<\/p>\n
The self is more distant than any star\u2026<\/strong> Over at Inside Catholic<\/strong>, Irene Lagan has a moving post<\/a>; through conversation with a nun in Rome, she finds herself thinking of a remarkable young woman from Rwanda:<\/p>\n \nOur conversation recalled an experience I had last year when I met Immaculee Ilibagiza<\/a>. Immacul\u00e9e is the author of Left to Tell: Discovering God Amidst the Rwandan Holocaust<\/em><\/a>, an account of her survival of the Rwandan genocide\u2026I realized that Immacul\u00e9e\u2019s message is timely both for Advent, and in light of the fact that the Rwandan conflict is ongoing, now in the neighboring Democratic Republic of the Congo\u2026 The time in captivity was essential: without this period of intense purification of mind and heart, Immacul\u00e9e would not have been able to encounter her family\u2019s murderers with forgiveness. But having herself experienced the threat of being consumed by hatred, having chosen to turn to God and to trust in his promise of mercy, she came to know His peace \u2014 and was transformed.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n You\u2019ll want to read Irene\u2019s whole post<\/a>, and also check out Immacul\u00e9e\u2019s site<\/a> and her latest book, Led By Faith: Rising from the Ashes of the Rwandan Genocide<\/em><\/a>, which sounds tremendous.<\/p>\n But in reading Irene\u2019s musings, I was struck by this line:<\/p>\n Her confinement was a trial during which she was forced to confront herself.<\/em><\/p><\/blockquote>\n That reminded me of this line which I quoted last week<\/a>, from Sr. Catherine Perry\u2019s novel, Amata Means Beloved<\/em><\/a>:<\/p>\n \u201cThe longer I\u2019m in the monastery the more I marvel at the mystery of a vocation. Over and over I see women come, enthused to give everything to God\u2026Then they enter the monastery and bang-0!- They are faced with their own weaknesses, frailties and sins. And they don\u2019t like it! They want to deny it, make it go away but they must face their frailty- they must face that they are part of the human race. Not only that, they have to realize and accept that only by God\u2019s grace is any of this life possible.\u201d<\/p><\/blockquote>\n Everyone gets a turn in the white-hot crucible<\/a>; no one escapes it without their share of suffering. That crucible does not have to be as dramatic and menacing as Immacul\u00e9e\u2019s, or as public as Ted Kennedy\u2019s<\/a>; it can be as seemingly passive \u2013 and completely voluntary \u2013 as submitting to a radical call in religion, or the sort of silent and interior agonies that I suspect eat at most people who, on the surface, appear to \u201chave it all,\u201d or at least to \u201chave it all together.\u201d Or we must run away by any means necessary, and that never ends well.<\/p>\n We all know \u2013 deep down we know it \u2013 that we can harbor the most hateful, murderous impulses. Michel Montaigne once wrote,<\/p>\n \u201cThere is no man so good, who, were he to submit all his thoughts and actions to the laws, would not deserve hanging ten times in his life.\u201d<\/p><\/blockquote>\n Mother Mary Francis, PPC<\/a>, expresses the same idea differently in A Right to be Merry<\/em><\/a>:<\/p>\n \u201cTrue humility is when you realize that there is no sin you could not commit.\u201d<\/p><\/blockquote>\n Facing that truth within yourself<\/strong> is an interior bonfire, and walking through it is no picnic. For myself, I can attest that it is only through God\u2019s grace that I have been able to make my way even partway through<\/a>. Every day, sometimes several times in a day, I realize that I am not fully out of it, that I have a thigh and forearm still roasting in the flames, and that they will remain there until I am able to open myself more fully, and even more fully to the honesty, healing and unfathomable love that comes with trust.<\/p>\n Trust is so hard, isn\u2019t it? Part and parcel with obedience, it may be the hardest thing.<\/p>\n And then, of course, there is the paradox that whenever you trust, and open yourself to healing, it acts like new air to a flame, and some other part of the interior house explodes and needs addressing. It takes a lifetime. Unless God mercifully sees fit to haul you through something so intense and concentrated, as in Immacul\u00e9e\u2019s case, that your house becomes completely rebuilt in Christ. And that\u2019s another paradox \u2013 a very Catholic one, I think \u2013 the understanding that God often allows the harshest flames to devour those He wishes to gift most fully \u2013 and so there is mercy in the tumult and the pain. Go figure.<\/p>\n
\n\u2014 G. K. Chesterton<\/em><\/p>\n
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\nImmaculee was confined to a small bathroom together with other women in hiding for several months. Her confinement was a trial during which she was forced to confront herself. As she remembered, she was full of rage, anger, hatred, and self-pity. Immacul\u00e9e turned to the mysteries of the rosary, forcing herself to focus on each mystery and the divine mercy chaplet throughout her waking hours. Often, the voices of hatred outside the bathroom were audible, as those who sought nothing less than her complete destruction hunted for her. But the natural anger and thoughts of revenge that welled up within her threatened to consume her, and compelled her to cling with every ounce of will she could muster to God\u2026<\/p>\n
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\nIn every case, whether public, private, passive or past-imagining,<\/strong> the key component of the crucible is the unbearable confrontation with the self. We\u2019d rather do anything else but deal with our true selves \u2013 shove iPod buds into our ears, scream about politics, create havoc in our lives, anything to keep the noise going \u2013 because silence allows the heart to be heard, and once the brutal truths of our own brokenness are brought to the fore, they must be dealt with \u2013 with honesty and bruising courage.<\/p>\n