Offer it Up, Shmoffer it Up?

As my godfather says, "Life is a s--t sandwich and every day is just another bite" (pardon our French). Not exactly the most pious spiritual advice, but he's got a point: sometimes life just stinks and there's nothing you can do to change it. Boy Meets World's Eric Matthews advises his brother, "Life's tough. Get a helmet."

Okay, Cory. You wear your helmet 24/7 and let me know how it works out for you.

As Catholics, we often rely on the old fall-back, "Offer it up." Too often, however, what we're really implying by this is Get over it. There are bigger problems in the world. It's not so bad.
#ThingsJesusNeverSaid.

So, what do we really mean by "offer it up"? Sure, a healthy does of reality can help us to keep things in perspective, and not all problems are, in fact, real problems. But sometimes, my godfather is dead-on. Life is tough and there's nothing we can do about it.

Or, can we?

When the Israelites turned to Jesus for help, He never said, "You think that's bad? Wait until you see my cross!" No, "When He saw the crowds, he had compassion for them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd" (Matthew 9:36). He never told us to just "walk it off," but rather, "Take up your cross and follow me" (Matthew 16:24). This is where we learn to offer it up, not give it up.

Sure, there are times when we'd all rather pull an Andy Bernard and pout, "I can SO just sit here and cry!" But, that just left him humiliated on national television. Instead, we can take the challenge head-on and conquer it with stronger, bolder love. In the Garden of Gethsemane, Jesus might have wanted to give up His cross when He prayed, "Father, if it be possible, let this chalice pass from me." But instead, He offered it up: "Nevertheless, not as I will, but as thou wilt" (Matthew 26:39). He chose to rise above fear, and make the greater sacrifice for love. That's offering it up: choosing to rise above our sorrow by acting with courage and charity, when it'd be easier to stay angry, depressed, or isolated. Love must be stronger than fear.

Of course, choosing love over misery is easier said than done, and of course, none of us will do it as seamlessly as Jesus did (except Mary). But, the good news is that it isn't an all-or-nothing shot. Even if we succumb to a few curse words, angry text messages, or full-blown arguments, we can still dust ourselves off and get back on track to love. After all, do we really think we can make a mess so big that even God can't fix it? Psh. No one is that clever.

Every Friday morning, I encounter the greatest missionaries of love at Misericordia, a residential community for adults with developmental disabilities. There, I spend a few hours in their "Graceful Living" program, where elderly residents improve their fine-motor skills by doing simple puzzles, organizing beads, and practicing their handwriting. No matter how often I go there, I'm still baffled by it all. Their company is like a mirror for my soul, because it reveals just how much energy I waste worrying about myself: What are my social plans for the weekend? What if I don't meet that deadline for work? When will I be done with student loans, apartments, and dating, and finally get my life together?

These men and women don't worry about such questions because they can't. Their physical and mental limitations mean that they will never live independently. They will never get married, buy a home, or have children. Instead, many of them have to work very hard to do the simple, everyday tasks that I never give thanks for, such as walking, speaking, or using the restroom. I'm frustrated because I can't control the "big things" in life; they're at peace with not being able to control even their own bodies.

They may be the ones with the disabilities, but I'm the one hindered to love because I'm so worried about myself.

In C.S. Lewis' Screwtape Letters, the devil, Screwtape, plots to make men concern themselves with the future so as to pull their souls further and further away from God. He explains, "Nearly all vices are rooted in the future. Gratitude looks to the past and love to the present; fear, avarice, lust, and ambition look ahead." When we worry about the future, we forget to practice good virtues now, and are therefore more easily swayed by temptation. All of the worries I carry with me into Misericordia concern my future. The residents I'm surrounded by? They're contented by each other's company and the present moment. They're completely focused on loving one another, while I have to try very hard to break my bonds of fear and selfishness. If anyone could have a right to anger or self-pity, they could. But, rather than ignoring or being conquered by their disabilities, they choose love.

So, when faced with anger, loss, or anxiety, we offer it up. We don't pretend that pain shouldn't matter, nor do we delude ourselves with blissful ignorance. We look our cross square in the eye, and pray for the grace to let our love be stronger than its nails. Screwtape warns his pupil against this danger when he writes that if the man "is aware that horrors may be in store for him and is praying for the virtues, wherewith to meet them, and meanwhile concerning himself with the Present because there, and there alone, all duty, all grace, all knowledge, and all pleasure dwell, his state is very undesirable and should be attacked at once." Focusing on how we can practice virtue at each passing moment, rather than being consumed by endless worries, is love's best plan of attack.

Choosing love over loss, forgiveness over anger, and courage over comfort does not come easily. In the eyes of the world, it's unfathomable and maybe even unwise. America was shocked in 2006 when the Nickel Mines Amish community chose to forgive Charles Roberts after he shot ten little girls in their schoolhouse, killing five. The grieving families attended his funeral, consoled his wife and sons, and even set up a charity for his family. Some spectators were inspired by these acts of forgiveness, while others criticized them for being psychologically unhealthy and even compliant with evil.

Love is supposed to shock and awe. As Needtobreathe sings, love is supposed to "Give us time to beat the system, make us find what we've been missing in a world, I know, that's burning to the ground." Lives that should have been "mercifully" aborted are filled with purpose and fulfillment. Unspeakable and unapologetic acts are forgiven. The Son of God suffers and dies at the hands of His children so that they can join Him in Heaven. In all of these things, suffering is offered up to make more room for love.

Every cross, big and small, can be transformed by love and stretch our hearts to be more like Christ's.  We acknowledge that it hurts. We admit that we're angry. But, instead of hiding behind a helmet of fear and pride, we accept His crown of thorns and act with love. In the words of Blessed Theresa of Calcutta, "I have found the great paradox, that if you love until it hurts, there can be no more hurt, only more love."

Love is tough. Get a cross.

The Lord Himself will Fight for You

"The Lord Himself will fight for you, you have only to keep still" (Exodus 14:14).

How many of us actually believe this? It seems like a sweet, little Bible passage that would look cute on a coffee mug or a wall hanging; a nice thought to get us through the day. Who would actually dare keep still in the midst of fear and anxiety, and let God do all of the fighting?

On our youth group mission trip, God all but forced me to keep still while He fought for me. It wasn't pretty, and I wrestled with Him the whole way through.

Guess who won.

I was leading our youth group on a mission trip to the Appalachian mountains, where we would help restore dilapidated homes. As nervous as I was for the responsibilities of the trip, I was looking forward to a renewal in my own faith, which was starting to get a little dry and crusty. A week at Catholic Heart Work Camp - filled with praise and worship, sacraments, service, and simple living  - seemed like it would be just enough to jumpstart my prayer life.

I'd give God a little of my freedom and comfort, and in return, He'd give me deeper faith, hope, and love. Done.com.

God had other plans.

"Break my heart for what breaks Yours" (Psalm 28:7). For whatever reason (chalk it up to the Holy Spirit), this verse had been echoing in my heart for weeks. Seriously, yuck. No one wants a broken heart. How about "stretch my heart," or "strengthen my heart"? That sounds much nicer. How does that sound, God?

Nope. Break my heart. And that's exactly what happened. On the first day of the trip, I realized that my relationship with my boyfriend was ending without any explanation or forewarning. I was angry, scared, and heartbroken. Why was this happening? Why now? I had been working on this trip for months, but now all I wanted to do was go home. How was I going to make it through the week, let alone minister to all of the teens? Harmful memories from previous breakups flooded my mind (Satan was really having a field day with this one), and I just wanted to give up.

I didn't think there was anything God could do to fix it. I would just be heartbroken, go through the motions, and expect nothing more. For the sake of the teens, I had to "keep still" despite what was going on in my personal life. No calling him or letting my emotions get the better of me. The kiddos had to come first. So, I got the latter half of the verse right. One for two. But, I absolutely did not believe that God was fighting for me.

Thankfully, God still had other plans.

In the grand scheme of things, a breakup is hardly a blip on the radar. I knew that I'd eventually move forward, and that years ahead I probably wouldn't even remember his name. No matter how big or little our cross may be, however, we've all been there. At some point or another, we've all felt so hurt, angry, and/or confused that it tempted us to doubt where God was in our lives. Was He just sitting there, or would He actually do something about it?

God promised to Jacob, "I am with you; I will protect you wherever you go" (Genesis 28:10). I forced myself to trust these words (even though I wanted God to do a heck of a lot more than simply be with me). Like Jacob in the week's Old Testament readings, I wrestled with God throughout the entire trip. I had prepared to give Him only my sleeping, eating, and personal hygiene habits, but He wanted my plans, hopes, fears, and trust. This was so not what I had expected. Never mind, God. I'll stick with spiritual dryness, thank You very much.

I didn't want to give in. I wanted to hold on to my own plans. I kept wrestling, hoping God would give me what I wanted, while knowing deep down that His plans are always better. My stubbornness revealed an ugly fact: God was not the Lord of my life. I was. Rather than have His will be done, I just wanted Him to bless mine. If this was going to change, I had to pry my hands open, let God take from them what was unholy, and fill them with what He truly wanted me to have. I had to let Him fight for me. Psh. Way easier said than done.

God did fight for me. Through prayer, sacraments, and friendship, He gave me the strength to be joyful and concentrate my energy on the teens. Despite the temptation toward self-pity and clenched fists, Love was winning.

On the third day of the trip (hint, hint: notice anything significant about this number?), Catholic Heart Work Camp offered a spiritual activity for the teens, in which they could open up about whatever crosses they were carrying and ask adult leaders to pray over them. Like the other adult leaders, I sat on the gym floor with a candle, said a prayer to the Holy Spirit, and waited for a teen to approach.

To my surprise, a young man who did not want to go on the trip, barely cracked a smile, and seemed to be getting nothing out of the experience sat down before me. His eyes were already blotchy and his mouth was quivering. In an instant, the floodgates opened wide. He poured out all of the hurt and hopelessness he felt in his family life. His stories nearly made me cry. There was nothing I could say to fix it. Truth be told, it might never get better. As I knew all too well from my own, little cross, we can't change how others act or treat us, and God loves our free will too much to control us like puppets.

When he finished talking about his family, I asked if there was anything else troubling him.

The floodgates opened again.

And again.

Here was a kid carrying some serious crosses without any understanding as to why it was happening to him, or how it would ever get any better. I talked with Him about God's love, the power of the cross, and how He is always, always with us. However, nothing I could say to this young man would matter unless he chose to believe it.

By the end of the trip, this kid was laughing harder, louder, and longer than anyone else at any given moment. If that's not proof of God fighting for us, I don't know what is.

Do you believe God is fighting for you? Even if nothing changes and things don't turn out the way you want, even if they get worse, do you know that God is fighting for you?

God fought for me, for my good, while I was fighting against me. He wasn't fighting out of anger, but as a loving Father who would stop at nothing to provide the very best for me. He knows what is best for our lives, and His plans far exceed any that we could imagine. As one of the CHWC speakers paraphrased St. Catherine of Siena, "If you don't follow God's will, you will be bored." If He let me win this fight, my life would turn out to be pretty boring. Or worse.

We see only what is here and now, and what we imagine for the future is often overshadowed by our fears. God sees eternity. He knows where you are now, He knows exactly how it is all going to turn out, and He's there every step of the way. Trust that and lean on it. Resist the urge to control and understand every little detail of your life, and let God do the fighting.

After all, who do you think will win: you, or God?

Or better yet, who do you want to win: you, or God?

Jacob and the Angel, Rembrandt

"Did you not know that I must be in my Father's House?"

When I declared myself a double major in English and Theology at Notre Dame, I used to explain my seemingly useless choice by saying, "Well, I don't plan on doing anything with Theology. It's just for fun."

Ha. Ha. Ha. Good one, God.

Now, six years and a Master of Arts Degree in Theology later (and a shelf full of coffee-stained and overly-highlighted books to prove it), I am eating my words. I work full-time as a Parish Youth Minister and try to lead middle and high school-aged kiddos to Jesus. It has been my dream job since I was their age, but there's a lot of hair-pulling and face-palming in the daily grind.

Go ahead. Ask me how St. Cyril of Alexandria defended Mary as the Theotokos at the Council of Ephesus. Ask me about how St. Marc Antony became a body building machine by hibernating in a cave. Ask me all about the Theology of the Body. It'll be the first time I've actually been able to use any of this knowledge (which cost me six years of sanity).

Instead, I spend the majority of my efforts talking to youngsters about why Selena Gomez's latest hit is likely not the best song to listen to, or trying (and often failing) to be patient with parents who still don't understand why we can't "do" Confirmation in the eighth grade when it's "easier." All of the Theological knowledge I demonstrated during my comprehensive exams? It's still just sitting on the bookshelf.

Then, when I least expect it, the kids all but 'throw the book at me.'

One night, the sixth grade boy who showed up to youth group wearing shutter shades and calling himself 'swagalicious' asked how God can be both Father and Son. Wait, what? Weren't we talking about Mary?

I had written plenty of papers on Trinitarian Theology. I had read (okay, skimmed) plenty of books on the subject and darn it, I knew my Catechism. But, in that one moment, I blanked. Not my finest catechetical moment.

Months later, when I asked the same kids why Jesus would choose to be sacramentally present to us as bread (I mean, He's the Son of God; He could have picked anything!), their responses included....

Because you need bread to survive.

Because it is humble.

Because every culture knows how to make it.

Because even the poor can have it.

Wow guys, way to steal all my material. Thanks. As much as I like to think I know my Theology, these kids have serious game.

I had never really been too inspired by the mystery of the finding of the child Jesus in the temple. Don't get me wrong, it's holy and all, but it always seemed a little too straight-forward to be mysterious. Little Jesus got lost. Mary and Joseph freaked. Three days later, they found Him discussing Theology in the temple and schooling all the elders. Should we be all that surprised? After all, He is divine.

Lately, my own youth group kids have made me wonder how I would have responded if I were one of the elders. I worked hard for my Masters (most days), and if some little ragamuffin from Nowheresville, Israel rendered it totally useless, you can bet someone in the Notre Dame Theology Department would be getting an earful.

But, this is exactly what I need to be open to. Jesus said, "Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of Heaven belongs to such as these" (Matthew 19:14). If I view my ministry solely as what I have to offer them, it'll become nothing more than a platform for my ego. The Kingdom of Heaven already belongs to these Spongebob-watching youngsters. Theoretically, my work here is done.

Sort of.

Perhaps, I can try to offer them a deeper understanding of our life in Christ as set forth in the Catechism of the Catholic Church, but they're the ones who aren't afraid to stir the pot and ask why it matters. They're the ones whose hands shoot up in the air with questions and comments as soon as I start speaking. If anyone can best teach parrhesia, or the abiding, child-like trust in our Heavenly Father, it's them. They're the ones in whom Christ resides, calling each of us to place our trust in our Him, rather than in our accomplishments. After all, Mother Angelica once said, "It doesn't matter how many letters are at the end of your name (JD, PhD). What only matters are the two at the beginning of your name: St."

Truly, if I am going to try to help these kiddos grow into sainthood, then I have to let them do the same work in me. The Kingdom of Heaven belongs to them. They are already in their Father's House. The only question is, will I have the humility to listen to them and let them lead me there?