There came a point early in my priestly formation when I realized: I am a very different person than I used to be. Now granted, this is a given when becoming a more mature adult, or at least I always hoped it would be a given. But no matter how many times I've read, meditated, and prayed over St. Paul's wide-spread theme of the newness which is a consequence of conversion, I never actually thought about how that would become so real and concrete in my life, like it was actually going to happen! Six years ago I was studying creative writing at Texas State University. Three years ago I was a Petty Officer 3rd Class in the United States Coast Guard aboard the USCGC Bertholf in Alameda, California. Two years ago I was honorably discharged and entered seminary formation with the Diocese of Austin, answering the long-standing desire God had placed within me to become a priest.
With these major transitions I had under gone, not only physically but mentally and spiritually as well, I was slowly becoming a new creation. As a different person at different stages of my life, I had different interests, different friends, different relationships, and a different way of looking at myself, the world, and God. But its not the big things that catch your attention, its always the little ones. As a seminarian, I cannot stand most of the movies I enjoyed so much in college, the music that once defined my character, or the literature which sparked my first love for the spirit of the written word. There simply came a point when they no longer stood significant. Its not to say that there are no longer movies, music, or books which I enjoy, only that these things no longer have the influence they once held on my life and now they've become exactly that which they always were: things.
Now the examples which stand out for me are all artistic forms of entertainment, but our gadgets and devices are without a doubt the most potent forms of distraction the modern world is addicted to. The little things: taken for what they are can make for a pleasant occasion for recreation or a useful tool for communication. But once they become our means of self-definition and world outlook, when our little things are given a big place we no longer reflect the greatness we are created and called to embody, but are turned into exactly that which controls us: a thing. I can only make these bold observations on the lot of modern man because, prior to my own conversion, I was once he: distracted, addicted, and completely indifferent to God.
The other day I noticed just how few things I have left in my possession as seminarians tend to be on the move quite a bit during their formation, between schools, pastoral assignments, and holidays, one cannot hold on to much when one does not know how small or smaller their next living quarters will be (just one of many similarities between seminary and military life). I recall days prior to leaving for basic training selling boxes and boxes of books, movies, CDs, records, and giving away anything else which couldn't be sold. Upon being discharged and preparing to enter my first year of seminary formation, I realized just how few things I had left and consequently, just how few things were taking possession of my time and concern. Consequently, when the things which once not only possessed your mind but gave you self-definition are taken away, a sort of identity crisis can begin to take root. Perhaps the most significant pain we feel during a conversion is the pain of "self-emptying": a purification of all that we once held as true which can no longer exist alongside the newness we now possess, or better yet, now possess us. Our fears, or at the very least hesitations, toward conversion lie in our avoidance of this pain and an unwillingness to change, to turn toward the unfamiliar and the uncertain: a Truth which requires faith.
But only when we empty ourselves of ourselves, only then will our conversion begin. Once this happens, once we turn to Christ through prayer, hear his Word in Scripture, and come together in a community of faithful who are continually undergoing a conversion alongside us, at that point we will begin to be filled with the newness promised to those who seek Him. Paradoxically (as our faith is filled with paradoxes), the more we look beyond ourselves toward the God around us, the more we dwell in the Spirit, and the more we give our very lives for the sake of selfless love, only then do we discover our true selves. The more we deny of who we think we are, the more we are given of who we truly are. St. Paul, the exemplar of conversion, continues, it is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me (Galatians 2:20). Any conversion takes great faith, but for the Catholic Church we do not hold onto the "leap of faith" doctrine. As children of God, we are given the grace and strength needed to live a life of faith; all that is ours to do is to open ourselves to the God who longs to fill those who seek Him. Although our God is a mysterious God, no leap is required, only that you begin.
Sure it can be strange to notice yourself as no longer resembling the person you once were, and those closest to you will be the first to recognize it. However the newness you seek and which now defines you will find peace and consolation in the realization that your identity is now coming closer and closer to that of Christ as the One who gives to you His entire self. As the little things you once held in great regard take their proper place, only then will the greatness of newness begin to take root in you. Our emptiness, our weakness, and our vulnerability is given strength in Christ Jesus and the new creation He wills for us to embrace and become.
Now the examples which stand out for me are all artistic forms of entertainment, but our gadgets and devices are without a doubt the most potent forms of distraction the modern world is addicted to. The little things: taken for what they are can make for a pleasant occasion for recreation or a useful tool for communication. But once they become our means of self-definition and world outlook, when our little things are given a big place we no longer reflect the greatness we are created and called to embody, but are turned into exactly that which controls us: a thing. I can only make these bold observations on the lot of modern man because, prior to my own conversion, I was once he: distracted, addicted, and completely indifferent to God.
The other day I noticed just how few things I have left in my possession as seminarians tend to be on the move quite a bit during their formation, between schools, pastoral assignments, and holidays, one cannot hold on to much when one does not know how small or smaller their next living quarters will be (just one of many similarities between seminary and military life). I recall days prior to leaving for basic training selling boxes and boxes of books, movies, CDs, records, and giving away anything else which couldn't be sold. Upon being discharged and preparing to enter my first year of seminary formation, I realized just how few things I had left and consequently, just how few things were taking possession of my time and concern. Consequently, when the things which once not only possessed your mind but gave you self-definition are taken away, a sort of identity crisis can begin to take root. Perhaps the most significant pain we feel during a conversion is the pain of "self-emptying": a purification of all that we once held as true which can no longer exist alongside the newness we now possess, or better yet, now possess us. Our fears, or at the very least hesitations, toward conversion lie in our avoidance of this pain and an unwillingness to change, to turn toward the unfamiliar and the uncertain: a Truth which requires faith.
But only when we empty ourselves of ourselves, only then will our conversion begin. Once this happens, once we turn to Christ through prayer, hear his Word in Scripture, and come together in a community of faithful who are continually undergoing a conversion alongside us, at that point we will begin to be filled with the newness promised to those who seek Him. Paradoxically (as our faith is filled with paradoxes), the more we look beyond ourselves toward the God around us, the more we dwell in the Spirit, and the more we give our very lives for the sake of selfless love, only then do we discover our true selves. The more we deny of who we think we are, the more we are given of who we truly are. St. Paul, the exemplar of conversion, continues, it is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me (Galatians 2:20). Any conversion takes great faith, but for the Catholic Church we do not hold onto the "leap of faith" doctrine. As children of God, we are given the grace and strength needed to live a life of faith; all that is ours to do is to open ourselves to the God who longs to fill those who seek Him. Although our God is a mysterious God, no leap is required, only that you begin.
Sure it can be strange to notice yourself as no longer resembling the person you once were, and those closest to you will be the first to recognize it. However the newness you seek and which now defines you will find peace and consolation in the realization that your identity is now coming closer and closer to that of Christ as the One who gives to you His entire self. As the little things you once held in great regard take their proper place, only then will the greatness of newness begin to take root in you. Our emptiness, our weakness, and our vulnerability is given strength in Christ Jesus and the new creation He wills for us to embrace and become.
Wow! "But only when we empty ourselves of ourselves, only then will our conversion begin." I love this !!! its mind blowing!!! You really are an amazing writer.
ReplyDelete