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.