Seeking the Spirit of Love and Holy Indifference

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I’m nowhere near sainthood. Not that I had any doubts, but if I had, this past weekend would have completely erased them.

What happened was this: I fell behind in my spirituality class because I was concentrating all my efforts on passing philosophy. I took the final for that class  the Sunday before Thanksgiving. Then, the following Saturday I betook myself, my iPad and my spirituality coursework out to Antelope Island, seeking to work undisturbed while catching up on what I’m supposed to know about St. Theresa of Avila’s The Interior Castle and St. John of the Cross’ Ascent of Mt. Carmel.

Some of you may have already spotted the flaw in my plan. For those of you who haven’t, let me point out that this was the Saturday after Thanksgiving, the weather was beautiful, and I was at a state park, which soon filled with families of all shapes and sizes, including crying toddlers and boisterous teenagers. The island’s a big place, but none of the three sites I selected offered any sense of solitude.

At one point, I stopped at an empty campground to check my email, and I’d just logged in when a car pulled up next to me and the driver informed me that his party had reserved that site. An entirely empty campground, and I chose the one reserved site in which to park!

To complete the irony, the lesson I was studying was about St. Ignatius’ concept of holy indifference. Here’s how he explains it: “… as far as we are concerned, we should not prefer health to sickness, riches to poverty, honor to dishonor, a long life to a short life. The same holds for all other things.”

In other words, I should have accepted without rancor the fact that my attempt to escape the press of humanity failed. Unfortunately, as I said, I’m nowhere near to being a saint, so my reaction was something less than charitable.

Yet God has blessed me anyway, and in completely unexpected ways. When I was up at St. Thomas Aquinas Parish for the Mass at which they celebrated paying of the mortgage, during the Lord’s Prayer I looked over the congregation and was filled with joy and union and the certainty that we were loved. This feeling has a name, I just learned – parrhersia, which the Catechism of the Catholic Church uses to describe “the power of the Spirit who introduces us to the Lord’s Prayer.”

Then, the following week, while standing in line for the confessional, I watched the afternoon light stream through the west-facing windows of the Cathedral of the Madeleine and was filled with the knowledge that I was forgiven of the sins I was about to confess. This euphoria was so intense that I asked the priest if my confession was valid, because although I did in fact repent of my sins and intended not to repeat them, rather than feeling contrite I was bursting with exultation from the touch of the Spirit.

There is a cautionary note to all this. I am not to seek these experiences of consolation, Ignatius and Theresa and John all remind me. Instead, I must be aware that my goal is not the gifts, but union with the giver. Still, I am encouraged to enjoy what he has given, to store it up against the times of desolation that are almost certain to come.

There is also something to look forward to. According to St. John of the Cross, if I ever receive the grace to become proficient at contemplation, my reward will be “a secret and peaceful inflow of God which, if not hampered, fires the soul in the spirit of love.”

Now that’s something to aspire to!

I plan to redouble my efforts to find that peace by attending several of the Advent events throughout the diocese. My prayer is that you, too, will set aside time to prepare your heart to receive the Lord at Christmas. If you can’t attend one of the retreats or prayer services, may I suggest scheduling a bit of prayer time each day? Reflect on the Gospel reading, or pick up one of the many books of reflection, some of which are available electronically or may have an app. The Advent writings of heavyweights like Dietrich Bonhoffer, St. Thomas Aquinas and Mother Teresa all are available in print; one that I am hoping to get to is Advent of the Heart: Seasonal Sermons And Prison Writings 1941-1944, by Father Alfred Delp, S.J., who died in a Nazi death camp.

Whatever your Advent practice, I ask that you also pray for our world, which so desperately needs the peace that God offers, as symbolized by the birth of Christ that we will celebrate on the Solemnity of the Nativity of the Lord.

Marie Mischel is the editor of the Intermountain Catholic.