My Fight with St. Teresa
The past year of my life has been one of the toughest I've ever experienced.
I've moved four times, had three different jobs, and am currently unemployed.
I was enrolled to attend graduate school in John Paul the Great University in California, but three nights before I was supposed to drive out, I was praying and the Lord told me outright, "I want you to have faith and trust me. I want you to unenroll."
Needless to say, that was a punch to the gut, but despite the shock of it, I had total peace, so I unenrolled.
That's when the floundering started. But I never felt without peace. It was maddening, infuriating, and still is. St. Paul summarizes it brilliantly:
"Be anxious for nothing, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present
your requests to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard
your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus."
-Philippians 4:6-7
Surpasses all understanding. AKA: Makes absolutely no sense whatsoever. Makes you want to bang your head against a brick wall because even though everything around you is falling apart, you still know that God has you here in this specific place for a reason. You hope and you pray for security, and even though you may feel none, the peace is still there. That maddening, unexplainable peace.
To try and keep my sanity, I put St. Teresa's famous prayer up on my bathroom mirror so I would be forced to look at it daily and remind myself that there are bigger things than my fear or my insecurities.
And thus began my daily fight with St. Teresa.
"Let nothing trouble you. Let nothing frighten you."
These words infuriate me more than any other in the prayer. How could she say that? How could she disregard so much of the worries that afflict me daily? Let alone my current inability to provide for myself in a substantial way, but the difficulties I have in facing myself every day, feeling as though I've accomplished nothing in the past 15 years of my life; fighting a constant feeling of resentment toward myself for becoming so angry with God; my dormant anger at pursuing a religious vocation for so many years I've lost count, but now I have too much debt to pursue it any further.
And yet, it is like the words of a mother to a scared child. If you truly see your life for what it is, held incomparably in the arms of God and watched over by Him in everything, then these words are indeed true, no matter the frustration you feel at your present sufferings. So there is a comfort in the words.
"All things are passing."
This line almost always soothes me. There's something cathartic about the passing away of the temporal things of this world (which, compared to the Lord, everything is temporal). There is an undeniable sadness and loneliness in that line, however. But a sadness that must come forth before God and be humbled in and of itself, because God sustains all things, so when all things pass, He is all that remains. It is comforting in the midst of hellish fear and nightmare realities to know that all things fade away before Him.
"God never changes."
The center of the prayer, and the most consoling line of the meditation. There is nothing that can take Him away, and He would never leave or want to leave. I can be the most wretched and unwanted being on the face of the Earth and still be wanted by Him. He will always be my greatest love and my greatest hope, no matter what is happening with me. He is still my Father, Lover, Friend, and Consolation. Praise God for Himself.
"Patience obtains all things."
And here we are, back to the rage I feel at the beginning of the prayer. I am not a patient person, and I never have been. Being asked to wait is the worst frustration for me. I feel so helpless in being asked to wait, fighting a fear that waiting will do nothing and will bring nothing, although the hopeful part of my heart knows better. That is a large statement, that patience obtains ALL things. But St. Teresa endured far more than I could possibly conceive of, and it seemed to work for her. Okay, fine. I'll swallow the humble pie and remember that there are others who have gone before me that know far more than I do.
"He who possesses God lacks nothing."
The heart of the reminder of the reality of Christian life. In the worst of desolation, in a physical or spiritual or emotional Hell, God is still residing in you and around you. You are never without Him, and He is never without you. He makes up everything; the very fiber of your being gives its thanks to Him for existing, as do your lungs for creating breath in your body. He makes grand promises in His life and His pronouncements over your life, and even if you don't understand how he does it, he does, in fact, do it. It is a terrifying reality to make Him your everything, not in a cheesy, superficial, societal sense, but in a real sense, depending on Him for even the basic necessities of life. But that is when you realize more than ever before that all the clichés do have a ring of truth. He is all you need when it is all said and done.
"God alone suffices."
And here we are, the whole point of the prayer. Taking you from your selfish introspection to the reality that is most important in your life and in the life of the world: God is enough. He is everything. He is all you need, and all you will need, and He will provide for you.
I put this prayer up on my mirror a few weeks ago, and I still wrangle with it. I still wrestle with the words of grounding and humility that St. Teresa wrote. I find myself irrationally angry with her, for words she wrote for her own consolation because there are days I don't want to be comforted. I want to be wrapped up in my own anger and pain and despair. But those words are still there, calling me onto greater trust and love and peace. And, dare I say it, patience. At the end of the day, if I can attempt to see the life of eternity and of the love of God and relationship with Him as she did, I'll be better off than the day before.
Thank you, St. Teresa, for being so infuriating and humbling. I may still fight with you, but I appreciate your words more than I would admit most days. Being so reminded of the utter reality and undeniable existence of God and His proper place in my life, being the God of everything, even of my troubles, I can maybe try to let go and actually trust. After all, nothing great was accomplished without some level of fear and trust.
And on that note, I will let St. Teresa finish out my musings, in her own poetic and mystical way:
I've moved four times, had three different jobs, and am currently unemployed.
I was enrolled to attend graduate school in John Paul the Great University in California, but three nights before I was supposed to drive out, I was praying and the Lord told me outright, "I want you to have faith and trust me. I want you to unenroll."
Needless to say, that was a punch to the gut, but despite the shock of it, I had total peace, so I unenrolled.
That's when the floundering started. But I never felt without peace. It was maddening, infuriating, and still is. St. Paul summarizes it brilliantly:
"Be anxious for nothing, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present
your requests to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard
your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus."
-Philippians 4:6-7
Surpasses all understanding. AKA: Makes absolutely no sense whatsoever. Makes you want to bang your head against a brick wall because even though everything around you is falling apart, you still know that God has you here in this specific place for a reason. You hope and you pray for security, and even though you may feel none, the peace is still there. That maddening, unexplainable peace.
To try and keep my sanity, I put St. Teresa's famous prayer up on my bathroom mirror so I would be forced to look at it daily and remind myself that there are bigger things than my fear or my insecurities.
And thus began my daily fight with St. Teresa.
"Let nothing trouble you. Let nothing frighten you."
These words infuriate me more than any other in the prayer. How could she say that? How could she disregard so much of the worries that afflict me daily? Let alone my current inability to provide for myself in a substantial way, but the difficulties I have in facing myself every day, feeling as though I've accomplished nothing in the past 15 years of my life; fighting a constant feeling of resentment toward myself for becoming so angry with God; my dormant anger at pursuing a religious vocation for so many years I've lost count, but now I have too much debt to pursue it any further.
And yet, it is like the words of a mother to a scared child. If you truly see your life for what it is, held incomparably in the arms of God and watched over by Him in everything, then these words are indeed true, no matter the frustration you feel at your present sufferings. So there is a comfort in the words.
"All things are passing."
This line almost always soothes me. There's something cathartic about the passing away of the temporal things of this world (which, compared to the Lord, everything is temporal). There is an undeniable sadness and loneliness in that line, however. But a sadness that must come forth before God and be humbled in and of itself, because God sustains all things, so when all things pass, He is all that remains. It is comforting in the midst of hellish fear and nightmare realities to know that all things fade away before Him.
"God never changes."
The center of the prayer, and the most consoling line of the meditation. There is nothing that can take Him away, and He would never leave or want to leave. I can be the most wretched and unwanted being on the face of the Earth and still be wanted by Him. He will always be my greatest love and my greatest hope, no matter what is happening with me. He is still my Father, Lover, Friend, and Consolation. Praise God for Himself.
"Patience obtains all things."
And here we are, back to the rage I feel at the beginning of the prayer. I am not a patient person, and I never have been. Being asked to wait is the worst frustration for me. I feel so helpless in being asked to wait, fighting a fear that waiting will do nothing and will bring nothing, although the hopeful part of my heart knows better. That is a large statement, that patience obtains ALL things. But St. Teresa endured far more than I could possibly conceive of, and it seemed to work for her. Okay, fine. I'll swallow the humble pie and remember that there are others who have gone before me that know far more than I do.
"He who possesses God lacks nothing."
The heart of the reminder of the reality of Christian life. In the worst of desolation, in a physical or spiritual or emotional Hell, God is still residing in you and around you. You are never without Him, and He is never without you. He makes up everything; the very fiber of your being gives its thanks to Him for existing, as do your lungs for creating breath in your body. He makes grand promises in His life and His pronouncements over your life, and even if you don't understand how he does it, he does, in fact, do it. It is a terrifying reality to make Him your everything, not in a cheesy, superficial, societal sense, but in a real sense, depending on Him for even the basic necessities of life. But that is when you realize more than ever before that all the clichés do have a ring of truth. He is all you need when it is all said and done.
"God alone suffices."
And here we are, the whole point of the prayer. Taking you from your selfish introspection to the reality that is most important in your life and in the life of the world: God is enough. He is everything. He is all you need, and all you will need, and He will provide for you.
I put this prayer up on my mirror a few weeks ago, and I still wrangle with it. I still wrestle with the words of grounding and humility that St. Teresa wrote. I find myself irrationally angry with her, for words she wrote for her own consolation because there are days I don't want to be comforted. I want to be wrapped up in my own anger and pain and despair. But those words are still there, calling me onto greater trust and love and peace. And, dare I say it, patience. At the end of the day, if I can attempt to see the life of eternity and of the love of God and relationship with Him as she did, I'll be better off than the day before.
Thank you, St. Teresa, for being so infuriating and humbling. I may still fight with you, but I appreciate your words more than I would admit most days. Being so reminded of the utter reality and undeniable existence of God and His proper place in my life, being the God of everything, even of my troubles, I can maybe try to let go and actually trust. After all, nothing great was accomplished without some level of fear and trust.
And on that note, I will let St. Teresa finish out my musings, in her own poetic and mystical way:
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