Loving your sister

Based on an email I wrote to a friend:

In further explanation of my position, my firm belief is that, in the words of St. Thérèse, there is really only one vocation: to Love. The other vocations - priesthood, "religious life", marriage - are but temporary manifestations of that one vocation. They are temporary in the sense that they exist for this earthly life as an anticipation of the life that is to be revealed at the end of time.

"Treat. . . younger women as sisters, with absolute purity." In a way, if I am married to a woman, I need to keep in mind that above all, she is my sister in Christ. The bonds of marriage end with death, but she is my sister in Christ for eternity. I could phrase it in an analgous way to how I explained vocations above: marriage is a temporary manifestation of the call to love a particular woman as my sister in Christ.

So, in regards to any sister in Christ, the question is not whether or not to love her, but how does God want me to love her.

"Treat. . . younger women as sisters, with absolute purity." I must have a "passion for purity." By God's grace, I am to keep in the forefront of my mind that she is my sister, and that the goal is to see her fall more deeply in love with Jesus. True love must want what God wants, and the one who truly loves desires that the other should follow Jesus wherever he leads them.

And really, should that not be my goal with everyone I meet? May God help me to do so.

The Vocation to Love

†

In a previous entry I wrote:

I wonder how it is that I continue finding these Theresian themes cropping up in my life. “My vocation is to love” she said. Perhaps if I had chosen a different saint for my patron when I was confirmed I would have seen the development of things attributed to them instead.

All other vocations must have this vocation as their source. Each of them is but a different expression of the same vocation to love. I can be faithful to my vocation, though I do not know what form it shall take, for it is in the end a vocation to love.

I further resolve that I shall not seek out any particular form of this vocation, but shall trust that he shall reveal his calling in his good time. Indeed, he is already calling me and leading me in the way I should go, though I cannot tell where I am going.

In the absence of a clear call to take decisive action, I shall content myself with remaining as I am. I shall heed the words of St. Paul to the Corinthians (1 Cor 7:24 NIV)

Brothers, each man, as responsible to God, should remain in the situation God called him to.

He continues in vss. 29-31:

What I mean, brothers, is that the time is short. From now on those who have wives should live as if they had none; those who mourn, as if they did not; those who are happy, as if they are not; those who buy something, as if it were not theirs to keep; those who use the things of the world, as if not engrossed in them. For this world in its present form is passing away.

The earth in its present form is passing away. This means that I ought not to do anything for the sake of earthly gain, for any earthly gain will pass away with the earth. I must fix my eyes on what is unseen, on what is eternal, that which does not pass away. What does this mean when it comes to discerning my vocation in life, particularly as concerns whether to marry or to remain unmarried? Jesus says (Matt. 19:11-12):

Not everyone can accept this word, but only those to whom it has been given. For some. . . have renounced marriage because of the kingdom of heaven. The one who can accept this should accept it.

The gift of celibacy is clearly a symbolic anticipation of the kingdom of heaven. It proclaims, "We live for more than this life, our destiny reaches beyond the doors of death." What then, is marriage but a concession for incapable of controlling their passions? Certainly it has that function. But let us consider an example from history:

Louis and Zelie were an ordinary man and woman. As young adults, they were both drawn to the religious life and each unsuccessfully sought entrance into a religious community. With that path closed to them, at least for a time, they each settled down in a town in France. After some time, they met each other and were married.

Louis, 34, and Zelie, 26, married and began their remarkable voyage through life. Within the next fifteen years, Zelie bore nine children, seven girls and two boys. "We lived only for them", Zelie wrote; "they were all our happiness". The Martins' delight in their children turned to shock and sorrow as tragedy relentlessly and mercilessly stalked their little ones. Within three years, Zelie's two baby boys, a five year old girl and a six-and-a-half week old infant girl all died. Zelie was left numb with sadness. "I haven't a penny's worth of courage," she lamented. But her faith sustained her through these terrible ordeals. In a letter to her sister-in-law who had lost an infant son, Zelie remembered: "When I closed the eyes of my dear little children and buried them, I felt sorrow through and through....People said to me, 'It would have been better never to have had them.' I couldn't stand such language. My children were not lost forever; life is short and full of miseries, and we shall find our little ones again up above." (Source)

Loius Martin and Zelie Guerin married because of the kingdom of heaven. In their vocation to marriage, they were choosing the way of love, and were living for the world which is to come. Their last child was a girl, one who is known far more widely than either of her parents. They named her Therese — Therese Martin, whom we know as St. Therese, the Little Flower.

It is clear to me that it is not important whether I am called to marriage or celibacy, but that I live out my vocation to love. Whether I am called to marry or to remain unmarried, I shall do so "because of the kingdom of heaven."

How else can I live?

†

Entrusting to Jesus

From a journal entry:

†

Jesus, I need your help. This is too great and wonderful for me. To love another and so to love you more, and to love you and so to love another more. It is possible, is it not? To have this: the more I love the one, the more I love the other. Surely in my heart my great desire is to love without end.

I wonder how it is that I continue finding these Theresian themes cropping up in my life. “My vocation is to love” she said. Perhaps if I had chosen a different saint for my patron when I was confirmed I would have seen the development of things attributed to them instead.

Dear Therese said that she would spend her heaven doing good on earth. Well, I want to spend my earth living as if heaven is already here. It is my firm conviction that it in fact is. “The kingdom of God is within you.” Which is greater, the Lord of the land or the land, the kingdom? The Lord! And does not the Lord of the Kingdom of Heaven dwell within me? Have I not been baptized into his death and become a part of his body? Have I not begun to enter into his very life, or as Peter writes, to be a partaker of the diving nature? So what prevents me from living accordingly?

I do.

I do not want to let go of my pride. . . . I do not fully trust Jesus. My pride says to me, “I am your only sure guarantee that you will not be lost, that your identity will not fade away, that you will be able to maintain your grasp, your hold on being important. If you let go you may be so fully assimilated into Him that both the world and God shall forget you. . . you will not even be a memory.”

While illogical, that is a very compelling argument. For, that is the greatest fear of selfishness: being forgotten by all, especially by the person in whom it resides.

But we do not lose our identity in allowing the love of God to overwhelm us. We do not become oblivious to our own existence.

I have some idea of what it means to love God, and to love my neighbor, but what does it mean to authentically love one’s own self?

I think the key is entrusting, actively entrusting oneself to God. I think that is the key to truly loving another.

All love goes out and returns to its source: God. Whatever love we have finds its first and ultimate source in God. Flowing through us, its natural direction is towards God again.

So to love myself, I place myself in the place which is the source and end of love: the heart of God. I place myself there as a whole being; I give myself to him; I entrust myself to his keeping. From then on, gazing on myself I cannot help but see myself in the context of the Beauty and Love of God. Thus, I do not love myself for my own sake, because my gaze becomes transfixed on the one who holds me.

Likewise with others: If I entrust them to Jesus, insofar as it is for me to do so, I cannot help but see them in the context of the Beauty and Love of Christ. They do not lose their identity, nor I mine – no, rather than being obscured by the light of his Beauty, we are illuminated by it. Not only does it shine upon us, revealing the surface, but so intense is this light that it shines through us, and we become illuminated throughout the whole of our being.

For the full completion of this, we shall have to wait until we are raised to live, but raised incorruptible, even glorified.

Hasten the day, Lord Jesus.

Come Holy Spirit, begin your work in my heart today.

Father, glorify your name.

†