On Joy

“The sense of the joy in anything is the sense of Christ.” 

(Caryll Houselander, The Reed of God)

Is there anything sadder than a miserable Catholic? You know the type, and if you don’t, you can find plenty of them on Youtube or Instagram.

They are ones who are convinced that the world is going to hell in a hand basket, that everything is getting worse by the minute and that God is calling them to condemn all that is wrong with everyone else and be miserable about it in the process.

I’m afraid that Baruch won’t make them any happier this morning, because the prophet’s message is directed at them (and us):

“Take off your robe of mourning and misery,” he tells declares, and rejoice that God has remembered you. The God., who will level every mountain for you, and full in every valley, so that you can walk a straight path, the you might walk with joy, in the light of his glory.

Each of us are susceptible to the “perennial pity party.”  Poor me!  No one suffers like I do!  No one is more persecuted, alone or afraid.  There are even Psalms like that. I like to call them the “pity party Psalms.” Like Psalm 22:

My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?

…so far from my call for help, from my cries of anguish?

My God, I call by day, but you do not answer;

by night, but I have no relief.

Dogs surround me; a pack of evildoers closes in on me.

They have pierced my hands and my feet

I can count all my bones. They stare at me and gloat.

Sounds like the Psalmist could use a good dose of Prozac. Or perhaps what he needs is to meet Jesus. Perhaps he needs to remember the three comings of Christ which we celebrate this time of year: his coming in the manger, his coming in glory at the end of time, and his coming into our hearts.

For better than Prozac is the presence of the Christ in our hearts. The one who has known and loved us since before we were born and the Jesus who was joy incarnate, 

whose birth was announced as good news of great joy, and who tell us to Rejoice and be glad! Rejoice and leap for joy! For I have come in order that my joy might be in you, and your joy might be complete.

So, the next time you feel the world weighing down on your shoulders and the darkness closing in, go to a quiet place, take out a little broom and clear away a little corner of your weeping heart. And then take a breath and invite him to rest in you, like a baby in a manger.

‘Cause if you do, you will know joy.

Drowsiness, Anxiety and Advent

The Lord tells us to be vigilant, ever ready for him to return to judge the living and the dead. He even describes the opposite of being vigilant:

“Beware that your hearts do not become drowsy from carousing and drunkenness and the anxieties of daily life…” (Luke 21:34)

Luke uses an interesting phrase when he says “do not let your hearts become drowsy.” Drowsy is a great word. It comes from the Old English drousan, which means to fall. It’s the same word that gives us dreary. Just picture the seventh of the dwarfs, always dozing off and never aware of what is happening.

Sometimes we grow drowsy from a life of dissipation, of carousing and drunkenness, but most often what tires us out are the anxieties of life.

Now everyone worries. It’s a natural part of life. And sometimes worrying about things helps us to face the problems we need to. Worry is a great motivator.

But what Jesus is referring to is not the momentary feeling that I’d better pay the bills before the due date, or wondering how your granddaughter is doing in school.

No, Jesus is warning us not to let the anxieties of life keep us awake at night and depressed during the day, to the point that we forget who is running our lives.

I’m talking about the kind of worries that grow from a belief that we (and not God) are responsible for everything that goes wrong in the world, that come from the conviction that God is not in charge of making everything work, but we are! And then when something goes wrong in life, we wear ourselves out with worrying about it.

Can you imagine how many things a Pope has to worry about. That’s why Pope Saint John XXIII tells us that the last prayer he prayed every night went something like this:

OK, Lord, I did the best I could today with your Church. But it’s your Church. So now I’m going to bed and you can take care of it. I’ll be happy to help again tomorrow, but it’s all yours for now.

Perhaps that is also why Saint Faustina Kavalska, the Apostle of Divine Mercy, wrote this prayer:

From the false idea that I have to do it all, Deliver me, O Lord.

From suspicion of your words and promises, 

Deliver me, O Lord. 

From the belief that I have to earn your love, 

Deliver me, O Lord. 

And maybe that’s also what Saint Thérèse of Lisieux was talking about when she wrote so beautifully:

One place alone I long to dwell — 

within my Lord’s embrace.

In perfect trust to lie. 

No storm there shall I fear.

Slumbering on his breast, 

and near to his Holy Face.