SoC contribution pages 68-71

Forgetting/Distraction/Imperturbability/Indifference/Self-Mastery 

These things are all tempting, but did we ever think of them as sins before we met Fr. Giussani? I was raised to think of them as virtues! Most of these "virtues" were impossible for me to master – all but one: distraction. Distraction comes naturally to me. 

In fact, it's a fight to overcome distractions and to simply be present with all my questions open and alive in the present moment. So many things can distract: emotions (even positive ones), dreams and wishes (which are different from desires because they name some sought-after thing as an end – it can even be a "holy" thing like "time to pray" or "my daughter's conversion" but they stop short of "thy will be done"), worries, important work, engaging in arguments, etc. A certain way of praying can even be a way to distract myself from the questions that could and must batter my heart. 

Only two things seem to wake up my heart: extreme Beauty (especially the beauty of gratuitous love/forgiveness – but any extreme Beauty will work) and severe suffering. I have also learned that these two things, Beauty and suffering, are part of the same "fabric," like the warp and weft of a woven cloth that can't be unravelled. 

Having identified these two factors that crack me wide open to the fundamental questions means that I can seek and privilege these experiences in my life. I don't look for ways to suffer (they do seem to find me, though, lol), but I can seek out those who suffer. I can make a space in my life for people who are suffering the most. And I can be vigilant for explosions of Beauty – in art and in literature, also in human stories I find along the way, but most especially in my own experience of daily living. And these encounters and experiences can then become my "teachers" so that I can learn the Way to the place of these questions – which means I can go there, even without prompting. 

Yesterday I was distracted with thoughts about how all-consuming and tedious my routine of self-care has become. I was even composing a social media post in my head with the thought that it could go on fb. But as I thought about it, I became bored. I was boring myself. It was making my life *more* boring to think about this tedium I dislike. I had the thought: but all of this is beside the point! I'm alive. 

Another thought, which I've been meditating on for many months (even before the cancer returned) is that if I'm ever put into a concentration camp, or rounded up by some other hostile party, I will be among the first to die because I depend so heavily on certain medicines (for example, I have no thyroid, so without the daily dose of synthetic thyroid hormone, I won't survive). 

Now, without the cartons of liquid formula, which make up my entire diet; without the IV antibiotics I'm receiving through a pouch I carry constantly; and without all my other medications and the medically-necessary actions I need to undertake according to a strict schedule, I would die – and it would be a gradual and excruciating death.

I don't live in a hostile environment, and I haven't been imprisoned in a concentration camp. Instead, I enjoy all the benefits of the best medical care available in the world. Even if I am more vulnerable than I was as a young woman, I am alive. Remembering these things, I asked myself, Who am I that I should receive this gift of life? What am I to do with this life I've been given? ...and other questions that are equally compelling... which only God can answer. 

Only the habit of wondering with questions such as these, as they have been prompted by Beauty and suffering, could prepare me to be open to the same questions even in the midst of tedium and distraction.  

   

 

SoC Contribution: pages 65-68

Several songs came to mind as I read the pages for this week's SoC: Pink Floyd's Comfortably Numb and Paul Simon's I Am a Rock are the two most striking. 

While last week's pages highlighted the phenomenon of intellectual rationalizations that seek to avoid the deep and fundamental needs of the heart, this week and next week we're working on practical ways that we distract ourselves from these questions: a certain kind of stoicism, the use of alcohol and drugs, keeping ourselves busy, etc. 

This week we focus on stoicism and psychoactive substances, each of which I have quite a bit of experience with. As I've said before, though: it's never productive when I use SoC to look at my own faults and failings, but it's especially unhelpful when I look at those of others. 

I have a friend who is going through a tremendous grief at the moment. Today I asked him, "Why would God allow this to happen?"
He answered, "I've been wondering the same thing." 
Me: "We need to keep asking him. Either there is an answer (one of Love), or he's a lie. I don't believe in 'blind faith,' and I never will."

I also gave an example of a time when I was suffering a great grief and asked this same question of God. I told him one thing I discovered at that time, but I did not try to provide it as an answer to his suffering. 

One consequence of having this conversation is that I've spent the whole day thinking about my current situation – this infection, which seems to be resistant to the oral antibiotics I was given, which is regaining strength, and which will likely land me in the hospital again. Why is God allowing it? What purpose can it serve? How will it help me to grow in Love? How is it a sign of Love for me? 

To be in the position of wondering in front of my situation helps me to stay alive and open. I have had enough experience with asking these kinds of questions to know to ask them with hope. I mean that I know that at least provisional answers will come (I may need to wait until the full flowering of the Kingdom before I discover the full meaning of all these things, but I know that God will show me enough glimmers and traces of meaning to help me take the next steps with curiosity, confidence, and certainty). I don't know that the same thing is true for my friend. He isn't a Christian, and he is quite a bit younger than I am. He's also had many devastating and unjust things happen to him, but until now, he hasn't had anyone to accompany him in asking these questions. How will this unfold for him? I don't know. I will try to be a real friend by continuing to ask the questions with him. He might appreciate this or he might pull away from the friendship. Everything depends on whether he recognizes something of value in these questions. I think this is a risk that always exists. 

 So I think two things are essential: at least one friend who will accompany us in our need as we ask the fundamental questions AND the ability to recognize something of value in keeping these questions open.    

Cry of the Heart (page 4)

 As a striving towards transcendence, creative suffering – as we've seen expressed in Germain Greer's anguished words – opens us to others who are also suffering, thus creating a solidarity among those who suffer. To suffer together means to walk together towards transcendence. This solidarity is the proper human response to suffering... What we share is the questioning – and thus we suffer with the one who suffers. We co-suffer with that person.
    Since suffering reflects the transcendence of the human person, since it points to a Mystery that is the author of the drama of human life, then we cannot really use suffering to deny the existence of God. Instead, it is because there is a God that suffering exists as human being experience it. The suffering of human beings is a sign of God. (Page 4 - top of page 5)

I have noticed, since I've gotten sick again, that certain friends have faded away. I simply haven't heard from them since I communicated the recurrence of my cancer. I think I understand them – they're deeply disturbed and terrified of losing me. Their love for me makes them feel that my loss would be an awful thing, something they can't bear. To be near me, to see me suffer, would only intensify this sense of horror and loss, and it's something they instinctively recoil from. I think this is the human condition without redemption. Extreme suffering is simply impossible to witness, especially in one we love. So I can't blame those who don't have the stamina or stomach to stay in touch with me. They have no intention of making me feel lonely or abandoned. In fact, I think it breaks their hearts and makes them feel horrible that they keep "forgetting" to reach out. 

To hang in there with the suffering person – especially, to hang in there without offering "answers" or solutions – is impossible without a special, divine gift (a grace). Those who can do it should take no credit for their capacity because the strength doesn't come from them. Only God can make this co-suffering possible. 

This solidarity that Albacete speaks of is a real thing. Going to the hospital, I would feel the weight of it. Sitting in the little waiting area (it held 10 chairs in a U shape) right outside the radiation rooms, we patients would always strike up conversations. Cancer is so democratic – it strikes all types, from every walk of life – but there we'd be, brought together by this one enemy, and there would be an immediate intimacy. These people would share their hopes and fears, their pain and their relief – all sometimes within a five minute conversation. These conversations, no matter how short or long, would always end, as one person would be led back to the radiation machines, with "I'll pray for you," or "God bless you." Always. I don't know what religion the others were, and I was not always the one to invoke the Almighty. Their are no atheists when it comes to cancer. At least, I never met one. 

So walking in the big hospital (visitors always remark that it's the size of a city), one feels the weight of all the suffering people, especially the children. This is a weight that is impossible for the strong and healthy to discern. It's there, like a cloud, hanging over the shoulders and head of every person who enters and leaves, but only one in real pain, or suffering a big loss, can feel it bearing down on her. And it's a welcome weight, like a weighted blanket. We are part of something greater than we are. We are not alone. And this is, indeed, a sign of God. 

 

SoC Contribution: (RS pages 63-65)

 The Substitution of Questions with Willpower

The three examples Giussani gives feel pretty impenetrable, so I'm going to try to give examples that are "closer to home." 

1. Personal Praxis

I need to clean my house because it will reflect well on me when people see what a great housekeeper I am. They will be jealous. They might even hate me for being so much tidier than they are. I can live with their dislike because I will know (and they will know, too!) that I'm superior to them.

2. Utopianism

I need to clean my house because the world is going to hell in a hand basket and only a few can maintain order and live clutter-free. The world should reward the few who can hold to this higher standard, even if it's not possible for many. There is this ideal that must be maintained, or at least we must strive after it, even if the world is a dark and very cluttered place. 

3. The Social Project

I need to clean my house because it's the right thing to do, for the good of society. I will start a coop of moms who encourage one another to get their houses clean. Together we will realize a dream of clean living. Why? Because it's obvious: a clean house makes me feel better/makes us feel better! Kids get less asthma in clean houses. People can be more productive in clean houses. 

I don't know if these examples help. 

I have experienced these three kinds of willpower. I can think of different examples from my life. The problem is that I hate when SoC gets "confessional" and we wind up talking about all the ways in which we screw up. So I want to ask the question: what happens when INSTEAD of relying on willpower, we live according to "the stimulating energy of the 'elementary experience,' that 'goad [that] drives me on,'"?

When I remember that Christ is Goodness, Truth, Love, Beauty, Mercy, etc made flesh, and I seek to see traces of these qualities in those I meet so as to find the face of Christ "hidden" or obscured within the faces of the people around me, the world becomes a great miracle and life becomes an adventure. 

This time of recovery has offered many opportunities to be tempted toward willpower: I can tough this out... If I can just get through this day... Keep your stamina up, Suzanne... But things fall apart when I try to rely on willpower. And I can taste resentment between my teeth. 

Lately, I've been thinking about Passover, and my favorite prayer that Jews sing during the Seder: Dayenu. This word means, "It would have been enough," or "It would have sufficed." Here are the zany Maccabeats singing their version of the song: 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CZgDNPGZ9Sg

If He had brought us out of Egypt, it would have been enough

If He had split the sea for us, it would have been enough If He had led us through on dry land, it would have been enough If He had provided for our needs in the wilderness for 40 years, it would have been enough If He had fed us manna, it would have been enough

If He had led us to Mount Sinai, it would have been enough

If He had given us the Torah, it would have been enough

If He had brought us into the Land of Israel, it would have been enough

If He built the Temple for us, it would have been enough it would have been enough.

I've been substituting the experiences of the Hebrew people with my experiences in various friendships. For example, in meeting Caroline (but I have been doing this with each one of you): It would have been enough if Caroline had brought new life to the Pittsburgh SoC... It would have been enough if Caroline had been willing to attend national events... It would have been enough if Caroline had wanted to visit me and help me with the Studio... It would have been enough if Caroline had joined Visitation... It would have been enough if Caroline had come to various events in Steubenville... It would have been enough if Caroline had written beautiful witnesses for the CL Newsletter... etc. 

Only God could have accomplished all the wonders that the Hebrew people experienced in the Exodus, and only Christ could accomplish the wonders (each of which is an instance of Goodness, Truth, Love, Beauty, Mercy, etc.) that have threaded through my friendship with Caroline (and with the rest of you, too). To see Christ means joy for my heart and gratitude filling my thoughts: and then the things I need to accomplish throughout the day become easy and light. 

Thus willpower, in all its ugly forms, loses. 

Cry of the Heart: pages 1-3

[...] Every fiber of my own heart vibrates with this anguished protest. I too would join Wiesel, Mauriac, and all who have experienced such horrors [of the Holocaust] in cursing this face of the Infinite. And yet, there is something else in my heart that will also not go away – the certainty that this anger cannot be, and cannot be allowed to be, the last word about human life.
    The last word must be the hope of the same heart that causes me still to protest, to rail against the infinite Mystery that permits such horrors to happen. [page 3]

To me, this is a great mystery. How is it that some people – people with great minds and great hearts (Wiesel and Mauriac) – could let their anger have the last word? It makes me wonder: "Albacete, how can you be so sure? You haven't seen anything so horrific as the events in the concentration camps..." But then I remember people like Max Kolbe, Edith Stein, Corrie Ten Boom, and I think, "Yes, Albacete would be among these who kept their certainty in mercy and hope, even in the worst circumstances known to humanity."

I don't know what makes the difference, but I want to be with Albacete (and Kolbe, Stein, and Ten Boom). I want to stake everything on mercy and hope. 

What sort of education or training do I need in order to land among those with hope, rather than among those for whom anger becomes the last word?

Cry of the Heart, Ch 1, Paragraph 1

 Chapter 1 “A Mystery to be Lived” 

I would never attempt to offer an answer to the problem that suffering poses to believers. Suffering is not a problem to be solved but a mystery to be lived. As a Catholic Christian, I see the problem of suffering as inseparable from the cross of Jesus. But this is not the perspective I have adopted here, because I do not wish to begin by speaking only to other Christians. I want to start by reflecting on experiences we all have because we are human beings, whatever our beliefs. 

Two very provocative points, right out of the gate: a priest who would never attempt to offer an answer to the problem of suffering. Can I say the same of myself? When I was younger, I was often in a hurry to explain – I thought I was offering a gift by spelling out what the catechism teaches about suffering. This made me feel like a "star pupil" who had the "right answer," but also like a generous person who could dispense the true meaning to people who, once they received my explanation, could be at peace because they knew the truth. 

Now when I think of these experiences, I wonder why I was in such a hurry to dispense with these explanations? When I search my conscience, I can't find any motive beside a genuine desire to help, to ease suffering, to provide an adequate meaning. Unfortunately, I was in the wrong, and I started to realize this before reading Albacete's book. I think it's important to mention motive because we can be very well-meaning and have the correct answers but still be wrong. We need to acknowledge this first for ourselves but also when dealing with others who make the mistakes we've overcome – we must remember that their hearts are in the right place, and they're acting out of love, a love untempered by wisdom, but still it's true love, and it may even be superior to our own capacity to love. 

What is the second provocative point? "Suffering is not a problem to be solved but a mystery to be lived." How often do we rush in with solutions? "Try this diet"... or "Here's a device that might help with that"... or "You should change doctors"... or "Take this herb/vitamin/medicine" etc. What would it look like to instead confront someone else's suffering as a "mystery to be lived"? 

I can't help but think that it has to do with presence: recognizing that our presence (MY presence) has more value than all the solutions we could think up. We want to eliminate the suffering, but the person suffering needs companions who can enter into their life with them far more than she needs suggestions and solutions. In fact, the solutions others offer can feel hostile or belittling and certainly alienating. Even professional helpers (doctors, lawyers, social workers, therapists, etc.) who will not first offer their presence and companionship cannot be trusted to find correct solutions. This is because the various disciplines that serve to relieve suffering are each an art that requires humanity to be effective. 

If anyone would like a conversation on this paragraph, we could use this question as a jumping off point: What would it look like to instead confront someone else's suffering as a "mystery to be lived"?

Contribution to SoC (RS pages 60-62)

A gift from a stranger, who had heard about my cancer from my brother-in-law and brought this back from Lourdes for me... For me! 

"... in one way or another, these stances are either temptations, or actual attitudes all of us live" (60). 

Let's all be very disciplined and look only to ourselves and our own consciences when testing Giussani's "unreasonable positions." We all know OTHER people who are getting it wrong, but to focus on them would mean a lost opportunity for us. 

Theoretical Denial of the Questions: 

This is when we treat the great questions ("Why am I here? What is the meaning of my life? Why is there something and not nothing? etc.) as absurd. 

I don't do this consciously, but often, without thinking about it, I leave the great questions off the table as "extraneous" to a given problem to solve. 

The big "problem" I face now is my recovery from radiation/chemo. The symptoms need to be managed – with medicine, therapies, devices, various practices – it's easy to turn all these problems into complex calculations, endless adjustments, the need for some new product that will solve everything... Each day I put my little wood statue of Our Lady of Lourdes in my front left pocket where I can easily reach for it and hold it in my hand... But even this can become a kind of "practical solution" rather than an opening up of awareness or a reminder of the Big Questions and my need to keep them in play. 

What happens, though, when I allow these questions to frame and define my symptoms and the misery I experience? What difference does it make when my little statue of Our Lady becomes a source of ultimate meaning (and not just a comforting gesture, made with less awareness)?

As I placed the small piece of wood in my pocket this morning, a kind of song or prayer rose spontaneously in my heart: O my Jesus, my beloved. I love you. I'm yours. from the bottoms of my feet to the top of my head, I give it all to you because you're my Jesus, my all. How I love you. How I want to be your beloved, forever and always. Only this... The song continued with many repetitions/different words but the same basic meaning. I didn't consciously choose to pray this way; I didn't even say, "Now it's time to pray." Nothing like that. Rather, it was something that welled up from my heart, as a gift to me. I asked myself, "Where could such a gift come from?" and the only reasonable answer is that the gift comes directly from the misery, the pain, and the odious symptoms I work so hard to stamp out. How many times while leaning over a sink or a toilet, or while sitting up in bed when all I wanted to do was to lie down, did I find myself spontaneously begging: O my Jesus, deliver me, take this away, please, Jesus, my Jesus, please...But if you cannot take it away, please be with me, please stay with me. Please... And these occasions laid down a kind of pattern or habit of invocation and of turning my face in the direction of Christ. 

"I would create the universe again, just to hear you say again that you love me" [Christ to St. Teresa of Avila]. 

If I ask, "What is the meaning of this pain I experience? Why does God allow me to suffer with these symptoms?" then the only adequate response is: for my need to expand and for my love for the Mystery to become the habitual attitude of my heart. These experiences are so much more satisfying than all my calculations, adjustments, researching solutions. And yet God also wants me to do this work of calculating, adjusting, and researching! He gave me this desire, too, because to want wholeness and integrity of the body is also an elementary need. In God's economy, nothing is ever wasted or lost.