Happiness and joy for me lately have been topics of reflection. My own definition for joy is something much deeper than happiness. Happiness feels good. Most of the time it is good. I feel happy when I eat good food, watch a funny movie, score a goal, or see old friends unexpectedly. Happiness most often is momentary and associated somehow with pleasure, whether with the senses or emotions.
Joy isn't as fleeting. Joy is soulful and may not reflect the mood I am feeling. I experience the most joy when I am disciplined and am able to submit my will.
To understand the difference between joy and happiness, I think about two scenes from The Passion of the Christ. The first is a brief cutaway to the life of Jesus before His passion. He is a carpenter by trade, and in this scene, Jesus shows his mother a table he just finished building that's taller than usual. She tells him it will never catch on, invites him inside to eat, and tells him he must clean up first. They giggle and are happy. Jesus and Mary are also content, fulfilled, full of love, and full of joy.
The second scene is markedly different. It occurs as Jesus carries his cross. He is caked with blood from scourging, his features barely recognizable because of the beating he unjustly endured. On his severely weakened back he carries the instrument of his death. Crowds around him riot. Jesus loses his footing, and the thick beams crash on open flesh. He falls.
As he does, Mary rushes to his side, filled with sorrow. This is her beloved son. This is the savior of the world. This is the fruit of her womb. She changed his diapers, saw him grow, loved him as only a mother can. We see this with bits of a childhood fall intermingled in the imagery, Mary catching Jesus in both instances, telling him, "I am here." But childhood is gone. Now he is passionately suffering to death. She meets him briefly, summoning the courage to be at his side and give him strength by her presence. Jesus rises again, telling his mother achingly, "See, I make all things new."
Jesus summons the fortitude to walk onward in his passion, and somehow he has joy. Not happiness, not pleasure, but even in the extremest suffering, joy. Do you see?
When we take part in the Pascal Mystery we are faced with the paradox of joy. How can Jesus be suffering immeasurably yet be full of abiding joy in fulfilling the Father's will?
That's my point of reflection even as I am carrying no cross and have suffered no scourging. My life is quite comfortable with meals provided and support surrounding me. In tangible ways I cannot compare to Calvary. Still, joy has been difficult for me to find lately.
That's not to say I haven't found moments of happiness at seminary. I have. Some days I really enjoy. I am for the most part happy, but I am also restless. Enjoyment, happiness, and pleasure do not equate to joy. There is a tension in my life I've had difficulty defining. It's not a "dry period" as I've known before in the spiritual life, nor am I wanting for anything in particular. Occasionally I experience moments of revelation in prayer, bits of clarity from God meant for my comfort and purpose. As I pray these days I find this tension of the unknown: Am I fit to be a priest? Is the meeting place for my gifts, the church's need, and God's will? Will I be happy as a celibate man? Could I ever leave seminary and not still wonder if God is asking this of me? Is there another place I could and should be?
The questions multiply and so does the restlessness. I trust that being at Mount Angel will yield spiritual fruit in my life, but the seeds of the spiritual life -- contemplation, reflection, worship -- grow slowly before fruits like peace can be understood and appreciated. The tension comes in the waiting. Somehow in life we should always find ourselves in that tension if we're doing spirituality the right way. This is the human condition: There is always hope and always sorrow. The Kingdom of God is here and now but still to come. Fulfillment is not full just yet. Ronald Rolheiser describes this tension in the book I'm reading, The Holy Longing:
In the Gospels...to ponder is less a question of intellectually contemplating something as it is of patiently holding it inside of one's soul, complete with all the tension it brings. Thus, when Mary stands under the cross of Jesus and watches him die -- and there is absolutely nothing she can do to save him or even to protest his innocence and goodness -- she is pondering in the biblical sense. She is carrying a great tension that she is helpless to resolve and must simply live with. That is what scripture refers to when it tells us that Mary "kept these things in her heart and pondered them." Thus, to ponder, biblically, is to stand before life's great mysteries the way Mary stood before the various events of Jesus' life, including the way she stood under the cross. There is great joy in that but there can also be incredible tension. The type of mysticism that we most need today to revitalize our faith is precisely this kind of pondering, a willingness to carry tension as Mary did.Somehow I discover new ways of living in that tension each day here. The task never becomes easy or the load lighter, but I don't begrudge this opportunity to sit with Mary beneath the cross. I am learning to embrace it, even as I want more immediate gratification in knowing where the tension leads.
What tension do you carry? Are you pondering? Are you entering the Pascal Mystery? Do you know the deep, abiding joy that carries us through our lives?
Let us keep pondering. May we persevere in prayer, and allow God to breathe into our lives so we can discover joy together and become saints and so that moments like the one with my friends on the hilltop can be part of our eternity in heaven.
No comments:
Post a Comment