March 1981
Do not be afraid, for I have redeemed you.
I have called you by name; you are mine.
When you pass through the waters, I will be with you
and the rivers will not sweep over you. (Isaiah 43:1–2)
Though the mountains be shaken
and the hills be removed,
yet my unfailing love for you will not be shaken
nor my covenant of peace be removed. (Isaiah 54:10)
Return to the Lord your God,
for he is gracious and compassionate,
slow to anger and abounding in love,
and he relents from sending calamity. (Joel 2:13)
Community is the place where forgiveness lives. We may trust each other deeply, yet words still wound us. We still jockey for position, jostle against one another's sensitivities. This is why living together demands a daily cross—a steady effort, a constant practice of mutual forgiveness.
Jean Vanier, "Community: The Place of Forgiveness and Celebration"
"Bringing Our Wounds to God"
Father Bro, speaking at Notre Dame, shared this beautiful story:
"A prince owned a magnificent precious stone that he treasured greatly. One day, through an accident, the jewel became deeply scratched. The prince called upon the finest specialists to repair it. But despite all their efforts, they could not remove the scratch. Then there arrived in the country a stone engraver of unrivaled skill. With art and patience, he carved a magnificent rose into the diamond, using the very scratch as the stem. He worked with such mastery that the precious stone became infinitely more beautiful than before."
How many times I have heard people weep in confession, lamenting: "I acted like a beast," "I am disgusted with myself," "I have fallen so low again." Yet most often, it seemed they grieved their own wretchedness more than having offended God.
In truth, we cannot accept what we are: fragile and sinful, prone to wander from the path the Lord wishes us to follow.
We lose heart the moment a failing brings us down. There are even Christians who refuse the Sacrament of Penance because they consider themselves unworthy—as if a sick person waited to recover before visiting the doctor.
But it is precisely from our wretchedness that God can carve what we call humility: the knowledge of our fragility, our poverty. Like the engraver in the story above, this is when God might begin to shape something solid and beautiful in us—when we recognize our weakness and ask him to do what we cannot do alone. As one digs the foundations when building a house.
Our sins are not beautiful. That much is certain. Yet they have the gift of making us aware of our fragility, and of calling us to trust in one who is more skilled than we are.
Like a child learning to walk: from fall to fall, the child learns that alone he cannot stand. Then he gladly takes the hand offered to him, the hand that will help him find his feet.
We must recognize our weakness so we can grow strong through the power of the Holy Spirit. We must recover the sensitivity that makes us ask forgiveness for our faults, even small ones—to show the Father how much we long to love him better. And we will gain something precious: from the scratch, from our fragility recognized, confessed, lamented, God will begin to carve in us the flower that blooms at the stem of humility.
Father Hubert Damien
For Reflection
- Find in the Gospels Jesus's gaze—how he loves and forgives (Zacchaeus, the woman caught in adultery, the rich young man…). How does a look or a gesture speak louder than words, for us as well?
- (See theme no. 1) Have we let go of any unnecessary baggage?
- Why not celebrate a penitential service, before or after the Sacrament of Reconciliation?