Let Not Your Hearts Be Troubled

**Solemnity of St. Joseph Observed**

Day 6. Fr. John Ignatius's sermon was on sinful, faithful, and heroic human fathers, in particular Abraham, David, and, of course, St. Joseph. King David has long been my favorite character of the Old Testament and it was beautiful to reflect on the great gift of good human fathers - those we see in the Scriptures, but also to take time to be grateful for the wonderful human fathers in my own life. First and foremost my own dad, who is (in my obviously unbiased opinion) everything a human father could possibly hope to be, but also for the many other awesome dads who have shaped my life and witnessed to me the beauty of holiness in fatherhood. It was beautiful to reflect in gratitude on this whole category of gift in my life, but also set me up well to "meet" St. Joseph in meditations later that day.

One of the most memorable meditations of the entire retreat happened later that morning - the Presentation in the Temple - Luke 2:22-38. As I set up the scene in my imagination and looked around for where I was to place myself, I felt very drawn towards Mary. I initially resisted the draw, thinking that Mary was too important for me to be in the place of - she was someone I needed to watch not be. But it quickly became clear that I was being asked to be her in the meditation, in order that she might teach me how to be her. Just as with any practical skill, at some point you need to actually do it, so with learning holiness from the perfect model of life in Christ, I needed to do it.

So I lived the scene as Mary. I held the infant Christ close to my heart, Joseph, gentle and strong, was always beside me and I encountered the faith rewarded and the abundance of joy in both Simeon and Anna. There were a number of beautiful reflections that came about through this text, but the overall experience that stuck with me was of how happy I was throughout this scene. With the Christ Child asleep in my arms and St. Joseph at my side, protecting and loving me, I was exactly where I wanted to be.

So when I finished the scene and got to the Colloquy, I started to question this, thinking that I must have got something wrong if I enjoyed this meditation so much (and yes, it's ok if I sound a little crazy). I started writing down a bunch of themes or quotes from the last five days that were in support of the joy of this meditation being legitimate. As I looked at the rather impressive array of supporting texts, my reaction was a sort of instinctual it's not possible, it's not possible. Then came the words,

"are you really saying that you think it's not possible for My will to make you happy?"

It struck me to the core. He continued, "It has always made you happy in the past... that doesn't exclude suffering or the asking of big things - you know it doesn't. I've shown you what life with Me looks like - requires courage and hurts sometimes, but it is filled with golden light."

I continued to press in, to test, to ask Him things, but everything kept pointing back to the truth of these words. I left that meditation somewhat staggering in newfound peace and joy. I went again to the foot of the Crucifix in the sunny woods and wrote another poem. Rather reminiscent of the one I had written on Day 2, but what I had tried to fabricate in myself by writing that first poem, had been poured into me in prayer today and the poem flowed out of me as a natural consequence.

I went on a long walk by the lake - blissfully happy. After a while, I reached a hillside and lay in the brown grass, warmed by the sun. Remembering my meditation on the Incarnation, I once again asked my Father to tell me a story. He began, "Once upon a time, there was a Father who loved His daughter very, very much..."

I went on in this happy fashion, until a phrase in prayer suddenly restarted my fear and anxiety. My next meditation, on the Flight into Egypt was rather overshadowed by this, and it wasn't until I talked in through in Spiritual Direction that I could finally see what had happened. That much older wounds and fears had twisted the words of God to be something I was afraid of, instead of its real meaning which beautiful and nothing to fear. When I asked Jesus why this had happened, the immediate response was "It was the only way the Devil would be able to get you away from me."

In my next Holy Hour, praying with Psalm 37:1-7 was a good context in which to wrestle through this temptation to fear and to start to see how to conquer it. A phrase that began to stick out to me during this Holy Hour was from St. Thomas's Eucharistic Hymn, "Truth Himself speaks truly, or there's nothing true." This became a potent reminder to trust the truth of His words and what He was doing over and at the expense of identity lies and habits of low self-worth that I had long been stuck in.

Conference that night was on healing - on the importance of showing up and asking Jesus to heal you, explicitly naming your symptoms and where you need healing. Fr. also reminded us that our healing is not just about us - being healed makes you a more trusting and surrendered disciple. And whatever your vocation is, those you love and serve will be better loved and served by a trusting and surrendered disciple.

For my final Holy Hour of the day, my director had instructed me to repeat the Presentation and the Flight into Egypt as one prayer period. Coming into this Holy Hour, I was exhausted and, after the highs and lows and wrestling of the day, had minimal confidence in my ability to pray at all. So I said my opening prayers with an unusual abandon - Lord, I don't know how to pray right now, so You will need to come and take control of this prayer. Even as I asked His aid and knew His power, my emotions could not conceive of how He could possibly bring any fruitful prayer out of my current state. Still, I asked Him to take it, and just like that, I launched into one of the most natural and lovely meditations I have ever experienced. I stayed in the scene almost effortlessly and it played out around me with almost no conscious work on my part. The same love and joy of Christ in my arms and Joseph at my side ran through the entire meditation. And as I began my colloquy, my heart overflowed in an outburst of thanks and praise for all that Christ had done for me - on this day in particular as well as throughout my life.

And that was what was most striking to me in praying through all of this today. There were two moments that closely resembled moments earlier on the retreat - the two poems at the foot of the Cross and the two outbursts of praise and thanks during colloquys late at night. The earlier two had been at best, willed as a duty. Several days later - after facing the reality of my condition, of wading through the muck and the darkness of a lifetime of wounds and sinfulness, these two moments happened again - this time naturally, easily, and with my whole being aligned to them. This realization today was a renewal of hope - that the darkness and healing that I'm struggling through now is only for a time and that I will come out on the other side not only stronger, but happier and more myself.

As I neared the end of writing this post, I turned on Disney's Cinderella to be in the background which automatically played from a scene near the end from last time I had been watching it. I don't think it was an accident that these few scenes were playing as I finished reflecting on this day, so I will close by encouraging you to watch this lovely mini-reflection on being seen as you are.