Just today I was thinking about one of the most important paradigm shifts of my life. I believe it was in 2009 or 2010, which was a season of big, important changes for me. I was at a presentation on the Theology of the Body, which is only cursorily important to the shift. In one moment, I realized that all of my life I had understood myself, either consciously or subconsciously, as a wounded child: broken, dysfunctional, and needy. Place the most emphasis on that last word: needy. Needy, in the sense that I could not give to others because my own needs were so overwhelmingly great. And in that moment of paradigm shift, I realized that this simply was no longer true of how I saw myself. I saw that I have received so much, to the degree that I have a lot to give, and indeed have been called to give it.
And as I look back over the last six or seven years, I see that this one little moment was a flash of insight that showed me a completely new direction in which my life was headed.
For years, the healing stories of Jesus have fascinated me. Think of it: a lot of the stories involve people with long-standing problems that are suddenly gone. The blind man sees. The lepers are healed. The hemorrhaging woman is freed. The withered hand is whole. Just think of the crisis this kind of change provokes, and the courage that it actually requires to have a life-defining circumstance removed, even if it has been a plague. One has to thoroughly relearn how to live, how to re-establish relationships, and one's own sense of self.
It is one thing to have a physical symptom removed; it is another thing to live with a new identity. What I realized today is that I have to work very hard to even remember that I once had a chronic underlying identity as one too broken, too unloved, too dysfunctional to even think in terms of contributing to the well-being of the world or to be part of the new creation.
We all have pain and brokenness. Ironically it is healed by facing reality. "Reality is too harsh, too painful," many say, and it is true; sometimes it is extremely painful. It is why we can only handle so much at once, and it is why we numb ourselves by all sorts of means. But God is in reality. Faith in God, practically speaking, is really about entrusting our personal pain to the real, open gaze of God, and not bolting. Letting Him see us, which generally entails us seeing us and then trusting that God is not the ogre we imagine, because of whatever pain we hold in the first place.
It's not a quick fix. It is a steady process. And even thought I had that sudden paradigm shift, there was still a long process, before and after, of appropriation. And we don't have to run that program, only cooperate with the program God runs. Mostly we need to stay faithful to saying, "Lord, you're seeing this, right?" and being honest about what we think and feel and want and about forgiving the people, including ourselves, that we blame for not being God. And we need to repent of the idolatry of wanting what is created to be all-fulfilling to us. There is only one God, and we cannot order Him around like a cosmic butler who exists to keep us cared for. He is God; we serve Him. His love transforms us, and in the process of all things in us becoming new, we lose our cravings for earthly goods and are enflamed with desire for union with Him instead. Our souls become agents, partners, of His transforming love in this creation.
This is my testimony. It has happened to me, or rather is happening to me in some degree. It is the work of God in my life, and I am grateful. If I could reproduce this in the souls and lives of others it would make me incredibly happy. Many, many times I have sensed, almost like seeing in shadows, many unknown, hidden souls who have prayed me through many layers of conversion in my life. And I have known the call to join their number, to prepare in prayer the same banquet of love for others.
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