Exhaling

There are moments (sometimes when reading the news, sometimes while at prayer) when the sin and evil in the world seem to wash over me like a “dark wave” that overwhelms me. This dark wave is like a tsunami that seems to cover up the beauty of God’s luminous creation, carrying with it a lot of hideous debris and many people, sweeping over everything. It covers all, affects everything, leaves nothing untouched, though some people seem to remain standing and are not totally carried away by its force.

This wave is every kind of darkness and sin, every rejection or obstacle to God’s love and light, from our own personal expedients to our reckless selfishness, from our petty greed to the slaughter of so many innocents, from the deep injustices that breed despair and violence to the outright torture of those we have de-humanized, from the wounds (internal and external) that we inflict on one another to the genocide of madmen, from the woundedness and neediness that reaches toward gluttony and lust and avarice as balm to the deliberate conspiracies of darkness. This wave covers every place I see, making our hearts oblivious to grace, hardened against love, closed up within ourselves in a darkness that appears impenetrable.

My reaction is manifold: I am partly terrified, partly disgusted by the presence of the absolutely evil one, spreading hate and lies; I am profoundly grieved, wounded even, to see so much that offends Love, so few that seem to open themselves fully to goodness and wholeheartedly seek God’s will, so little love; I am moved to pity and sorrow for all those caught in the wave by their ignorance or harmed by the ill will of others.

I want to somehow console a tortured God for all this darkness in His bright world, to stand in the gap with Him, knowing He has already given all to establish His Kingdom within us. Most of the time I see each person caught in the wave and want to rescue each one, to wrap their wounds, cry with them, to risk my own skin to save theirs, to bring His light to every dark place, to help each of these see and reach out to love, to help them know mercy.

But. I can do nothing. The wave is too big. Its force is too powerful, and I am small and weak. I can do nothing on my own, and I am tempted to do nothing, to simply look away, but I cannot. I cannot do nothing, but I see that whatever I do will be useless by itself; I cannot stop this wave, I cannot save anyone.

But with Christ and in Christ, we can do all things. The meaning of the Mystical Body as preached by St. Paul is that we can help each other, even those “others” on the other side of the globe, even those who have already gone before us, even those who have not yet been born. What we do affects others, affects the whole Body, for better or for worse.

  “So we, being many, are one body in Christ, and every one members of another.” (Romans 12)

We can become one with Him, for others.

We are not responsible for eradicating every evil; we are only responsible for holding up truth against every lie and for bringing love to all and each. It is for us to become images of love, love willing to suffer, in this life; victory is His in the end.

And of course, God allows these things to go on, allows sin to exist in the world, to His own purpose – the weeds grow up amidst the beautifully sown wheat, some laborers arrive at the last hour, sin and grace are ever at work in the world. God knows what He is doing. If it were up to us, I’m sure we would have pulled up the weeds growing in the wheat early on, when their weediness was first evident. We would have eliminated that prostitute scandalously washing Christ’s feet, without any concern for the judgment of the self-righteous; you know, the woman who remained with Mary at the foot of the Cross. And I’m certain we would have tossed into the fire that zealot holding the cloaks of those who beat Stephen to the ground with stones; good thing we let God knock him off his high horse instead, or we’d be missing a good chunk of the good Book. And we would certainly have done away with Augustine and Francis and even Ignatius early on. We’re smart enough to know a weed when we see one, after all.

Trust. God’s light shines more brilliantly when things are darkest, the glory of love is clearly manifest in the face of sin, and His mysterious will is ever drawing all things to Himself. He never works fast enough or clearly enough for us. Thankfully. I would certainly not have made it through the first draft picks. In the end, all things work together to His purpose, and He alone can perfectly balance justice and mercy – all creation will know His love and somehow (though all appears dark sometimes) all will be well. His work is being done, His will is being accomplished, and we need not fear even the evil He allows.

His love is infinitely greater than sin. Even the most grievous.

We still have to act in the world. We still have to stand in the gap, still have to do all in our power to work for justice and show mercy and love to all and each. But the continued presence of evil, even when it flows like a “dark wave,” is never cause for despondency, depression, or despair. Somehow, we have to trust that God’s mercy and love will reach each one. We have to be willing to be messengers of that mercy and love. And we know that with Him, we can help others, all others, in a very real way.

We can become one with Him, for others.