Suffering--Accepted Sorrow

One has to accept sorrow for it to be of any healing power
                              The Abbess of Andalusia: Flannery O'Connor's Spiritual Journey                                                                                      by Lorraine V. Murray         p. xiv
     Suffering need not be a static, negative experience.  There is a huge difference between suffering and seeking suffering.  I do not subscribe to Julian of Norwich's appeal to God to be given a bodily illness to draw her closer to Christ--closer to God.
     Yet, I do not run from my own suffering--literally or figuratively.  A younger person might say, "Cure me of this debilitating state of being."  I am old enough to know that the entirety of my cerebral palsy may not be cured by the stroke of a magic wand--by the artful manipulation of surgical implements.  I have and I will submit myself to surgery to mediate the effects of my cerebral palsy.  
     If I do not believe that I may be cured by any means, what then?  Does my conviction give me license to give up?  Does my conviction give me entree to fill the position of victim to make my living?    
     I think not.
     To speak of our lives as God's gift to us is understood often to be arrogant.      
     I disagree.    
     Life experience with my cerebral palsy has led me to view walking as a gift.  Yet, as often as I utter the words, "Walking is a gift," the words sound alien--contrived--to my ear.    
     Yet, to my heart, "Walking is a gift," is an intimate companion.  How does my ear--how does my mind--befriend, "Walking is a gift?"
    Suffering--accepted sorrow--is the vehicle that transforms, "Walking is a given," to "Walking is a gift."

Good Citizens

[Hester] feared that Catholicism would limit her intellectual horizons and require her to shut down her reason...."I doubt if your interests get less intellectual as you become more deeply involved in the Church, but...the intellect will take its place in a larger context and will cease to be tyrannical, if it has been."  In her opinion, a "tyrannical intellect was a danger; instead the mind serves best "when its anchored in the word of God."  
     The Abbess of Andalusia: Flannery O'Connor's Spiritual Journey by Lorraine V. Murray
     Raised to believe that all truth was confined to reason, I read this passage with great interest.  A younger Patty struggled to understand this seeming dichotomy between intellect and faith in God.  
     Today I read of the "tyrannical intellect," the mind, and, "being anchored in the word of God," and I find myself understanding faithfully that this is true.  Yet, I am perplexed as to how to convey its truth.  It may be that it is not the words of the mind that are the conveyors of O'Connor's words.  Presenting an offering of words is far easier.  But, the true conveyor of O'Connor's words is the offering of our life's example--the example of our daily living.  
      Many years ago, I was counseled, "Don't leave your mind outside the door of the church."  That advice was rooted in experiencing religion practiced by rote recitation.  I understand, treasure, and strive to live by that advice--by not leaving my mind outside the door of the church.  I seek out people, whose lives exemplify that mental engagement.                                                      Yet, as much as I treasure that advice, more is called for to live with spiritual engagement.  What is that?  I know it when I experience it in people I meet, know, and love.
     If we are to not leave our minds outside the door of the church, then what?  What are we called to convey from our inner sanctum?  How may we transform the Spirit of our inner sanctum outside the door of the church?  

Good citizens are engaged in their geographical community.   

Are we willing to be good citizens of our Faith?   

Fleeting Gratitude

     This morning I came to church conflicted as to how to express myself.  My sense is that I am not alone.  I felt extremely grateful to everyone for their tremendous support--their prayers--as I find solutions to my physical problems walking.  Expressing gratitude is usually quite natural for me to do.  I hate being needy--at least expressing my needs has been something I hated to do.
   This morning, a reversal of those two inclinations presented itself to me.  I knew that I felt grateful  that I have courses of treatment I can pursue--surgery, and a motor scooter.  Yet, I was not ready to relinquish expressing my needs for support.  I feared that if I expressed too much gratitude that I would lose the right to express my needs for strength and support in the future--or that my gratitude might drown out my appeals for support.                
   I fear I may be experiencing fleeting gratitude.  I wanted what seemed unattainable--a diagnosis for my problems walking.  I could have wanted anything.  The point is, once I got what I wanted--a diagnosis, and a course of treatment--my appreciation for that diagnosis was a distant memory.
   I have three questions.  Do you ever experience fleeting gratitude?  Is fleeting gratitude a side effect of the pace that we live our lives?  Is fleeting gratitude a sign of disproportionate expectations we have for our lives?