I have two marvelous books to share with you. The first is Philip K. Dick and Philosophy: Do Androids Have Kindred Spirits? If you have visited this blog much, you know I love absurd humor, theology and philosophy. Let me quote from the other book, by a woman who wrote only one, but a great one, nonetheless. What she lacks in absurd humor, she makes up for in mystical revelations. Her book is a diary called Divine Mercy in my Soul.
“Only love has meaning,” wrote this author, Maria Faustina Kowalska. “It raises up our smallest actions into infinity.” Let’s follow this logically: if her statement is true then love becomes the sine qua non,absolutely indispensable and essential for our lives to have meaning.Maria’s diary, Divine Mercy in My Soul, was written for the sole purpose of introducing the world to the ocean of mercy that is open everyone who needs a miracle. And who doesn’t need a miracle? Can you think of anyone you know who may need one?
Her diary contains revelations. But wait, you may be philosophically skeptical. Good! It’s not philosophy, it’s hope in diary form. Philosophy is a wonderful discipline, but it may not be what you need now. You will not be disappointed spending a little time looking through it.
Phillip K. Dick is also a writer who does not disappoint. He is the late great master of the philosophical sci-fi novel. He penned the original story that the movie, “Blade Runner (1982)” is based on: Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?
“Blade Runner 2049 (2017),” the sequel, starts with the character K (Ryan Gosling), who moves the plot forward. We learn that K is a blade runner, an officer who hunts and removes other rogue androids, called replicants. In the course of his investigation K learns he might be human. To discover the truth about himself becomes K’s burning quest, and ours.
K’s quest for meaning is also his quest for love. For K, if a human, he could know love, give love, receive love. His life then, through love, would be given meaning, as Maria Faustina reveals only love has the power to do. Maria Faustina Kowalska and Phillip K. Dick cross paths here on this ground of truth.
K is ordered by his superior to find Richard Deckard (Harrison Ford) the hero of “Blade Runner.” Although Deckard is played by Ford as a crotchety hermit, love takes over his story also. In the end, he finds his meaning when he begins his quest for someone he loves after K enters his life. In his own earnest seeking K lights the way for another soul.
Maria Faustina, as a result of her visions, was compelled by Divine Mercy and Divine Love to write her book for nothing less than to shift the destiny of mankind toward eternity, infinity and our reason for being. Mercy is the quality of the Supreme Being, God. He is the original Giver of monumentally enormous generosity. Mercy is the greatest thing about God for us to understand, before anything else, she proclaims.
Maria, a simple, cloistered nun, was asked to proclaim to us the greatest attribute of God, which is His mercy, and to reveal that every good thing we experience is a sign of His mercy. All we have to do is to open the chest containing this everlasting treasure.
Thanks for visiting this space and please come again soon.
by Ron Houssaye, LMFT, SASA, licensed psychotherapist
No matter how devoted, few of our parents were able to respond perfectly to all of our needs. We all had some parts of our childhood that were tough, even perilous. Every child experiences a “primitive anxiety” that the world is not a safe place.
There’s a group that was created for adults with emotional scars from childhood, and those who are recovering attest that their scars are healing. The group is Adult Children of Alcoholics. I was a member for nine years and I can tell you that during those years I uncovered my own wounds, many of which are healed.
I no longer worry too much about what people think of me. I no longer spend my weekends feeling I must go out and party to feel accepted. Instead, I can stay in and read a good book, or go out to dinner with someone, then come home to my nest. It’s because I now feel secure inside, so the outside doesn’t matter as much. In short, I no longer fester in the wounds of my childhood.
As a therapist, I know that people enter relationships with the expectation that their partners will magically restore to them a feeling of wholeness. For those of my readers who may be in that category, I recommend this book: Getting the Love You Want, by Dr. Harville Hendrix. He explains The Imago, which is the psychic image inside each of us that leads us to our “perfect partner,” although that unconscious mental picture is merely a composite of the positive and negative characteristics of our parents.
Once in the relationship, when we are beyond the romance stage of about six months, the chickens come home to roost, so to speak, and we must confront the reality that our partner is flawed in many ways we did not see before.
Then often begins the call for healing inside both people in the relationship. If they seek help and don’t blame each other for the psychic aches inside them they can make it.
So don’t give up when you realize your parents weren’t perfect. None of ours were, that’s for sure.
I’ve changed my position about what I used to do all the time, which is people pleasing. I’m a recovering people-pleaser. People pleasing is acting in specifically contrived ways so that others will like or approve of you. You may relate to this or you may not. Or you may know someone who is one. You may have been one but learned to stop being one. To clarify, let me supply a little more personal information for you. I’m going to try to be completely transparent.
I used to believe that my life was about becoming what others wanted me to be. I craved acceptance at any cost. I tried so hard to make you like me. Today, if I sense someone doesn’t like me, do I obsess about it? I wish I could say I didn’t. I still do obsess, but I’ve stop obsessing as much. I mean I don’t obsess about it as long. I used to obsess days and days, even sometimes weeks and weeks when I sensed someone didn’t like what I did, or didn’t do, or didn’t like what I said, or didn’t say. Now, thanks to a wonderful therapist, I only obsess hours and hours about it. The truth is, I am not fully recovered from people pleasing.
I’m in partial remission, which means I’m in a training-wheels stage. To my credit, I don’t call my therapist between sessions to talk about the last session “in more detail.” That drives therapists crazy, believe me.
Do my insides match my outsides now? Not really. I’m calm on the outside but nervous on the inside most of the time. Just because I’m a therapist myself doesn’t mean I’m not neurotic.
I’ve come a long way forward being authentic. I used to believe the entire purpose of my life was to become the best replica of the person you wanted me to be, or pretended to be. Not true anymore. My anxiety about whether you like me or not is still the same as it was, truth be told, if not worse. Sometimes it goes through the roof! Why? It goes through the roof because I don’t try to pretend to be who you want me to be. I sort of do it automatically, which I’ve learned to consider progress.
It’s hard not to act in ways you suppose others expect you to act or speak. Look at the photo of me carefully. Take some time. Okay, don’t I look like a people-pleaser? Come on, you can tell me the truth. I will not be offended. I’ve almost got not being offended down perfectly.
Really though, today it matters very much to me who I really am, and that I am being who I really am. Today I have realized that I don’t have time to play around with projecting images to others.
Strike that. Turns out I actually do have time to play around projecting false images to others, but only when it makes me feel more secure inside. Well, how could that not be important? After all, I’m only in partial remission from this problem, which thousands, or millions, even billions of people may have. And it’s comforting to know that so many others suffer great chronic stress over this issue. Well, no, that’s not what I meant. What I meant is, it’s sad, even tragic, but comforting at the same time, if that’s possible.
I think I’ve said more than I needed to in order to get my point across, or it may be I needed to edit this a bit more. I definitely need to write more about this problem, so Part II will becoming very soon. Or when I can get to it, which should be very soon. I kind of sense that’s what you’re expecting, anyway.
Before we were born, God sent each of us a love letter. He sent the letters to very private mailboxes deep in our hearts. This is about how one boy discovered his letter from God.
Connor Kravitz had large brown eyes, which glistened like two small moons, as if searching for some magical country he believed existed somewhere. Except for that, Connor was like any boy of twelve. Yet he lacked one quality–connection. For some reason he was disconnected. He felt alone in the world, cut off. And he didn’t know why or how that had happened.
It was a mystery Connor very much wanted to solve.
Other children had a native buoyancy and cheerfulness. He could see that quality in others at school. It was an energy inside them which seemed to lift them up. He didn’t think he had that.
Connor was even different with respect to his family. He lived with his parents and his older sister, Julia, in a state of anxious isolation. It was a local joke that Connor walked around in a peculiar manner: that he floated ten feet off the ground, .
“That boy’s a real space cadet,” Dick Carter, a local store manager, would say.
His parents were just too busy arguing with each other most of the time to notice much about their son. After school Connor just wandered about like a ghost.
All the sensations in the world were not enough to make Connor happy. Nor did he have any peace within. Sadly, he was hollow, and what he truly needed was peace inside, a peace that was personal and his own.
On Sundays the Kravitz family went to church, where Connor and Julia learned about Jesus. Connor was curious about the Nazarene and wanted to know more.
Yet another problem Connor had was that he couldn’t seem to genuflect. You were supposed to bend your right knee, but Connor always went down on his left knee. He would order his right knee, “Go down, go down!” but always the left one went down instead of the right one. His teachers thought it was very odd and sort of funny. It caused a few to snicker and Connor heard the snickering one time, but he tried to ignore it.
Connor remembered hearing that Jesus promised peace to the world someday, when he returned, because Jesus was the mighty “Prince of Peace.” Jesus would then give each one a personal peace, special to each of person. Connor sensed he had something in common with Jesus, which was that they were both odd, different, both set apart from the crowd.
Connor definitely wanted to know more about Christ, but he yearned for more than what his teachers were teaching him in catechism. Connor was different in this also, that while other boys and girls were focused on having crushes, going to parties, playing sports, getting good grades or being rich someday, Connor didn’t care about any of those things.
Perhaps that was why he seemed to float “ten feet off the ground,” as Dick the storekeeper would joke.
Though Connor was an altar boy, it wasn’t enough for him, so he began to spend time in the Eucharist Chapel, where Jesus waited, in the form of a white host, contained in golden monstrance, inviting everyone to come and spend a holy hour with him. His teachers encouraged Connor to make these holy hours a part of his life. His parents didn’t mind, but Julia could not figure out what the point was.
Connor felt the Eucharist chapel was a very special place. After about ten to twenty minutes sitting there he started to feel something wonderful. It was a soft, lilting feeling. He felt lifted up, but not physically. It was entirely spiritual.
One day Connor was about to leave the chapel when the holy hour was up. He heard a voice inside him say, “Stay with me awhile longer.” He had the thought, “It must be Jesus speaking to me.” It didn’t take him very long to realize and believe that it was Jesus speaking inside his heart.
Jesus had a soft, sweet voice, a low voice, a humble voice. It wasn’t imperial, demanding or full of pomp. Nor was it regal. It was simply a very human voice.
“Stay with me awhile longer, Connor,” the voice repeated.
So Connor stayed in the chapel with Jesus for another twenty minutes. He consciously gave the time away to Jesus, who protected him from his depression, his loneliness and his anxious isolation. Connor finally knew a happy peace inside, which Jesus gave him. Connor felt very gratified to have been given so special a gift.
Connor came to see, over time, that His Divine Friend was bigger than any problem he had, bigger than his loneliness and isolation, than his parents’ torturous marital problems, than his grandmother’s sulking sadness. These personal problems were secret, mostly. No one in the community was smart enough to even suspect that those forces had silently oppressed Connor and had nearly suffocated his spirit. However, Jesus knew. Gentle Jesus had always known.
In fact, Connor knew that Jesus was even bigger than all the hatred and violence and alienation in the world, and in so many people, too. Therefore, Connor prayed for all of them that they would discover real personal peace from Jesus, as he had.
Next and best of all was the private heart of love Jesus had begun to create inside of Connor, along with his personal peace. Eventually, Connor’s childhood ended, as it does for all of us, and he became a man. Yet, he never forgot the core of this amazing experience as a child.
I know I risk putting my readers to sleep writing about my vacation. Please, should I bore you, write and let me know. I will come to your home and personally apologize. Or, since the demands of my counseling practice may prevent such a visit, I will send you an apology via email instead.
Let me begin with “Oh Canada Eh!” It is Canada’s longest running dinner musical and it is squeaky clean. It’s a high-energy show, too, featuring over 70 songs, with colorful characters from Canadian Legend, most memorably a stalwart, virtuous mountie, a frontiersman, along with wholesome fair damsels and frisky barmaids.
Here’s the truly amazing part of our experience. Both myself and my lovely wife each suddenly became part of the show!
I was invited up when one golden-haired maiden walked from her place on stage into the audience, right up to our table and, smiling, she faced me. She wanted me to waltz with her, as the music began to swell. I had a choice: freeze, and thereby chicken out, or stand up and accept her invitation. Thankfully, I managed to call up the guts to accept. I stood to my feet and we began to waltz. I was so glad for those ballroom dancing classes I had taken, over fifteen years before.
Arleen, my extremely understanding wife, didn’t grimace with ill humor, as some wives would have. Perhaps she was as stunned as I. But how could I resist such an offer, to be a ham actor one more time?
It had been several years since I was on a theatrical stage. Specifically, it was the winter of 2011. I was cast in a play called “Someone to Watch Over Me,” in which I played an Oxford Professor of Old English Studies, who was kidnapped off the streets of Lebanon, then chained and thrown into prison. Needless to say, I didn’t resist this opportunity. I ordered the ham, which was me.
It was only for less than a minute that we danced under the soft spotlight. I then sat down and heard the people applauding us. Just think if I had ordered chicken instead of ham!
Several minutes passed. From the stage a mountie strode down from his place and faced Arleen, just as the maid had done to me. He took her hand. He then sang to her in a manly baritone voice, swept her off of her feet, then returned to his fantasy life onstage. We knew this wonderful cast had concocted this turn of events: nor would it have been right if Arleen had not been given her moment in the spotlight.
Only one of our Canadian vacation experiences was more memorable. It was the special time we had with our Canadian friends, Carol and Wayne, whom we had met on a Princess Cruise some years before. Were were with them for two full days. They graciously gave us a personal tour of Toronto, taking us first to High Park and then to Toronto Islands, a chain of islands just a ferry ride away from the mainland. It was windy but pleasant the day we visited. Just talking intimately with our friends, on a wood table at the Toronto Islands, was the best my memories hold of that trip.
Now let me briefly share with you the excitement of the Hornblower boat ride, which took us and fifty other people right up to the edge of Niagra Falls itself. I ventured with my Samsung Galaxy S8 camera to “the edge of doom” and I survived, not really risking life and limb to capture the rush and surge of the falls close up on my device. It was a very sturdy craft, to be sure, and staffed with a fine crew of mates, both women and men.
So what did Canadians think of America at the time we were there in the summer of 2018? Not anything different than what they’d always thought—we were their “good neighbors,” tariffs or no tariffs. Our friends had to admit they were scratching their heads about what was coming out of Washington at that time, but we avoided politics as much as possible.
I loved what I’d read that the Canadian actor, Ryan Gosling, said about American-Canadian relations: “Americans are starting to notice that there is a place called Canada, that we’re not just America’s hat.” Ryan was hard-pressed to explain to the interviewer why he was the current mega-heartthrob, considered by many American women as “the perfect boyfriend.” It remains something less than a deep mystery.
So ends my first vacation tale. Perhaps we will visit Europe again soon and I’ll write about that. For now, please let me know what did not bore you about this post. I would love to hear from you.
Self-compassion is giving yourself kindness, empathy, understanding and forgiveness. Psychologist Kristen Neff has touched many with her research on self-compassion. After learning of her work, I was moved to feature self-compassion on this blog. I hope you find what follows encouraging for you, or for someone you know who needs it.
Imagine an elderly woman walking along any street in America. You can’t see her face because her head is bowed over a can of cold beans. The beans are her meal today. You may feel her need. You may imagine the tiny room she lives in, the crummy neighborhood, the crime there, and the danger she lives with, day in and day out. Perhaps you feel for her.
Now think of the need you have inside. You know it’s there, but you may not have really looked at it before. Does it have a name? You may have expected others in your life to meet your need. They may have failed you. They may have ignored or neglected you, or forgotten you.
But you did not deserve to be ignored. Yet, that may have happened.
What have you always needed? What is it you need right now? It may be to feel secure inside, to like yourself, to have good friends, to have a more comfortable life, a better job, or to feel you belong, to feel you are worthy of love, to feel you fit in, or to have some of the good things life has to offer, for you and for your children and family.
Or, you may have stopped caring, or almost stopped caring.
Right now try to talk to yourself with kindness. You can do this silently or out loud. Tell yourself that you are worth it, worth being loved and cared for–respected, even honored. If the dear lady in the photo is worth it, my friend, so are you.
(No copyright infringement of this photo is intended.)
Yes, Mercy for Our Families main mission is supporting family members affected by addiction in the family. I come from such a family, so I’ve been there. My Dad was an alcoholic in recovery. My family suffered as yours may suffer, in all the ways we can suffer. And the addiction that you suffer from can be anything.
Addiction is defined as “any related, compulsive behavior which interferes with normal living and causes severe stress on family, friends, loved ones and one’s work environment.”
You can be addicted to a drug, a liquid or an activity, like video games or other games. Or it could be social media, your cell phone, spending, gambling, sex and romance or something else. The board is open.
Yes, the board is open. Here I’m talking about intense games, such as chess. You can be addicted to that “royal game,” which I “played” for over thirty years. Before I quit it had become an obsession, which centered, like all addictions, in the brain.
You can easily spot someone who is addiction if you know what to look for. Look for the following:
Loss of control
Continued use despite serious negative consequences
Obsessed thinking about the substance or activity
Addictions reveal themselves when the victims of them try to hide what are impossible to hide, which are obsessive-compulsive behaviors, such as:
Staying up all night occupied with the addiction
Doing it multiple times during the day or night
It’s the main thing they enjoy doing, far beyond others
Person is unable to limit how much time they give to it
If you are a family member of a person with an addiction, you may have once thought there was nothing wrong, then suddenly or gradually you realize there is something very wrong with your loved one. You then became stressed and obsessed with their behavior. That is what we call “the family disease of addiction.”
If you see signs of this in yourself, don’t hesitate to get help. Once you get that help, you will be in a better position to help your addicted loved one.
Mercy is God’s Gift to all who are in trouble. Seek out someone who can help you. Pray about it, even if you’re new at praying. That person sent to help you will appear. He or she might be your pastor, a therapist or someone you meet in the grocery line. Grace and Mercy will find you.
Please note: quoted passages from this blogpost are by Chris Tuell, Ed.D., Clinical Director of Addiction Services, Linder Center of Hope, Dept. of Psychiatry of the University of Cincinnati.
“And from the midst of cheerless gloom
I passed to bright unclouded day.”
― Emily Brontë
The three people in this relationship triangle live in Two Rivers, Wisconsin, population 11,000. A relationship triangle is an unbalanced, three-pronged state of confusion. This one began when Olivia Gardner and Colin Fenwick found themselves uneasily in love. When partners are unstable, a third point person is often unconsciously created to stabilize them. Perry, Colin’s mentor and Olivia’s big brother, became that third point for these two. Perry Gardner, 36, is a biology professor. He was running along Lake Michigan this morning, not happy with Colin at all for breaking up with his kid sister. Colin sent Olivia an email message that read: Olivia, I’m sorry, we can’t be together anymore. But I hope we can still be friends.
Perry knew about the complications of a triangle, when two people pull in a third person to reduce their anxieties. Points one and two aren’t fully aware, but sense their need for a point three, who was Perry in this case. It was a responsibility he consented to, for an undetermined brief period, to help them; but not indefinitely, because it’s a no-win situation being a point three.
It was Christmastime when I met Olivia and Colin, at a party. Olivia struck me as a little self-centered. After some study I pegged Colin for an anxious introvert. Perry is bright but not self centered; composed and thoughtful, but not anxious. He teaches biology at Marquette, the Catholic university in Milwaukee. When they started dating he worried about their compatibility. Eighteen months later, Colin abruptly broke up with her, without any warning. On the surface everything looked fine. He got into this triangle almost worse than a lamb to the slaughter, but he was released from it quickly.
Perry fumed as he ran, glancing at the surf hitting the shore. You don’t break up with someone with an email—not okay. Olivia agreed with her brother about it.Olivia was a grad student in clinical psychology and picked up on the triangle, of course. She was at home, stunned and angry, with her cat, Sneakers. He was black and had little white feet, like sneakers.
Poor Perry, she thought. Poor me didn’t even enter her mind. Perry’s brotherly bias was, Olivia deserves better. What’s wrong with Colin, anyway? Sneakers sensed something was not right with Olivia, which moved him to curl himself around her ankles.
Olivia had the traditional and pure kind of charm of a Dolores Hart or a Dina Shore. She was beautiful, brilliant, kind-hearted and understanding. Olivia’s personal ethics were Humanist. She didn’t identify with a church or subscribe to any religious tradition, nor did Perry, their liberal parents, their aunts, uncles or cousins.
Colin was indeed a religious person, and a poet, and a student of Philosophy (favorite philosopher Socrates). He had once thought seriously about entering the seminary and distinctly possessed a talent for composing religious poetry. He admired and respected Bishop Fulton Sheen, was a fan of Martin Sheen, the Catholic actor, who took the good bishop’s name to honor him. That’s one thing Colin admired about Martin Sheen. He liked his acting, too.
What Perry wanted to know was why Colin’s theological stance had to stop them from moving to the next stage in their relationship? Although reluctant about it in the beginning, he had become comfortable with it despite the oddness of it. Perhaps their breakup didn’t have to happen, he thought. Maybe it was caused by Colin’s stubbornness. He didn’t know what to think at this point. Besides being a published poet, Colin worked as an English tutor at the university.
At the very moment Perry was running and thinking, Colin was studying a poem he greatly admired, “The Leaden Echo and the Golden Echo.” He scanned the poem’s opening lines:
How to keep—is there any, any, is there none such,
nowhere known some bow or brooch or braid or brace,
lace, latch or catch or key to keep beauty, keep it,
beauty,beauty,beauty from vanishing away?
Here sat the unlikely villain, at a table near a window looking onto the quiet street, reading a poem penned by a Catholic literary figure. He reflected as he did about Olivia’s rare and almost vanished kind of beauty. Her beauty it reminded him of was the beauty of his love, more pure, more spiritual, than any he had known. That was his love for Olivia.
As Hopkin’s poem made clear, she and her beauty would eventually pass from this world, and nothing could stop that.
Perry reviewed his memory of Colin becoming infatuated with his sister. Colin basically had divorced his literary studies to get to know Olivia. The two had been enjoying a mutually respectful, affectionate, non-sexual relationship, which had been growing deeper for a year and a half.
Colin had a dark side—not evil dark, but as someone who must rise from a resistant inner cataclysm, known only to him. Outwardly he was “a nice, sensitive guy,” we all knew that. Inwardly he was deeply melancholic. Depression ran on both sides of his family, which was no wonder to an experienced observer: his parents’ marriage ended in a bitter divorce when he was twelve. It had been decimated by their religious differences. His mother also suffered from depression. Before her suicide, she had been a strong Christian, or had tried to be, but with many crises of faith along the way. His father embraced a popular brand of science-justified secular humanism.
Perry was determined to know what provoked Colin to abandon the bond with Olivia.
Colin and Perry agreed to meet that morning at The Odd Collections Coffeehouse. Colin was early and continuing the poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins, scanning the line: just finishing the Hopkins poem at a table near a corner window. He read these lines that responded to the former lines:
No there’s none, there’s none, O no there’s none …
Meaning there is nothing that can keep beauty, ever on this earth, from disappearing. Reading it as intently as he was reinforced his melancholia a very great deal. Not easy at all to cope with.
Perry had thirty minutes before he taught his first class of the day. He finally arrived, found Collin’s table and sat down. He just stared at him as he read the lines quoted above.
Perry let the exasperation he was feeling show now. “I don’t understand you, Colin.”
“Hello, Perry. I’m sorry. I don’t understand either, but I accept what’s hardest to accept,” Colin replied.
“Don’t mistake fear for courage,” Perry said coolly. As he spoke his anger surfaced. “Olivia called me and I couldn’t believe my ears! You told me you loved her, man! Now you drop this bomb on her!!”
Looking grave, sad and remorseful, Colin sighed, cleared his through and looked away. Finally, he looked back at Perry and said, “Yes, I had to end it because I knew it wasn’t meant to be.”
“Without consulting Olivia? How do you think she feels? Did you think about that?”
He grew very sad. “I don’t know but she can’t feel worse than I do.” He hated to have hurt two people he cared about so much, at the same time, by the same action. He had once hoped for something special to grow between them. They just turned out to be too different.
Perry inserted a reflective pause. “What do you want from life, Colin? You must want something from life.”
“I used to think that way, Perry, but not anymore, because this world is full of vanities and false hopes. Wanting something out of it is just asking for sorrow. In the end, whatever it is we find, it doesn’t satisfy. I’ve accepted it.”
“I think your standards are way too high, and your expectations way too low.
“Maybe, maybe not.” He pointed up at the ceiling, through the skylight. “You see those clouds above us, drifting by?”
“What about them?” asked Perry, looking up.
“There’s more than just clouds up there.”
“Perry was impatient with the direction of this discussion. Can we get back to you and Olivia?
“I’m saying that time is passing, just like those clouds. Moments evaporate in succession, one after another. They have since the beginning of time, and one day it will all come to an end and time will be up, literally.
“Perry couldn’t tell whether his friend was depressed or just in a very dark, ghastly mood. He was really worried about him.
“After time comes eternity.”
Perry was losing his patience by the second, but he controlled it. Perry had a lot of self-control and managed his feelings and impulses pretty well. “Is there a small chance that you’re taking your religious beliefs too seriously?”
“My concern is that people in general don’t take human destiny and the Four Last Things seriously enough. I’m talking about Death, Heaven, Judgment and Hell. I don’t expect you to agree with me.
Perry didn’t take a position on eternity or whether there was or wasn’t an afterlife. He didn’t care to reflect on it. He had a full day in front of him, and anyway there just wasn’t time.
“I want to talk about you and Olivia, Colin, not eternity.”
“Don’t you get it, Perry? I haven’t stopped loving Olivia.”
“You have a strange way of showing it.”
“When you love somebody, you warn them when they are going to make a big mistake—I was her big mistake and she would have been mine. It’s that simple.
“Right, simple. And so I assume that the mistakes you both were to each other had something to do with your philosophical differences about time, eternity, judgment, hell and whatever else, right?
“Correct. Perry, you really should spend more time thinking about these major existential concerns. Time is just a construct, a grace, if you will, so we can choose where we stand in the next life. In this life we choose our eternity for the next life. It’s a such vitally important concern in my mind and I really don’t know of a bigger one.
“Well, I think it’s better to live for today.
“We are at an impasse but I respect your opinion.
Perry now had a very hard time controlling his frustration. How impudent! How stupidly poetical! But he controlled himself, somehow.
“Good, well done, I’m glad. So why can’t you put philosophy and theology aside for just once, kid!? I don’t understand why you can’t when so many others can. And I frankly can’t understand why you both can’t resolve this thing and somehow keep going.
“I think we can be good friends eventually, I do think that’s possible. But whether friends or not, eternity is where we’re all headed. Okay, now you tell me what you believe, Perry. Let’s hear what you believe.
“My belief is that everything–matter, energy, cell life to human life, known or unknown worlds, infinite space—all of it may be nothing more than a mixture of unrelated oddities on a massive scale. Where’s the evidence that it isn’t all just matter and energy, which is unintelligent and undesigned, a colossal, cosmic fluke?
“Colin looked inward, whispered “okay,” and spun his Bible to sit right in front of Perry. “Check out Genesis 1:1.” He rose. “I have to pee, most urgently. Excuse me. I’ll be right back.”
How could he be so polite all of a sudden? Perry looked down at Colin’s Bible and read the verse.
“In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth,” which made him Perry think of all the origin theorists he’d ever studied, including Darwin. He thought of the movie, “Inherit the Wind.” He fancied that he was Clarence Darrow and Colin was Matthew Harrison Brady. In the same moment going pee, Colin ached with frustration and sadness for Perry. At bottom he felt in this moment that Perry would never understand him or his faith.
Colin sat back down.
“Colin, I do respect your personal belief and all, but with evidence …
“Evidence. This passing, flimsy reality is the evidence itself, Perry. It’s staring directly into all unbelieving eyes, like yours, like mine were once. Without faith you can’t see.
“Do we all have to believe as you do, Colin?
“Of course not.
“Everything here in this reality is ephemeral; doesn’t last. The opposite of ephemeral is eternal. You look frustrated or mad.
“I find it hard to follow you sometimes, I guess because I’m thrown when you say “this reality.” I just live in one.
“I understand. I’m sorry”
“You don’t have to apologize for what you believe. It’s still a free country. (He smiled and he reminded Colin of Olivia—they had similar smiles). So go on. Finish your thought.
“It’s crystal clear to me that an intelligent, eternal being, of great love and great power, set all of this in motion. I don’t believe in evolution simply because it’s illogical to me.”
“You’re talking to a biology teacher, you know.
“Yeah and you’re a good one.
“You’re also my friend, Perry. I’m talking to a friend, not an adversary. Look, Perry, I don’t have to prove eternity. Creation in all its’ wonder and precision proclaims Someone greater, who is beyond it and who existed before it. Yes, God is hidden, but his creation speaks for him. The origin theory I believe in is Intelligent Design.
Perry now formulated a theory that Colin broke up with Olivia because she didn’t share his religious beliefs. This made him a little feel uneasy; broke a rule he had adopted that religion shouldn’t be allowed to make people uneasy; that it should be de-prioritized for some reason. People should have enough sense to rise above it, he felt.
“Okay, that’s what you believe, Colin, okay fine. You need to talk with her, Colin, more that you need to talk to me. You didn’t break up with me, you broke up with her.
“How important is it to tell the truth? I wish God meant for us to join in marriage, but I discovered he didn’t. That’s why I broke up with her. I gave up my will and accepted God’s over my will.
Colin looked up and saw Olivia standing there. She was listening with a bemused look on her face.
“Hello, Colin. You might have talked to me after talking to God. Isn’t God polite? I just want to know why God opposes our being together.
Colin looked startled, because he was.
“Perry called me that you were meeting. I asked where, he told me, so I came. Do you mind?
“No, not—not at all. Please sit down, Olivia.” He grabbed a nearby empty chair and pulled it up for her to sit down.
Perry was very relieved indeed. “Perfect timing, Liv. I have to go anyway. So if you will both excuse me. I hope you two can work things out.”
“Thanks, big brother.”
“You’re on your own.” Then departed point three of the triangle, leaving the original two points to fend for themselves.
“I’m here and I’m all ears.
“First, I’m sorry.
“Oh, for breaking up with my by email? Doesn’t everybody do it nowadays?
“Again, I’m sorry.
“You said that.
“I don’t know what else I can say.
“You’ll think of something. I thought you loved me.
“I do. I love your soul, too.
She laughed. “First prove to me that I even have a soul.
He thought of replying, Prove to me that you don’t. However, that was too confrontational. He couldn’t say it. Instead he said, “I wish I didn’t have to prove it. Can you prove I have a mind?”
“There’s no proof that anyone has a mind, my love. All that’s required to have a mind is a brain. Because the brain supplies the mind, or the illusion of one. Our brains create the illusion of our having minds. No brains, no minds. It’s very likely that for some, the illusion of a soul is necessary, so their brains create that for them also.
Colin couldn’t disagree with the plain fact that she was smarter than he was. But he believed the discussion was more important than who was the better debater. It was hard not to compete with her and he was trying very hard not to.
“Let me admit you have me in this area: I’m not a psychologist. But what if it’s not an illusion? A major change in our thinking would be when we could perceive ourselves as souls, not only as brains in bodies, but as spiritual and material persons.”
“So finally, after eighteen months of delicate avoidance of the elephant, we are having this conversation. Well, good, it’s about time. But at the same time it doesn’t matter. Because I don’t expect you to be like me or think like me. Can you say the same? No, I don’t think you can, Colin. I don’t think you can, though I dearly wish that you could. … Now I’m crying, dammit!”
He wanted to somehow rescue her from her pain, but he knew he didn’t possess that power. All he had was empathy and compassion, which he wasn’t used to showing. He was more that a tad schizoid.
Colin took a quavering breath and managed to say, “God, I wish love relationships were as simple as these self-help relationship experts make them out to be, Liv. I read three of them in the last year. They made me think of my poor parents’ failed attempts at lasting love. My mother left my father trying to save her sanity, but in the end she killed herself. It was her illness.”
“I know, Colin. I’m sorry.
“I was sure that if we stayed together much longer, I would at some point leave without saying goodbye like my mother. You wouldn’t deserve that. See?
“Yes, I see. But what about you? Did you deserve her to abandon you, so that now you deprive yourself of the happiness we were given, and could have continued to enjoy, because of that fear? You don’t have to repeat her mistake, you know. It’s not inevitable, unless you believe it is.
Colin thought about what she had said. His distorted belief, a form of fortune-telling, battled her more self-compassionate, rational thinking. His metaphor of them being oil and water splashed about unevenly in his mind for a few seconds, then thankfully disappeared, leaving him relieved and calm. For Olivia’s part, something intolerant of this side of human beings, or human souls, wanted to censor him, abolish or discount his sensitivity and vulnerability. Instead, she protected him from it.
She bridged the physical space between them and cupped the side of his face with her long hand. A flood of warm emotion came into him.
“Why did you do that?
“Ah my dear. Did I need a reason? You do need a therapist, my dear, but I can’t be that for you, nor do I want to be.
He smiled, then laughed, causing her to smile, then laugh. “I would pay you good money to be my therapist! C’mon, why not?”
“Not happening,” she said. “There is some suffering I won’t endure for anyone.”
He remembered a line by another poet, and quoted it, of course.
“Human beings can’t bear too much reality. T.S. Eliot.”
She knew Eliot; not her favorite, but okay.
He ventured on, this time confidently. “Yes. God made us to need one other. We just can’t help it, I guess. So, it’s a reality I am going to have to accept. Can we start over, you and me?”
She looked at him a long time. “Well, my tender-hearted poet, what major riddles exist that we can’t face together?”
He thought about it and finally said, “Maybe the Oedipus Complex. For me that would be very tough.”
“Believe it or not I can understand how it would be. I’m half Jewish, half Italian, remember. You’re mostly of German ancestry.”
“We’ll break all the rules in the book!”
” What should we do about that, you think?
“For starters let’s find a German-Jewish-Italian restaurant and have dinner tonight to celebrate.”
“You know, I love you the most when you decide not to depress yourself. Did you know I love you for your brain? Does that offend you terribly?”
“Hurts a little, but I’ll live. I’d trade a big brain for a big heart any day.”
“Well, I’m definitely up for that. I want to see a personal transformation in the coming years.”
“Uh-oh, you sound like a sexy version of my therapist.”
“It’s okay, you sound like my rabbi with Catholic leanings, so we’re even.”
Colin and Olivia rebooted their relationship. They eventually got engaged, got married and moved to the west coast. Olivia opened a full time practice as a clinical psychologist, specializing in mood dysfunction and trauma. Colin teaches religious studies at a theological seminary. Perry and I agreed that they’ve had an equally amazing impact on each other. Whether it’s fiction or non-fiction, happy endings are indeed very possible.
Thank you for visiting Addicted to Mercy. I know your time is valuable. This time my subject is not recovery from addiction. What you are about to read happened when I was lost, then found, and then I was able move forward, no longer paralyzed by fears. Come back with me to 1976.
I was twenty-four, a sophomore in college. Facing being drafted during the Viet Nam War, a war my family opposed, was really the least of my problems. I had been ruefully contemplating my young life the entire evening. Edgar Allen Poe could not have been bleaker or more morose. It was 2:00 am. As I lay on the couch, I looked up at a portrait of Jesus, which I had just given my mother on her birthday. She had loved it on sight and quickly found a spot for it on the wall. I quite alone, ruminating about my problems, with no idea how to fix them. It had been a rough day, too.
Earlier that day I was returning from my appointment at the employment office, where I had just applied for unemployment benefits. On the way home I decided to stop by a dealership and test drive a motorcycle. Only minutes after I rode it off the lot it was out of gas. I pushed it back to the dealer in the California summer heat. It must have been very near eighty degrees. I finally got the bike back to the lot and then took the bus home.
My mind kept running into roadblocks, yet I didn’t want to go to bed yet. What happened next was unusual because at that time I wasn’t really praying much. I heard inside of me a male voice, strong and compassionate.
I heard him say, “I want to help you.” My eyes now fixed intently on his image. Who’s talking to me? Should I answer?
“Why?” I asked. “Why do you want to help me?” I realize now that Jesus Christ would surely know the facts about me, that I had no one in my life, was depressed, lonely and unemployed.
He repeated, “I want to help you.” I just didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing and waited. Most certainly, I did not feel alone, not anymore.
If you were in my place what would you think? Jesus was a human being, very human indeed. If he existed in some other dimension he very likely would communicate, selectively, of course, with souls of his choosing and for different reasons. His reason here was clear. I was in trouble and he wanted to help. So this voice could be his. It might not be, but, it might be.
He wept and still weeps for others, as I understand it. He was unassuming. He was humble. He listened to others and grieved with them. He sighed with them and cried with them. I’m writing this on Easter Sunday, the day they say he rose from the dead. But let’s remember that Jesus is also a human being. If he were not, he really couldn’t relate to us or our troubles. I think Jesus becoming human had to be a key part of the plan—a radically unique part of the plan!
Yes, I believe Jesus befriended me that evening when I was twenty-four. I know it changed my life. I started going to church with my Mom. I went to all kinds of different churches. I met some very nice people, yes, but didn’t grasp the fundamental reasons for corporate worship, not for some time. One reason God calls persons to worship is to experience him, to express their love and awe, and give him glory. Perhaps our purpose is to do exactly that. On a more private, personal level worship is really a private encounter, but with others around who are having the same kind of personal and private experience with God. It’s about you and God.
It was an awkward first meeting, even though I had attended a religious grammar school and high school. Even so, I had never had a personal encounter with Christ. I know I certainly needed one, but had not even known it was possible.
So reader, let me ask you a question: how was your concept of God formed? Is that distinct from your concept of church, or of religion in general? Is God’s existence independent of churches and religion, or must they be connected? Churches might scare you, a little or a lot, or they may make you angry. You may not trust anybody who attends a church or is religious. What of religious leaders? Chances are at least even that you mistrust or dislike all of them. And if so, does that conceptualization keep you away from approaching the possibility of God’s existence?
Put aside your conceptualization for a moment and consider that Jesus works through people but those people aren’t Jesus. If you read the New Testament for yourself you will discover or have already discovered that he sought to connect with human beings rather passionately, at great expense to his well being, considering what ended his life. That’s a given whether or not you think the Resurrection happened. He said, “If you don’t believe me, believe the miracles,” which speaks to his confidence that they were credible supernatural events.
Why the miracles, anyway? Why not just succinct lectures attempting to establish his role in prophetic history? Probably because lectures, scholarship and fancy arguments would’ve left out a big aspect of his message, which is “God is love,” and more to the personal point, “God loves you.” He performed the miracles very aware he had very little time, three years, to attract the souls he purposed to call to him. So very many of us just don’t know who to believe today. Fortunately, Jesus knows how to speak to the human heart.
Why do I trust him? Because he allowed me to choose. He stepped back after that experience in 1976 and let me think about it. I’m so glad he respected my freedom of choice! Did I eventually choose to go his way? No, I really think he chose me. But I still had the option to turn my back on him. So do we all. I have not regretted answering the call. I like where he’s taking me! My relationship with him has always been safe and I trust him.
The Sacred Heart of Jesus is not a mere symbol, but a Church-approved revelation to St. Margaret Mary in 1673 in Paral-le-Monial, France. It is one of those supernatural facts, existing at the core of who Jesus is. His heart is on fire with love for the human race and he lamented that so few respond, seem to care, and even go beyond that neglect of returning his love. Many scorn him, revile him, and perform outrages upon his being he rests in the Holy Eucharist until the end of time.
Will you entertain, for the sake of examining every possibility, however grandiose, that Jesus may be whom he said he was: an infinite, holy being who came in human form to teach us; and he, not being able to conceal his true identity, and perhaps commissioned to reveal it purposefully, designed creation and the wonders of the universe; he is responsible for creating, among other wonders, the complexities of quantum physics, which are not yet within the reach of our physics to totally explain. The Shroud of Turin is another example of this.
“Apart from Jesus Christ, we do not know what is our life, nor our death, nor God, nor ourselves,” wrote French mathematician and unorthodox theologian, Blaise Pascal. It’s not surprising that Pascal’s mathematical genius was in accord with his theological genius. Intuition and logic are not enemies unless we set them to oppose each other.
So what if Jesus, actually not “just human,” really is divine and alive today, being the immortal source of life itself? What if he, not a Big Bang (translated, a large noise intruding the serene nothingness of space) set the cosmos into motion? Then what kind of relationship with us, with you, with me, do you think Jesus had in mind?
Since 1976, Jesus did speak to me again, I think. It wasn’t spectacular or very unusual, because he speaks to his followers all the time: “My sheep know my voice.” I was driving home from work late at night and had a craving for sacred music. I pulled off the road and searched my device and lighted on a choral piece about Christ’s Passion, titled simply, “Her Triumph,” the her being Mary. She triumphs by courageously rising above the gloom to in faith believing he will rise as he said:
While it appears the faith is gone,
Alone in you (Mary) the faith lives on.
I will not dwell in faithless gloom
Nor hasten to an empty tomb.
He came all glorious to you.
His wounded hands outstretched anew.
And I believe, with my whole heart I believe,
His body will rise and receive the Victory!
I heard his voice, even more gentle than before, say, “Don’t forget me.” I returned home full of wonder as to what he had meant. How could I forget him? I realized he meant his suffering—don’t forget my suffering! This second quote of Pascal’s informed me why our remembering his Passion is so important to him.
“Jesus will be in agony, even until the end of the world. We must not sleep the while.”
No, we must not sleep, that is, be subdued by one of any of several hundred distractions we encounter daily in this world of endlessly repeated images worshiping our stunning uniqueness. There is a cost of sleeping through our lives. If the world, flesh and devil lull us into believing life is a fanciful dalliance which we can take selfishly for granted, rather than a fleeting opportunity to be redeemed, redemption will pass us by, forever. We are all temporal, all facing eternity with either dread or hope. If we are all “children of wrath,” then there is a solid, loving reason Jesus came down from heaven, died, rose and will return. But will he find faith on the earth when he returns?
A premise of family therapy is that any healthy relationship has to be based on love and respect. Nobody usually disagrees with that. But obedience is a different story. In this era people don’t like the requirement of obedience because we do not trust authority anymore, and it threatens to cancel personal freedom. However, if you’re on a sinking ship and the captain makes an announcement to abandon ship, if the ship is really and truly sinking you don’t plant your feet on the deck and refuse to budge. You obey the order because you it’s there to protect you and save your life.
Jesus said, “If you love me you will keep my commandments.” In that statement a choice is implied and personal freedom is taken into account by Jesus. Love and obedience are both part of what is chosen. Obedience clearly is not compelled by Jesus, but from disciples it is expected, naturally. It’s reasonable. Forgetting about bland reason, love, once again, claims the highest dignity, before reason, before the hasty, rash, pompous assuming “Enlightenment,” so-called during the equally pompous 18th century in Europe.
So to gain our salvation he had to give up something precious, indeed his very life. That sacrifice was mysteriously required, and Christ, full of love and obedience to His Father, obeyed despite the cost. Yes, that form of old nobility probably seems silly to a 21st century mentality. Why, we ask, would God subject Himself to our base cruelties? It is an honoring of a justice beyond our sensibilities or capacity to understand or appreciate, far from being absurd as we might assume, wrongly though.
Is this love “our kind” of love or another kind of love? Our kind of love is inconstant, perishable, like our nature. However, Christ is not subject to the limitations of our nature. He can love us even when we hate him! I submit that alone as something worthy of our worship, but only if we have a taste for it. Worship requires humility. Mankind has always preferred pride, as whole. But if we walk with him, closely, he will teach us that, too, if we are willing.
We wonder why he bothers with us, so stunted and remarkably inferior to him. Perhaps he sees our potential. When he talked to my heart all those years ago, he knew I was not then interested in ever returning his love—not then. Yet he put his love on the line. That takes guts in anybody’s universe.
Today I imperfectly return His Love. I do when I can let go of myself. Jesus pleads with us to let Him lead us out of our smallness into his humble greatness. My friend Jesus forever is putting himself out there. His Love is incredibly passionate toward us. Let’s not turn our back on him, because he might be the closest and most loyal Friend of Humanity that I know, who doesn’t live in a graphic novel or a fake universe. He created the universe we live in, all the birds and the trees, the oceans and the hills, and with them, he created us. To Him I am ever addicted to mercy.
What connection could a love poem have to faith? Or what possible connection does an iced cream cone have to the spiritual life? Leaving my books one Sunday afternoon, I brought my wife an iced cream cone with a four-line poem I had composed just for her. Presenting the frosty cone, I read this aloud for the very first time:
You are a perfect wife
Giving me a perfect life.
This I give you which of
My love is but a clue.
She likes poetry but she loves iced cream, so I always suspected that she liked the iced cream cone more, but I got over it. Now let’s shift our gears, from poetry to philosophy.
Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche announced “God is dead” in the nineteenth century, which created quite a stir. Nietzsche suffered from severe desperation, I think. Probably listened to too much Wagner. He threw philosophy into a general panic, forcing thinkers to search for life’s meaning without God.
They thought they found their solution in a movement called post-modernism, writings that were a kind of ointment to treat the scalding awareness of the absurdity of life. Fortunately in 1942 the French philosopher, scholar and literary romantic, Albert Camus, published a brilliant essay titled, The Myth of Sisyphus. In that essay he described the Absurd Man, who sought meaning in a God-less universe. I read the essay with great interest.
Camus reminded me very poetically that life seemed worse than a cosmic joke, for it had no presumed author anymore. Camus concluded that the only important question was “Why not commit suicide?” due to this vacuous and tedious situation.
So it became quite a difficult challenge to rise perkily in the morning, with those depressing variables halting the spring in your steps. Philosophers didn’t shake up America as badly as they had in Europe. Over here we were still able to whistle a happy tune, as Europe grew more grumpy and dour. No Message in the Galaxy Worth Reading
Where did this leave the human species as a whole, as we rolled anxiously into the twentieth century? It led to the Lost Generation, with Gertrude Stein and friends. And later on it led to popular fiction, like A Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy and films like Dr. Strangelove, which are satirical treatments of the absurdity of human existence. Songs were also written such as “Message in a Bottle” by Sting and The Police. I connected with the song’s lament of private desperation and societal alienation, because that was my own existence: it was desperation and despair in the form of a catchy Pop tune!
Life can be really traumatic inside of us, that’s no secret, for sure, when we can admit it. In this century it’s by now our ideological inheritance. At birth we’re tossed into the exceedingly unbalanced, violent and unpredictable twenty-first century, where we have global media daily pounding out a dizzying and unending chain of catastrophes, to which we tend to become numb. We are then forced to reach out for the curatives solicited and pandered by the channels of our Addictive Society. But let’s move on, lest we despair! What the World Needs Now
As we all know, love is a very powerful because we need it, a great deal of it, especially if you believe the cosmos is a soundless, meaningless void. I’m not much for the Big Bang Theory explaining things, because I disagree with Stephen Hawking that the universe doesn’t need God. Theories about the origin of the universe abound, and at the top of that list are Creationism, Intelligent Design and Evolution, which touts the miserable notion that we all arose out of some primordial soup.
Instead, please consider “God’s Unfathomable Mercy and Love.” Okay, that notion might smack against your hard-nosed realism rather violently. Prove it to me! It’s a part of living in these spiritually impoverished times. Or maybe it’s not so hard for you to conceive of such a Being who IS love. This blog has for its’ logo the Sacred Heart of Jesus, a symbol of Christ’s love for all of us. The thorns around his heart symbolize his suffering for us and the flames bursting forth symbolize the intensity of that love, so great that it called for the ultimate sacrifice.
Consider, why should God, omnipotent and entirely self-sufficient, the living source of life itself, the totality of all that is pure and holy, create human beings, animals, nature, the earth and other worlds among untold galaxies and quasars, unless he loved them first? He got absolutely nothing for his efforts, other than the joy that every giver receives, which is the joy of expressing his love to his beloved. Conclusion
So then perhaps it is vital, dear reader, that you really look for the Mercy of God, to remove the anguish from your life, as I had to. Consider that suffering, or pathos, is less painful than anguish, because our suffering eases when we accept it, if we choose to. Anguish is far worse because it’s a state of non-acceptance. Anguish festers with “deep disappointment, fruitless longing, unavailing remorse.” Pretty tough. God’s Mercy is the antidote for anguish. An antidote is “a medicine taken or given to counteract a particular poison.” Believing in nothing is slow poison leading to despair.
Discovering the one, true God, on the other hand, was and is my antidote for the dry philosophical treatises I tortured myself with for so long (Sisyphus was the exception). That is why I am yours truly, Ron Houssaye, addicted to mercy. Thank you for stopping by.