During a recent Carmelite meeting with my temporary formation teacher, Gene, we discussed — what he called — the levels of the journey someone must take to reach Divine Union. He mentioned what I consider one of the most important levels in the long climb to the top. It consists of looking at ourselves and seeing our brokenness and sin. Here is where I am.
I have been struggling for over a year with lukewarmness and subtle clues from my Creator about my own brokenness. God has been showing me, little by little, what a worthless and sinful being I am. I’ve seen more than I wish, and less than I need.
The hardest part of all is admitting these flaws to myself and to my confessor. It’s just not that easy.
On August 10, 2018, I had a vision while inside a chapel. In order to get the true meaning of this vision, I had to first work out my salvation for three and a half years. Here is why:
Last night I went to my usual Saturday evening Mass. I was awaiting confession in the Adoration Chapel when my confessor showed up. I had been struggling with blood pressure spikes as of late and, when I saw him, it immediately shot way up. I felt fear!
As Catholics, we are taught to make an examination of conscience before confession, but always, when I go to confession, the Lord brings out thoughts, words and deeds I had not planned to discuss. In the depths of my soul, I must confront these things and see my sinful side. Confession is a chance meeting to unveil our sins and imperfections, sometimes for the first time. When it happens, it surprises or shocks me. It is always painful.
This was one of those nights when I uncovered a sin I did not expect to see.
Strange as it seems, I had been ruminating on the vision (above) for a couple of days, and with each passing thought, my memory became clearer and clearer. While dwelling on this memory, I saw how I had just received the Eucharist — the body of Christ — during Mass. I knelt in my pew with head bowed and eyes closed, thanking God for the gifts he had given me. Suddenly, behind closed eyes, I saw a huge hole open up in the ceiling and a beautiful pale yellow light shone onto a man sitting in a pew a few rows in front of me. He was hunched over in deep soulful prayer. I had never seen him before. In fact, I had not even noticed him even though there were less than a dozen people present. He was a stranger to me, but it wasn’t the man who I began to pay attention to. It was the light. And the light disappeared as soon as I acknowledged it.* When I opened my eyes and looked at him, I could only see his back. He was hunkered down low. I didn’t see the pain in his body that day, but I know it now.
Nevertheless, I was consumed with trying to find the light, but when I closed my eyes again, it never materialized. I had not focused on the man because I didn’t want to. I didn’t realize it was all about him. Later, I even told my former pastor that perhaps this vision wasn’t meant for me but, he assured me it was. When I asked him if he knew the man, he said he didn’t notice him.
After Mass, the man rose from his seat and walked swiftly out the door.
Just yesterday, I remembered looking up at him as he passed but quickly looked away because his face was contorted and it frightened me. I couldn’t tell if it was pain or anger; it may have been both. I remember, now, what he looked like. I remember his clothes, light-colored, a beige shirt and camel-colored pants, a little dirty and wrinkled, as if he had slept in them. I wondered if I should go after him and talk to him and tell him what I saw but, I was too consumed with my own self-centered desires. And, these selfish desires remained unfulfilled, so I allowed another thought to pass through my consciousness. On this second thought, I decided to go chase after him. However, when I opened the door, he was gone. I saw a small, red, beat-up pickup truck zoom out of its parking space and high-tail it out of the lot. I assumed it was the man. I remembered feeling surprised at how suddenly he left. It had been only a few minutes. I closed the door and went back to my pew, thinking I had tried to do my duty.
The whole scenario was unsettling.
- I had missed an opportunity to comfort someone.
- I never realized how divine that opportunity was until my confession.
Although I never saw the man again, I questioned the vision many times over the years. I’ve written about it, but not about the man. He evaded my memory. I always left out that part. I’m certain I repressed seeing him because I never remembered him until the day before my confession. I understand now why I wrote about the vision in a previous blog, but not the man. I mentioned this vision to the priest. I had told him about it a few years ago, shortly after he became my spiritual director. I don’t think I ever mentioned it to him again — that is, until Saturday night.
During my confession, I reminded the priest about the vision and told him about the man and what had happened, I asked him if it was a sin, fully expecting him to say no. But, he didn’t. He nodded his head yes. I could see the hurt in his eyes. He was well aware that it is a sin not to help someone in pain, not to show the love of God. I, however, was shocked. How could this be a sin if I didn’t even understand the meaning of it? It doesn’t matter. My confessor was right. And, I couldn’t sleep last night because of it.
We are all called to comfort those in pain, and to love each other. That is God’s greatest desire. That is what Christianity is all about. I could have helped that man that day — my once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to know I had helped someone through a clear prompting from the Holy Spirit, with a specific person — and I had failed.
I was inspired to write this journal entry as a condition of my salvation.
Soul searching is hard. “Life is difficult,” as F. Scott Peck says, in The Road Less Traveled.
I had lunch with my friend, Louise, on Friday and we discussed life. She likes to see life as being about adaptation. She put out her hand in front of her face and waved it in a swaying-like motion. “You have to learn to sway,” she said. Swaying is hard. Life is hard. Learning hard lessons takes time and can take the wind out of our sails. Please God, forgive me for my sins? Amen…
*Here is the original blog post if you’re so inclined: https://smarieack.livejournal.com/4926.html