to apply it to ourselves before anything else.  (Autism Consecrated offers the Autistic Works of Mercy on our Prayer page if this would be a helpful place to start).

So, now, we’ve seen what this desert wilderness is, and we realize why it feels so foreign: It is a place where critical voices are neither heard nor heeded.  It is a place where we are valued just for showing up.  It may seem too simple.  It may be called “desert,” but for those of us living 365 days of going without and pushing ourselves out of our comfort zones, it is a leap of faith to believe we belong in a place this drenching to our souls.  Can this really be the Lenten journey we are asked to make – and are we willing to trust that God really and truly wishes this for us, even if it differs from how we have understood “sacrifice” in years past?

May each of us grow closer to God this Lenten season, in ways that surprise and delight us – and God.

 

 

Our Stories: Connections to God Through One Another

RESOURCE LIBRARY UPDATE:

In the three months since Autism Consecrated put out the call for presentations, we have noticed something interesting.  In the same way most of what we do tends toward the personal, the human and the deeply subjective, so too has our pursuit of assembling a symposium on autism and spirituality.  Our in-person event, “Autism Through the Eyes of God” never made it past the first planning meeting, thanks to the worldwide pandemic.  Our next thought was to shift our focus to the online platform, sending out an open call for presentations which we intended to curate and post in a freely accessible resource library on our website.  The result?

Barely anything.

But in the meantime, we have engaged behind the scenes of the website in multiple conversations about autism, spirituality and disability theology which keep coming back to the same theme: OUR STORIES.

In the broad scheme of looking at autism’s belonging in the Body of Christ, there is no formula to disseminate, no paradigm to discuss, other than that of merely being human.  There is nothing more fundamental to building an inclusive spirituality than to be with each other and enter into one another’s stories.  The act of being-with invites us to draw closer through empathy and mutual vulnerability, and to experience God’s presence – first in one another, then in our midst, and then in the depths of our own heart.

Anything beyond this runs the risk of being formulaic, impersonal and not able to fit the actual needs of the person in front of us… or the needs we ourselves have.

We have known this since the inception of the Mission of Saint Thorlak and its expansion into Autism Consecrated.  We have often repeated our catch-phrase when asked what is needed in our churches to accommodate autistic people: “less programming, more relationship.”  Likewise, when I was offered the task of writing St. Thorlak’s biography, I opted to tell his story as a person rather than give another academic treatment of his achievements or attempt to parse out those aspects of historical record which suggest he had autism.  Historical fact is relevant, but in presenting St. Thorlak as a man to whom we can relate even eight hundred-plus years after his lifetime, it seemed most relevant to simply tell his story.  What good are facts without a personal reason for wanting to know them?  That same question applies to any and every person, autistic or not, who approaches our faith communities.  What good is gathering facts, diagnostic labels, symptoms, needs, accommodations – without a personal reason for wanting to know them?  Chances are, if we get to know the whole person first, some of those other facts quickly become superfluous, even if that flies in the face of what we have been told are “best practices to follow in helping autistic people.”

In truth, we hoped to gather essays and video presentations discussing these points.  It hasn’t happened.  We did, however, receive a number of submissions of personal stories, which is, frankly, exactly perfect.

For the academics among us (including myself, I confess), there are discussions and academic papers in the field of disability theology which are accessible in book format, formal presentations and websites online.  We are striving to continuously maintain and add titles of interest in our Further Reading section, to keep those conversations going.  Furthermore, we actively welcome reaching out to other like-minded groups and individuals for dialogue, discussion and input to our resources.  One such organization, the Kairos Forum, is headed by Cristina Gangemi, whose research ties directly in with the point we are making.

And so, once again, we extend to everyone here a call to contribute.

Wanted: OUR STORIES – How have we encountered God?  What helps, or hinders, us from encountering God in our daily lives, or our faith communities?  How would we describe our spiritual lives?

Format: However we best share ourselves.  Words, visual art, music, or any other channel of expression.

What to do: Send them to Autism Consecrated along with a signed Release Form (required for any submission to be posted).

We will begin posting stories soon where our Resource Library would have been.  We look forward to hearing from you!

Encore: The Autistic Image of God

This post originally appeared on the Mission of Saint Thorlak website in 2019, but serves as a very good capstone on Autism Awareness Month, particularly as it so eloquently describes our vision for the Autism Consecrated community. – Aimee 

Towards a Spirituality of Autistic Life

by Father Mark P. Nolette

The stone which the builders rejected has become the cornerstone. By the Lord has this been done; it is wonderful in our eyes. – Psalm 118:22-23

A thorn in the flesh was given to me, an angel of Satan, to beat me, to keep me from being too elated. Three times I begged the Lord about this, that it might leave me, but he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness.”  I will rather boast most gladly of my weaknesses, in order that the power of Christ may dwell with me. – 2 Corinthians 12:7-9

Consider your own calling, brothers and sisters. Not many of you were wise by human standards, not many were powerful, not many were of noble birth. Rather, God chose the foolish of the world to shame the wise, and God chose the weak of the world to shame the strong, and God chose the lowly and despised of the world, those who count for nothing, to reduce to nothing those who are something, so that no human being might boast before God. – 1 Corinthians 1: 26-29

What does it mean to be Catholic and autistic? How can autistic people encounter the Lord in their lives? What do autistic Catholics offer to the rest of the Church, to the entire Body of Christ? How does an autistic person exist in the image and likeness of God?  Can God have an autistic face?  If so, what might such a face look like?

First of all, let us recall that autistic people remain human beings. Autistic people are also sinners in need of redemption.  We need the grace, reconciliation and salvation that is found in Christ through His Church.  We need to be incorporated into the very life of the Triune God.  We need the Church. We need the Sacraments.  We need prayer.  We need the example and the inspiration of the saints, both past and present. We need to live lives of committed, faithful, just and persevering love.  In all these ways, we are the same as all other people.

Yet, we are not quite the same.  We are on the autism spectrum.  For some of us, it may be more obvious than for others. Nevertheless, for all of us on the spectrum, autism is a reality that permeates every aspect of our lives.  Autism is a way of being in the world, or perceiving the world, and of responding to the world that makes us “different”. Not better or worse; simply different. We would then expect that our life of faith – the way that we as autistic people encounter God and respond to God – will be at least somewhat different than that of others because of our autism.  Not different in the sense that we experience things that no one else experiences at all. Different in the sense that certain experiences that are present in the lives of most people – at least to a limited extent – are far more prominent in our lives because we are autistic.

Think of these examples. Everyone deals with other people, but only certain people are very social and choose a calling that requires such a social nature.  Everyone is alone – or needs to be alone – now and then, but only certain people choose to live alone as something essential to their calling.  It is the same with us as autistic people when we see ourselves in the midst of humanity as a whole.

What does it mean to be autistic? If we look to the DSM-5 under “Autism Spectrum Disorder “ (note the term ‘disorder’), we will find a description of various characteristics.  Intense special interests. A strong sense of being apart from others. A love of routine and of ritualized behavior, and a hatred of change. Difficulties with empathy.  And so on.

Note that all of these characteristics are considered abnormal and therefore pathological. They are seen as weaknesses, as expressions of a disturbance or disorder, as symptoms that something is not right with us.  To be different from the vast majority of other people makes us somehow disordered, pathological, psychologically unwell. That’s the unspoken implication of the way that all the behaviors that set us apart as autistic are described.

Now, it is possible that any or all of these behaviors could become pathological. This can happen if we do not know or accept that we are autistic, and do not understand why we do what we do or respond as we do.  This can happen if others have somehow abused us or taken advantage of us.  This can happen if we find ourselves in a life situation that is simply too much for us as autistic people. But – and this is a BIG but – autistic behaviors need not be pathological. As Tony Attwood noted in his book on Asperger’s Syndrome, if you leave an autistic person alone – or pair that person with someone who shares one of his/her intense interests – there is no sign of pathology at all. None of our autistic behaviors need be pathological or bad or destructive. In fact, it is my contention that every one of them can become a way for us to encounter the Lord, and for others to encounter the Lord in us.  Yes, that which has marked us off as unlike others, or inferior to others, can become the cornerstone on which the Lord builds His grace in our lives.

Accordingly, I will now explore several experiences or behaviors that are characteristic of us as autistic people, and show how each one has a definite parallel in the story of God’s relationship to His People throughout the Scriptures and the history of the Church.  This will help us, as autistic people, to reframe these experiences and behaviors as encounters with God, and it will help those who are not autistic to see how autistic people, by their very presence in the Church, are reminders to the whole People of God of some fundamental truths about God and about what it means to belong to God in His Church.

1) The Experience of Otherness

We autistic people – even before we know ourselves as autistic – experience ourselves as ‘other’, as different in some definite but almost inexpressible way from other people. There is often a profound sense of being disconnected from other people.  We may want to connect with others or fit in now and then, but may have no clue how to do so.  Looking at other people, we may feel like anthropologists studying some newly-discovered primitive tribe. (What are they doing? Why are they doing that?) Usually, we are content to be alone, even though we value our friends and want to be with them from time to time.  Even among friends, however, we feel ‘other’; we feel different.  Others tell us that we are different, and that is rarely said as a compliment. We feel misunderstood, isolated, alone.  If we do not understand what this sense of ‘otherness’ can point to in a positive sense, we will end up seeing it as a negative reflection on ourselves.  We then feel hopelessly flawed, or hopelessly unseen.

Can we find an experience of otherness in our Catholic tradition? Definitely! From the very beginning, God is called holy. We usually associate holiness with great goodness, but that was not the original meaning of ‘holy’. ‘Holy’ meant ‘other’.  “I am God and not man, the Holy One in your midst.” God was seen as the Radically Other.  God was not like anything else we could know in our world.   God is Other.  If God is holy in the sense of being Other, then His People must also be Holy. They must be Other.  They cannot be like the nations that are all around.  Here is where the sense of holiness as goodness enters the picture.  We are Other as God’s people.  Therefore, we cannot live like everyone else. No, we must live according to God’s ways.  This sense of God as Holy, as Other, and the sense of God’s People as also Holy and Other, is found in both Old and New Testaments.

In this light, we can say that one important reason why we as autistic people, because of our unusual sensitivities, feel like we are ‘other’ is because we have an unconscious sense of the presence of God who is Other. Moreover, our presence among the people of God is meant to remind them that they, too, must be ‘other’. They cannot live like everyone else does.  They belong to God, who is Other. Their lives need to be in harmony with the ways of God, which are not necessarily the ways of nations and cultures.  This is not a popular message in a society that claims to honor diversity but demands uniformity. Followers of Christ must be different. We must be Other.  We autistic people help remind our sisters and brothers of this.

2) Repetitive Behaviors/Love Of Routines/Hatred of Change

We autistic people tend to like doing things in a certain way.  We usually like to have things in certain places, and to follow certain routines.  The unexpected can be very hard on us. It takes time and effort to adapt to any change. We may soothe ourselves with repetitive motions.  In a society that values newness and change, such behaviors and attitudes appear as problems. Other people cannot understand why we act as we do, or why change is so painful for us.  They only see it negatively.

Can our Catholic tradition enlighten us? Yes. We have already spoken of the holiness of God in our tradition.  How do people respond in the presence of the Holy? In the Old Testament, they did special washings, they followed certain rules, and they maintained a certain distance between the Ark of the Covenant (which symbolized God’s presence) and everyone else.  In the New Testament and in the Church since then, we have liturgies, sacraments, and various styles of prayer.  In other words, we have established routines, repetitive behaviors that rarely change, when we are in the presence of the Holy. That’s what liturgy is.  That’s what ritual is.  That’s how people have instinctively responded to the presence of the Holy for thousands of years.  That’s how we as Catholic Christians respond to the Holy among us now.

In this light, we can say that our routines and repetitive behaviors – though they do soothe us – may also flow from an unconscious or subconscious sense of the presence of the Holy, of God, among us.  We can see them as reminders that we are in God’s presence always.  Other people, who are not autistic, can learn to see these behaviors as reminders that they, too, are always in the presence of the Holy – God – no matter where they are or what they do.

3) Special Interests

We autistic people, from our earliest memories, have had a sense of otherness, of separation from people in general and the world around us.  We perceive ourselves as unique in ways we cannot define or express. This sense of otherness would appear to lead us into the direction of total isolation.  But then, something draws our attention. Something that attracts and fascinates us.  This thing becomes the first breach in our isolation, a crack through which the beauty of the world first captures our notice and through which our wonder and awe first pour forth.  This is not obsessive.  This is falling in love with the beauty of reality.  The thing that enraptures us could be something generic, like dinosaurs, or something more specific, like a specific part of a vacuum cleaner. To others who do not share this love, our focus seems excessive and obsessive. To us, it is sheer delight.  Our greatest act of love is to share it with someone else.  Here is where we first learn to love.

Can our Catholic tradition say something about this? Yes, indeed. We have something called the doctrine of election (and I’m not referring to voting). It means that, out of all the peoples of the world, God chose a people – Israel – for Himself. Not because Israel was better in any way, nor because God hated other nations, but because God wanted one people to come to know Him, to witness to Him, and to be the means through which all the nations of the world would find the blessing of faith in Him.  This sense of election continues in the New Testament and beyond. Those who become members of Christ’s Body, the Church, are the new Israel, the new People of God.  We are chosen, not because we are better than others in any way, but for God’s own purposes: that we might witness to the world through our lives the Gospel given us by Our Lord Jesus Christ, especially in His Passion, Death and Resurrection.  We are the “breach”, so to speak, through which Christ can pour forth His love and grace into a wounded world.

In this light, we can say the following.  First of all, we autistic people can think of our special interests – whatever they are – and tell ourselves, “I am one of God’s special interests. God loves me even more than I love my favorite things!” Secondly, our special interests remind others that they, too, are chosen by God to be a part of His Church and that they are loved even more than we autistic people love our interests (and that’s saying something).  Thirdly, our special interests are really a training ground for love.  In first learning to love one thing, we begin to learn how to love other people and God as well.

4) Empathy

We autistic people run into a serious misunderstanding on the part of other people when it comes to empathy. Because we may have difficulty knowing what we feel, let alone expressing it, people may assume that we do not feel for others. The problem here is that people do not realize that there are two kinds of empathy, as Simon Baron Cohen points out in his work: cognitive empathy and affective empathy. Cognitive empathy is the ability to “read” another person and understand what that person is feeling. With autistic people, cognitive empathy is impaired or even absent.  We usually have a very difficult time in reading someone else’s feelings, until we learn to do so after many years of life.  Affective empathy is the ability to care about how the other person is feeling.  Some studies suggest that autistic people often have a high degree of affective empathy, even if they cannot always demonstrate it well to others.  If we are told that someone feels upset or hurt, we will feel upset or hurt.

Combine this with the autistic person’s usual sense of otherness or isolation, and something interesting begins to emerge. If an autistic person acts on his/her feelings of affective empathy, that person is not likely to feel much affirmation for that act of love. This is partly due to the autistic person’s sense of isolation, and partly due to how difficult it is for the autistic person to express feelings or other inner motivations. For example, here is a story about a young autistic man who began to serve at a homeless shelter and soup kitchen. Some of the homeless people accused him of being “a bad man” because he did not seem warm like the other volunteers. Stories like this one suggest that, whenever an autistic person chooses to love, that love (if it is to last) will become an unconditional love very quickly.  The young man had very little feedback or praise, and lots of questions in his own mind. But he believed that this ministry was what God was calling him to do, and that was enough.  If that isn’t unconditional love, I have never seen it.

Here we get to the very core of our Catholic tradition.  Our faith tells us that God is love.  But what kind of love? A total, selfless, unconditional love. A love that seeks a response, to be sure.  Nevertheless, an unconditional love.  We have St. Paul’s meditation on love in 1 Corinthians 13.  We have St. Paul writing to the Philippians about how Christ emptied Himself, took the form of a slave, and died on the Cross out of love for us.  We have numerous other witnesses to this love – not to mention countless saints who incarnated this Love in their lives, each in their own way.

In this light, we autistic people can see our affective empathy, and the misunderstandings we may encounter as we try to serve others, as an invitation from Our Lord to love as He loves, to have His love dwell in our hearts in all its fullness.  People who are not autistic, but who understand that we are, will see in us a model of disinterested love, a love that gets nothing out of it, but loves for love’s own sake.  Is this not the kind of love most needed in our world now?

Now that you’re warmed up, see if you can go on from here. Think of some characteristic of autistic people that I have not mentioned here.  Does it remind you of anything you have ever read in Scripture or learned about your faith? See if you can make a connection like I have here.

It is my hope that these few words will help people both on and off the spectrum to see autistic people in a different light.  God often chooses those whom the world dismisses and works His wonders in and through them. Autistic people are among God’s little ones.  Let no one tell you otherwise.

 

Mercy, Unmasked

Easter has come! Alleluia! No virus can destroy our faith and hope in the Resurrection!

Can it?

No, assuredly, not.  There is plenty of evidence to the contrary.  People are clamoring more than ever for a taste of God, and we are doing everything within our creative power to stay connected to our faith communities in any way we can.  Every social media page is filled with encouragement and song, even “COVID-cover” songs to parody the virus that has redefined every aspect of normal existence.

The liturgical calendar is just getting started with the celebrations, with Easter being (of course) the greatest and highest of our feasting.  But besides giving us fifty days dedicated to proclaiming victory over death, the Church gives us a feast-within-a-feast, Divine Mercy Sunday, which adds dimensions of depth reaching far beyond simple celebration.  Mercy Sunday deepens the Easter celebration to encourage us to realize there is even more: more growth, more life, more realization of what it truly means to have witnessed Christ now proclaimed, denied, condemned, killed, mourned and resurrected.

What an interesting time to come upon the Feast of Divine Mercy.  Who among us is not eager to pray for mercy?  The world begs for mercy… upon those dying from COVID-19 complications… upon healthcare workers and first responders… upon families who are diligently following every protocol to protect their weak and vulnerable members… upon those whose needs must be set aside to prioritize the response to the pandemic… upon those who are unemployed, or without food, or whose housing and basic necessities are jeopardized by the shutdown of businesses.  The list is overwhelmingly long.

It is an understatement to say that our coping resources are stretched to their limits, no matter who we are, no matter what we carry in our daily rucksacks of needs, challenges and obligations.

It is burdensome to imagine adding any more challenge to the mix.  I pray this is explicitly clear to those reading this post: There is nothing in my intended words meant to suggest that any reader is not doing enough, not making the most of what we can with what we have, and not responding with faith and love in the midst of all the rapidly changing mental, spiritual and physical demands.

In the spirit of building ourselves and each other in faith, then, we have the opportunity to pray for Divine Mercy.

For the past month and beyond, our civic leaders have done an excellent job communicating what we need to know, and do, to maintain our physical safety.  We have been given clear visuals on how to sanitize our hands and surfaces we touch, where to stand to maintain safe distance, and even a very concise explanation of the statistical models being used to predict the best chance at containing and minimizing the devastation that might result from the worst-case scenarios.  It has taken a few weeks to adjust and adapt, but for the most part, we are functioning as a society within very different physical guidelines, and doing a remarkably good job.

Now that we have had this time to digest, assimilate and adapt, we can begin considering how these changes might impact our spiritual health and well-being.

Readers of the Mission of Saint Thorlak will recall several themes on this topic over the past three years.  A brief synopsis might be:

  • Health of the body must first hinge upon, and flow from, attention to health of the soul
  • Health of the soul comes from recognizing and embracing our vulnerability and common human needs
  • Self-preservation is a pattern that shuts others out, eventually shutting out our openness to God
  • Love casts out all fear
  • Mercy is rooted in trust

The following is an excerpt from “The Divine Mercy Connection,” published by the Mission of Saint Thorlak in February, 2018:

Numerous teachings on Divine Mercy have been proclaimed by saints and theologians of recent time to counter the despair, fear and littleness we experience with the expanding awareness of evil in our age.  Thousands hear and turn toward God in the comfort of this loving embrace.  Yet, thousands more miss the window, maybe not even knowingly, by practicing the culture’s habits of humanism, relativism and individualism with dysphoria and distrust.  Thousands fortify themselves in self-esteem, self-justification and self-preservation because it is the backbone of individualism.  Such mindsets may be great for self-empowerment, but ultimately, they impede and reject mercy because they do not perceive any use – any need – for it.

Brokenness [vulnerability] permits mercy to penetrate the shell of self-reliance.  It is through our vulnerability that mercy reaches us. Need is the most fundamental common denominator of humanity.  We are all weak, or broken, or needy in some way.  Being comfortable with weakness will win the battle of spiritual deprivation because need is not a weapon… it is our supply pipeline… our very lifeline.  Without need, life has no purpose.  Even the staunchest individualist can be persuaded to see – and experience – the validity of this argument.

Need opens doors.

If we have no place for need, we cannot understand mercy; because, without need, mercy is meaningless.

 

Revisiting these words seems almost foreign after weeks of learning how to protect ourselves, isolate ourselves, fortify ourselves and reduce vulnerability.

It is absurd to suggest that we should ignore the safety of ourselves or others, and that is not at all the purpose of this post.  But now that we know how to be physically safe, and as we come up on Divine Mercy Sunday, I wonder if it is an acceptable time to reintroduce vulnerability, on a spiritual level… or, if that word has now become hopelessly associated with something to be shielded, fortified or avoided?

Let us start by thinking about the masks many are wearing at the urging of health officials.  I am not referring to those treating coronavirus infections on the front lines, whose masks are critically important.  I am referring to the rest of us, whose masks are nonetheless important, but in the sense that they shield us from the potential of being unknowingly exposed to an unseen threat.

C.S. Lewis posed the question through the voice of Orual: “How can [God] meet us face to face, till we have faces?”

In similar vein, I ask: How do we pray for mercy unless we are open to what mercy asks of us?

How do we pray for mercy during a time when physical safety requires shielding ourselves?

Now that we have learned how to lock down, how do we learn how to open up again?

If we go deeper, we can begin to ask the harder questions, with sincere honesty and humility: For whom, for what, would we risk exposure?  For whom, for what, will we take off our masks?  What would Divine Mercy compel us to respond?  And what if, after weeks of fear, our hearts are not yet ready?

May this be a beginning of an authentic, renewal of Mercy, for which we each might pray.