Author: ChrisAnn Alvarez

Help me, O Lord, that my eyes may be merciful, so that I may never suspect or judge from appearances, but look for what is beautiful in my neighbours’ souls and come to their rescue.

Help me, O Lord, that my ears may be merciful, so that I may give heed to my neighbours’ needs and not be indifferent to their pains and moaning.

Help me, O Lord, that my tongue may be merciful, so that I should never speak negatively of my neighbour, but have a word of comfort and forgiveness for all.

Help me, O Lord, that my hands may be merciful and filled with good deeds, so that I may do only good to my neighbour and take upon myself the more difficult and toilsome tasks.

Help me, O Lord, that my feet may be merciful, so that I may hurry to assist my neighbour, overcoming my own fatigue and weariness. My true rest is in the service of my neighbour.

Help me, O Lord, that my heart may be merciful so that I myself may feel all the sufferings of my neighbour. I will refuse my heart to no one. I will be sincere even with those who I know will abuse my kindness. And I will lock myself up in the most merciful Heart of Jesus. I will bear my own suffering in silence. May Your mercy, O Lord, rest upon me. Amen.

– St. Faustina’s Diary, 163

During Adoration last Monday, close to where I was kneeling was a statue of Jesus with one hand pointing to his heart and the other reaching; a gesture of  patient invitation.

Since I have moved to Toronto, I can (with a goofy smile stretching across my face as I type this) say that I have fallen, madly and deeply in love with Him. It was as though my “yes” to move was a deeper yes into taking our relationship one step further. It became increasingly evident that what was a big leap for me, was in fact, a big leap for us.

I have gone on trips alone in the past, and during these trips, I walk through the city holding His hand. This, essentially, is what the move became. Being without my family and leaving my comfort zone meant I had to hold on that much tighter to the hand in mine. As I kneeled there before Him, I opened my eyes and looked up and the sculpture was there, with its hand so close to me. I took a good look at it and realized… in the hand reaching for mine, there are wounds.

The hand I hold has wounds.

The hand in mine has bled.

The hand in mine has been pierced.

In my hand, I’m holding wounds.

And as I let this thought wash over me, I realized, this is what Lent is. To hold His wounds. To be there with Him and prepare with Him. I can’t be there only for his Resurrection. I need to be there with Him in the Garden of Gethsemane. I need to be there with Him as He gets ridiculed, as He gets crowned with thorns, as He endures unimaginable pain. I need to be there in his Crucifixion.

That’s what love is, isn’t it? To not only be present in the other’s joy, but to be there in their pain.

And because I must be there… I too, must prepare. Lent isn’t meant to be easy.

 

 

Somewhere down the road, I had hardened my heart. I had always deeply cared for marginalized populations, and upon my graduating year of university, I decided that I wanted to serve them somehow. Whether it be the homeless, at-risk, criminalized or addicted, I wanted to work with and for them. But along the way… my heart had hardened. I can’t pick out the exact point when this happened, but when I did end up getting a job as a Frontline Worker for a Non-Profit Organization here in Ottawa, it became increasingly clear that it was nowhere near the way I had idealized in my mind.

The first program I had worked for was great, with kind and smiling tenants. I learned a lot there and loved it quite a bit. (http://truenorthblog.couplesforchrist.ca/invisible-crosses/)

However, after a few months, I began training for a new program, one in which I received far more shifts, while my shifts at the first place decreased. I had come to this new program unprepared for what I would face. There were women who formed hard shells because of their difficult pasts, which hardened further because of their current circumstances. They had faced all sorts of abuse throughout their lives, and many of whom are also taking/addicted to hard drugs and are street entrenched. With an undergrad in Psychology and only research under my belt, I had come unequipped to help these women; with personalities like tough leather, who swore, yelled and oftentimes ignored me. It was hard for me to find joy in the work I did while I was washing away vomit from the back porch, picking up needles from the washroom floor, and trying to calm myself down after calling the police. (http://truenorthblog.couplesforchrist.ca/sent/)

 A few months after, I started working for the government full-time, a quiet desk job, and I stopped showing up at my other work. But somehow… I had changed.

 There are times when I would be acutely aware of this change within me. In fact, I went to conference hoping that God would give me back what I had somehow lost. Please return to me my love for the poor. I had left with different prayers answered, and what’s more, I moved to a larger city, with an even larger homeless population.

 Last Wednesday, I decided to run some errands before my bestfriend came down to visit me for a few days. I walked by the cornerstore where a man stood; one that I’ve never seen before. He was heavy-set with scruffy hair and a cane. I couldn’t see his face, but then again, I wouldn’t have anyway since I tried to walk quickly by while looking at the ground opposite to where he had stood.

 I dropped by the Dollarama down the street and picked up some hand soap and a small rug for boots, among other things. With my arms full, I made my way to the register and one person ahead of me stood the man from earlier. I watched as he looked at the chips in his hands and put it back. I watched as he dropped his cane and no one helped him get it, not even me. I watched him count out his dimes and nickels to buy the juice and halls. I was a coward, and I did nothing but watch. When my turn at the register came, I added the chips to my bill, hoping that I would see that man again tomorrow and give it to him. As I was walking out the side door I thought better of it and tried to look for him, to no avail. When I couldn’t find him, somehow I wanted to weep, not because of what had happened, but because for the first time, I saw myself for what I had become… I had seen Jesus. I saw him and instead of looking at his eyes and offering a smile, I had actively ignored him. I saw Him and was too much of a coward to do anything, pre-occupied with the load I had in my own arms. I saw Jesus, and did nothing. And as I stood there, seeing and acknowledging this ugliness and selfishness within me, I felt my heart begin beating again. In a way, the scales from my eyes fell.

In this time of Advent, may we truly seek to understand what it means to give love, especially to those who really are in need of it. May we do acts of charity and kindness out of love for our neighbour and be willing to spread the joy within our hearts.

“Our works of charity are nothing but the over-flow of our love of God from within.” -Blessed Mother Teresa

If hell is total separation from God and “the gates of hell are locked from the inside” (-C.S. Lewis) then it occurred to me that Hell then would be as though the prodigal son never went back. To have taken his inheritance, squandered it off on a foolish life of sin and vice, then to be lying there in the mud so hungry that he was even willing to eat the feed of the pigs… what if he still chose never to go back home? To deny his father’s love and mercy out of pride… perhaps that is what hell is. (The Parable of the Prodigal son from Luke 15: 11-32) To live a life away from His love… indeed that must be hell.

From the Catechism of the Catholic Church
Hell
1033 We cannot be united with God unless we freely choose to love him. But we cannot love God if we sin gravely against him, against our neighbor or against ourselves: “He who does not love remains in death. Anyone who hates his brother is a murdered and you know that no murderer has eternal life abiding in him” Our lord warns us that we shall be separated from him if we fail to meet the serious needs of the poor and the little ones who are brethren. To die in mortal sin without repenting and accepting God’s merciful love means remaining separated from him for ever by our own free choice. This state of definitive self-exclusion from communion with God and the blessed is called “hell.”

1037 God predestines no one to go to hell; for this, a willful turning away from God (a mortal sin) is necessary, and persistence in it until the end.

The Catechism seems to agree.. Hell is, to some extent, a choice.

There is always that argument, one that some of the children during the Confirmation Retreats had asked a few times: If God loves all His children, then why does he send some of them to hell? I understood this, but sometimes I find myself face-to-face with this question again. Yesterday, I had brought the question out once more and really tried to ponder and understand what the answer meant.

Another C.S. Lewis quote that stuck with me goes like this: “There are only two kinds of people in the end: those who say to God, ‘Thy will be done,’ and those to whom God says in the end, ‘Thy will be done.’ ”

A father, all powerful and loving… perhaps it’s our final “no” to Him that make His arms drop to His side in helpless defeat. If we don’t allow Him to love us, then how can we possibly live in His love?

 

A few months ago, I remember going out for a celebratory lunch for my coworker who had just received a promotion. During the lunch, she turned to me, looked me right in the eye and said, “There is nothing more important than employment stability.”

My instant reaction was along the lines of, “Why would she say that to me considering my situation?” My contract was coming to an end, I have opted not to renew it, and I am diving right back into the deep dark pool of unemployment.

However, right behind this feeling was that of great relief and peace. Relief in knowing that I am not bound by the world’s definition of “success,” and peace in knowing that I am in search of greater things than “employment stability.”

Because not even the most stable career can outdo the stability we find in Him.

“Shaken, created things will pass away, so that only what is unshaken may remain. Wherefore, we who are receiving the unshakable kingdom should hold fast to God’s grace.” – Heb 12:27-28

I’ve been dipping my feet into my new service and area for the past several months, but it wasn’t until a week ago when I took the full plunge. The first few days were a whirlwind of excitement and activities, but as the week tapered off, I was able to find some quietness and attend mass in the mornings. It was invigorating and it allowed me to re-align my heart each day, and what a blessing it was to begin my day with the Eucharist, even before breakfast!

Wednesday was my first morning mass in Oakville. After it ended, I gently walked out of the chapel and into the main Church. The lights were off and only the sunlight was shining in. The last time I had knelt here was during the first year of my MV shout and my prayers then were certainly different from how they are now. God had somehow known that it would take me this long to finally dive in and move… I know that You knew. I kneeled there and I chose to lay it all before Him again. Lord, I know that what awaits me is greater than all I am leaving behind. And in the silence of my heart, He knew what I was asking. I didn’t even have to say it, but He knew. I will take care of your family, He said. And with that I slowly rose, wiping the tears that had somehow sprung onto my cheek.

That night, I had a long conversation with my mum via Facebook chat and text. She told me that my dad hasn’t been able to sleep because he’s been worried about me, and he’s anxious about my move. I told her, “I’ve been praying a lot and all God keeps telling me is to trust Him… no one can take better care of you guys than Him.”

Fast forward a few days to Saturday – the CFC 20 Years Gala. (Oh, by the way, to provide some context, my family lives in Ottawa, which is 5 or so hours from Toronto/Hamilton, my new and current service area.)

We had arrived at the banquet hall early Saturday morning, and throughout the day, I was eagerly checking my phone in anticipation for my parents’ call. They had left Ottawa very early and were going to make it just in time for lunch. I was helping put up the set design, and because it was a larger task than we had initially anticipated, I had to forego lunch with my family but asked them to drop by anyway so I can see them. When my phone rang and the message, “We’re here” flashed on the screen, I literally jumped up and ran outside. My parents were stretching and lit up when they saw me. After giving my family hugs, I looked up at the car and asked, “Where’s the van?”
“It couldn’t make the long drive down.”
“Oh…” I was a little confused because our van isn’t old and has driven extremely long distances without fail.
“It’s getting fixed,” my mom replied.
“Wait, what? Why is it getting fixed?”
“Dad got into an accident.”
In my mind, since my dad was before me, I figured the car got knicked or scratched, or maybe we got rear-ended again like last year.
“What happened?” My parents looked uneasy.
“We didn’t want to scare you because you were here… but dad got hit last week by a drunk driver.” My mind began reeling and everything thereafter seemed to be accompanied by loud buzzing. The van, in fact, was not getting fixed… it had gotten completely totalled.

From the pieces I can put together from this, and consequent conversations, basically, Wednesday night/early Thursday morning my dad was going home from his sister’s house in the suburbs (Barrhaven), and on the way home a driver collided with him, almost head on. My dad’s cousin, my aunt, was driving behind him and the incoming driver then swerved and hit her afterwards, but it was my dad who took most of the blow. The roads from my house and my aunt’s are surrounded by farmland and are generally poorly lit. From what my aunt saw, she says that our car flew over the ditch on the side of the road and landed straight into the adjacent field. The paramedics said he just missed a tree by two feet.

There are so many “what ifs” with this situation. What if my dad had panicked and pressed on his breaks rather than sped up? What if he fell into the ditch? What if he had hit the tree? All these things were flying through my mind, but the only thing that became increasingly evident was God’s providence in the entire ordeal. What if, what if, what if… But after every what if, the only answer is: Praise God, it didn’t.

I said it to my mum earlier that night, and it has only become clearer. No one can take better care of my family than He who gave them to me. No amount of savings, no amount of working, no amount of time, not of any of that… He can take better care of them than I ever could.

Take care of what matters to God, and He will take care of what matters to you.

 

….
P.S.
Father, thank You.

During last Sunday’s homily, something the priest said had struck me. He said that during our difficult moments we ask God, “Are you God, or not?” How many times have we done this ourselves? Looked up at the heavens and cried as our families were torn apart, as someone dear to us became ill, as we felt isolated or hurt…

Oftentimes during our difficulties we look up and we cry, “Aren’t you God? Are you just sitting there watching me hurt? Aren’t you going to do something?” How can a God who is all-knowing and all-powerful allow me to experience these things when He supposedly loves me? How can a God who can stop the pain continue to allow me to hurt?

Are you God, or not? These words were yelled at our Lord almost two thousand years ago while He helplessly hung there on the cross. “He saved others,” they said, “but he can’t save himself!  He’s the King of Israel! Let him come down now from the cross, and we will believe in him. He trusts in God. Let God rescue him now if he wants him.” (Matt. 27:42-43). But although He could have saved Himself, He chose not to, because He knew it was only through His suffering that He will be able to save us. It is in our own suffering that we must trust that God is not simply watching us; He is right there with us, holding us and asking for us to trust Him. Trust that what we might believe to be His indifference towards our pain, is in fact His way of showing us that it is through this very pain that we are drawn closer to Him and His suffering… and similar to the way He had on that fateful Friday afternoon, it is through this pain that He is helping us achieve our ultimate goal of joining Him in Heaven.

Jesus, I trust in You.