Day 78. The Call: An Unbearable Emptiness
For the vision still has its time, presses on to fulfillment, and will not disappoint; If it delays, wait for it, it will surely come, it will not be late.
Habakkuk 2:3
I was once visiting a big city and I saw that construction was underway for a new skyscraper. The foundations had not yet been laid so the site appeared to the eye as a massive hole in the ground. I mean massive. Filled with water, it would have made an impressive lake. I noticed a tiny truck parked at the bottom of the pit and it dawned on me that it was in fact a large tractor trailer. Yet, in that context, it looked like a toy.
Reflecting on this, I realized that in order to build something big, it is first necessary to make a big hole. The greater the structure to be constructed, the deeper must be the void, the emptiness that it will fill.
Discernment is often like this. Hearing God usually begins with not hearing God. Or to put it another way, the first stage of discerning is a dry and aching yearning. When you read the Psalms, this yearning to hear the voice of the Lord is a frequent refrain. “I cry aloud to God, aloud to God, that he may hear me. In the day of my trouble I seek the Lord; in the night my hand is stretched out without wearying; my soul refuses to be comforted. I think of God, and I moan; I meditate, and my spirit faints.” (Ps. 77:1-4)
We often mistake this emptiness for inactivity. “I’m trying to hear God’s voice, but nothing is happening here.” Looking at that construction site, I might not have known yet what structure would one day fill the pit, but I certainly would not have concluded that “nothing was happening.”
Added to this yearning for the voice of God is an experience common amongst young people in their early 20’s that I call the unbearable emptiness of becoming. These are, as C.S. Lewis once cited, the painful years of youth, “when life ached like an aching tooth.”
Frustration, confusion, self-doubt. That’s most of what I remember from those years. From a spiritual awakening that I experienced my first year in college to the day I entered religious life, things were very turbulent to say the least. My own obsession with “figuring it all out” certainly didn’t help. As a sophomore in college I wrote this in a prayer journal:
I know what is wrong and right, and I know that the way of Christ is the way I wish to go. Am I following him? He says he will be a light unto my path. I guess that means that I’m doing something wrong. I feel so in the dark all the time.
After graduation, relationships became my greatest trial. At the age of 23 I wrote:
“So why can’t I love or be loved by anyone else? What is the barrier that keeps me from forming deep relationships? Why can’t I experience God’s love fully? I feel like I’m sitting at a banquet table where everyone is feasting and I still have a terrible, gnawing hunger.”
Only now have I come to understand that the beginning of God’s fulfillment is preceded by the frustrating experience of unfulfillment. In his encyclical on Christian hope, Benedict XVI quotes Augustine describing this phenomenon. “Man was created for greatness—for God himself;” writes the Holy Father, “he was created to be filled by God. But his heart is too small for the greatness to which it is destined. It must be stretched. ‘By delaying his gift, God strengthens our desire; through desire he enlarges our soul and by expanding it he increases its capacity [for receiving him]’”.
Desire points to attaining. Thirst points to drinking. If we find ourselves in the distress of an internal yearning that shows no sign of resolution, we may at least find comfort in the conviction that God grants hunger before he grants food. Our yearning draws us onward to fulfillment in Christ.
The archer selects his arrow, and sets it on the string. He draws back the bow and pauses to take aim. In that critical moment before the release, everything is tense. All is at the ready. I wonder if the arrow has something of the same experience that we do as we discern our vocation. There is an enormous build-up of energy. A readiness that aches to be let go and set on its course. In that split second before the shot is fired, there must seem like an eternity of waiting.
The process is the point. God brings us through the trials of discernment in order to train us in the art of listening, responding, stumbling, back-tracking, adjusting and listening again. You can get wisdom for the journey, you can ask for advice, support or just pity, but you can’t avoid the struggles. When it comes to learning discerning, questions can be more fruitful than answers and mistakes can be better teachers than success.
What does this frequently painful process gain? Why does God allow it to be so hard? There are things we can only learn slowly over long periods of time. Like patience. There are sinful patterns that are so deeply ingrained in us (independence, self-centered thinking, pride, rebelliousness) that they can only be purged from our broken souls gradually. On the positive side, virtues aren’t merely given; they are also hard-won. So the process is the point. The slow and painful journey of becoming is giving us riches every bit as valuable as the pay-off we envision at the end of our odyssey.
There is another reason for the duration of the process. By now, you can guess it: building relationship. Our temple made it clear that relationships only develop gradually over time and they can require a great deal of effort. The long, slow journey toward intimacy involves a shared struggle to understand, accept and love.
We are discerning an exclusive, life-long relationship with Jesus Christ. So the struggle is part of the relationship. Contrary to our expectations, it doesn’t come ready-made. It is forged in the furnace of trial and error; repentance and forgiveness; obedience and surrender and self-gift.
Novena Prayer
Jesus says: “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called children of God.”
Pier Giorgio responds: I offer you my best wishes – or, rather, only one wish, but the only wish that a true friend can express for a dear friend: may the peace of the Lord be with you always! For if you possess peace every day, you will be truly rich.
Let us Pray: Blessed Pier Giorgio, despite your daily struggles, you found peace by fostering your own well being in work, study and play; in prayer alone and with others; in silence and in song, in laughter and in serious conversation with friends. Guide me to that inner peace which will enable me to share peace with others.
Blessed Pier Giorgio, I ask for your intercession in obtaining from God, Who is our peace, all the graces necessary for my spiritual and temporal welfare. I confidently turn to you for help in my present need:
(in your own words, ask for the Lord to give you greater gratitude for the graces and gifts you have received from him.)
A Book of Prayers in Honor of Blessed Pier Giorgio Frassati, by Rev. Timothy E. Deeter
Make it My Own
Daily Discernment Workbook
1. When Rembrandt Was 23
Rembrandt is widely believed to be one of the greatest painters of all time. His self-portraits are probably his most famous works because he painted so many of them. You’d be inclined to think he’s narcissistic, but not when you look at the paintings. They are achingly honest in the ways he portrays himself. You can’t really get a sense of this unless you see the way other painters do self-portraits. They usually portray themselves as defiant, or sensuous, or tortured, or they just show off their painting skills.
Rembrandt, in the portrait to the right, is 23 years old and he portrays himself as “unknown to himself.” Just take a minute and look at him. No confidence. Searching gaze. Trying to be a grown up. Looking lost and confused. Notice that only his cheek and nose are in light. If you see the actual painting someday at the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston, you’ll notice that his eyes are merely black holes – absolutely no detail. His mouth (between the lips) is just a straight black line. Again, you have to realize the inclination an artist normally feels. He wants to render everything in detail. Normally, if it’s a portrait, he places the greatest emphasis on the eyes and the mouth – that’s where all the emotion is communicated. So here, Rembrandt essentially removes the two most expressive aspects of the portrait – and yet the image speaks volumes.
Rembrandt’s self-portrait says everything I remember about being 23. They were the most insecure months in my life. Done with college, working and getting a paycheck for the first time, I suddenly had time to pay attention to me, and found that I didn’t really know who I was.
Look again at the painting. He’s mostly in shadow. The feather in his hat is supposed to be sort of roguish but instead it looks pitiful. The artist lavishes the most attention and detail on the chain over his shoulder (it is almost photographically real) and the similar chain band around the hat. His kerchief is given extreme attention and he paints the strands of shiny fabric so clearly you feel like you can touch it. So, all around the undefined self are pieces of clothing rendered in HD.
Thinking about my own confusion.
Another Self Portrait, age 23.
Rembrandt still looks confused and veiled in shadow.
Take a minute and write a paragraph below or in my journal. Here’s the question for reflection: To what part of Rembrandt’s self-portrait can I most relate?
He Doesn’t Know Himself Yet.
What’s the point in this art appreciation lesson? Rembrandt was a genius and there is almost no one in the art world who doesn’t recognize that today. But in this portrait, and others from the same time in his life, he shows no visible sign of really knowing this. He, in fact, can’t fathom who he is.
You can compare this with his later self-portraits. Notice how the light grows. He is gaining self-understanding. The older Rembrandt knows himself quite well, but is still very honest in his portrayal. No self-aggrandizing or evident egoism (that comes later!). Just him as he is.
Notice the Change
At 27, Rembrandt is now confident and more self-aware. Light reveals more of his features and he looks more secure in who he is.
All this came to me one day as I was at the museum looking at the painting (and trying to ignore the annoying tour that kept hovering around me). And I thought of someone like you who is discerning a life-state vocation. You still don’t know who you are, but you are gaining light. I’m not saying that you’re another “Rembrandt,” but I just wanted to pause at this stage of the novena and remind you that even great masters start out as confused 20-somethings. Rembrandt, as we’ve noted, finds it easy to render externals -- to make the clearest observations about his wardrobe. But he doesn’t know himself, and so there is doubt.
If you remain faithful in your prayer and in seeking God, some day you will know yourself. If you learn the art of discernment, some day you will do for others what I am trying to do for you. You’ll remind them that they are gifts of God – daughters and sons who are loved, treasured, wanted and awaited. Right now you can’t really hear it, but your soul is storing it up. One day it will come to clarity, like the light on Rembrandt’s face.
Why Must I Wait?
If I could make God give me one thing right now, what would it be?
“Why is this taking so long!” is my cry. Here is God’s reply: “Because if I give you everything your heart desires right now, there are some things you will never have.” What does this mean? If God were to grant me my demands, what are some other important gifts and qualities that I would be no closer to attaining (e.g. patience, trust, humility, dependence on God, etc.)?
Conclude with
“Glory be to the Father,
and to the Son,
and to the Holy Spirit.
As it was in the beginning,
is now, and ever shall be.
World without end, Amen.”
[1] Surprised by Joy, C.S. Lewis, A Harvest/HBJ Book
[2] Spe Salvi #33, On Christian Hope, Benedict XVI