Frank

A few years ago, a man came to volunteer with us who lived nearby at a men’s recovery home. He was very polite, but quite shy. It took me a while to engage him in conversation -- to get more than the occasional head-nod and “Yes, ma’am,” that would come from his mouth. When we finally got to a point of conversing, I realized I was working with a very wounded man, a man who greatly regretted his past and, sometimes even, his current life choices. We talked about everything -- from his children to former jobs that he had in his life. I saw the repentance and the regret in his eyes and in his voice, as we spoke about decisions that he had made -- decisions that ultimately led to his heroin addiction.

I also knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that this was one of God’s beloved children, and the more I spoke with him, the more I loved him.

As he prepared to leave to go home that day, I told him with the utmost honesty and truth that it was wonderful to meet him; I assured him that my life was a better place now that he existed in it. It’s hard for me to say exactly what possessed me to make such a pointed statement to someone who had been a stranger only a few hours before. I do know, however, that in partaking in the wounds he shared with me, I was not ashamed of him, but loved him all the more. I felt privileged that he had shared such difficult life circumstances with me. When I saw him I saw nothing but a man who was yearning, eager to be loved.

He looked at me with tears in his eyes and said, “Sister, it's been so long since I’ve heard that. It's been so long since I’ve been told that it is nice to know me.” 

With that, he left for the day. It was a beautifully sad moment for me. I was glad to provide him with a sense of truth and love. At the same time, this man didn’t know that it was good for him to exist. Even more, it’s not simply good that he exists in spite of his failings, his wounds, his addictions; it’s good that he exists in them. He is still chosen, loved, and called, even in the midst of his addiction. Yes, God desires our freedom, but God doesn’t wait for us to be perfect nor to be perfectly free before we approach Him. He accepts all that we have, all that we are with love and mercy. It is good that he exists in the imperfections of his humanity. 

This is the question that I pose: Do we know that it is good that we exist?

Do we allow others to know it is good that they exist?

Allowing ourselves to be loved by another is one of the most vulnerable and brave things we can do. It is oftentimes so much easier to allow ourselves to love others than to allow ourselves to be loved. It is so much simpler for me to love this man who has fallen back into his addiction multiple times in the 4 years that I have known him -- and to receive him with loving and open arms every time he comes back -- than it is for me to love myself when I fall again and again in my sinfulness. It can be so hard for us to receive a simple compliment, let alone a great love. 

I have been a religious sister for six years, and in that time, there have been many times I have felt I am unworthy of love or too broken to be loved. There was one time in particular that I was dealing with a great amount of internal sufferings. My mood was down, and I felt as if my prayer was non-existent despite my showing up to our times of prayer faithfully every day. During this time, the sisters had a night of perpetual adoration for the whole night. I signed up for my slot in the wee hours of the night, feeling that it would be a night of no prayer as I had been experiencing for months before that. I reached a point where I looked up at our Lord in the Blessed Sacrament and said, “I have nothing. I have nothing to offer you but this pain, this suffering, this sadness.” I felt inspired, since I was alone in the chapel, to completely prostrate myself before the Lord in an act of humility and surrender. In that time, I heard the Lord tell me, “That is enough.” 

The offering of my pain is enough. The holocaust of my very life is enough. He loves me in that extremely broken place that I can go time and time again. In fact, one of my favorite parts of the Mass is right before the faithful receive Holy Communion. The priest elevates the host and says, “Behold the Lamb of God. Behold Him who takes away the sins of the world.”

How do we behold Him? The Host is broken at that point in the Mass. That’s how Jesus comes to us -- broken, so that He too can receive our brokenness and not be a stranger to it. He can love us in our wounded state because He knows what it is to be wounded. He doesn’t ask us to give anything more than ourselves.

Why?

Because it is good that we exist. Because He is Love. And most simply, because He loves us.

-Sr. Chiara Joan

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