To See One's Self Through The Eye Of A Needle [Fr Ravi Michael Louis SJ]

Dante Gabriel Rossetti (1828–1882), The Girlhood of Mary Virgin (1848–9), oil on canvas, 83.2 x 65.4 cm, The Tate Gallery (Bequeathed by Lady Jekyll 1937), London. © The Tate Gallery and Photographic Rights © Tate (2016), CC-BY-NC-ND 3.0 (Unported), http://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/rossetti-the-girlhood-of-mary-virgin-n04872

28 Sunday Ordinary Time BI (10.10.21)

Wis 7:7-11; Ps 90:12-13, 14-15, 16-17; Heb 4:12-13; Mk 10:17-30

H

ave you had an eye of the needle moment? It is a moment in which, against all personal protest, reality and truth and perhaps even your deepest self decisively separate itself from you. And, the only way to regain a connection and rediscover interior harmony is to do the impossible, to dare to embrace the opposite, to change, to pass through the eye of the needle.

Some years back, as a newly ordained priest, my zeal in ministry got the better of me, and I did something that, though I could justify to myself, I could not really reconcile with who I wanted to be. I thought that I had admonished someone rather harshly in the context of a ministry and in the presence of others. Soon afterward, while at prayer, I felt a deep sadness descend into my soul upon realizing what I had done. The face of the person re-emerged in my prayer and I saw there a horror that terrified me. Basking in the light of God’s penetrating truthfulness, I could not soften or camouflage this deed into my lofty virtues and ideals. Perhaps, in a manner unlike before, I had to confront the sobering truth that I am capable of hurting people, and in fact, I do hurt people, and perhaps with greater possibility than an infrequent blip on the radar. I begged the Lord for the grace never to forget that face and that sorrow, and it has lingered in me and has safeguarded many instances after that into graced moments of a more life-giving presence with persons.

The ability for sorrow is a pivotal grace that St Ignatius proposes for genuine growth in areas that seem to lie beyond our present reach. Sorrow is a longing that entertains movement and openness for growth, and which oils our encounter with reality, especially one that is hard to swallow and appears hostile. The opposite of sorrow is not joy, but shame and guilt, which make our encounter with truths a hostile takeover that provokes a denial that can become delusional or despair which can be debilitating. Both of which do not lead to growth, but stagnation and decline. The downcast face of the rich man reserved the possibility of returning to Jesus at some future point. Unlike the shame and guilt which compelled people to abandon or reject Jesus decisively, he did not depart from Jesus in anger, but in sorrow, leaving room for the possibility of insight and change and growth and intimate discipleship. After all, he has been pursuing God’s Kingdom in all authenticity.

Sorrow also turns an otherwise mechanical process of conversion into an organic flow, into a relationship between persons. It makes us long, not become frustrated with rules or bitter with judgments. Sorrow hews the impassable and treacherous crevice of our painful experiences into a liberating and purposeful passageway. Instead of trying to distort ourselves in squeezing through that impossible eye of the needle, sorrow allows the eye to pass through us, so that it penetrates between soul and spirit and separates joint and marrow, breathing a splendor that never yields to sleep. It makes us sensitive and keeps us vigilant, and makes the mere end of reaching God’s Kingdom into an enduring way. It takes our desires and makes us into persons.

Lord, when we start tinkling with our experiences as puzzling problems to be fixed and overcome, make them into glowing mysteries which show us the way into you in all persons and events and things. Amen.