Solitude often brings about the moments of our greatest peace or our greatest trial. Jesus knows what I'm talking about. According to the Gospels, he liked to retreat to deserted spots and commune with the Father—a welcome opportunity to recharge the batteries before stepping back into the fray (see Mk 1:32-39). I wonder what he prayed about? We cannot know for sure, but we can guess that these moments gave him the strength he needed to refocus his human nature on the tasks at hand—preaching the kingdom of God and bringing it about through healing, exorcism, and teaching.
But he also knew well the dangerous side of solitude. He spent forty days in the desert, tested by the devil. That can't have been a very pleasant experience, though it was a sweet victory he emerged with—proof that God was saving the world through him, and that evil didn't stand a chance. As soon as Jesus beat the devil in the wilderness, his public ministry began. Matthew, Mark, and Luke all agree on this decisive point: it was the first critical blow in the battle for humanity.
Like Jesus, we are all "driven into the wilderness" sometimes, forced to face down whatever demons (personal or otherwise) might come to cause us trouble. Such was my case today. Extended solitude made me keenly aware of a problematic tendency: I often feel compelled to love certain things even when I know I should be setting my heart on what is higher. In recent years, life has taught me that trying to answer inner longings with anything other than God inevitably results in frustration and pain. There is a hole in each of our hearts that only God can fill; "Our hearts are restless, Lord, until they rest in You," as St. Augustine so beautifully put it. And yet, as much as I realize this in theory, it is still very difficult to put into practice.
Thus it happened that later in the day, I found myself praying like a person sick with a fever, but with no idea of how to cure it. Thank God (literally), the right prayer came to my lips:
Jesus, teach me to love the right things.
Wishing to learn from the example of the Master, I tried reflecting on what Jesus loves. Almost immediately, the image of Jesus "moved with compassion" for a leper leaped into my mind (Mk 1:40-42). Jesus loved that man who came to him and said, "Lord, if you wish, you can make me clean." Why? Well, of course, he loved everyone, first and foremost. But let's look for a deeper answer by asking, Why is that story included in the Gospel? Perhaps it is to show Jesus' special appreciation for vulnerability. A severely sick man is ultimately vulnerable; he has no regard for appearances or pretense. He just wants to get well. One need only spend a small amount of time in a hospital to discover this. Hospitals are bastions of vulnerability.
I think Jesus liked the vulnerability of this man, because it was real. Again, there was no pretense. He wasn't trying to impress Jesus. He just wanted to get better. And Jesus was totally for it: "'I do wish. Be made clean.' The leprosy left him immediately, and he was made clean."
Jesus loves honesty. So should we, both in other people and in ourselves. When we identify our weaknesses and bring them to Jesus for healing and restoration, he responds. He always responds. I hope you, too, Dear Reader, may be willing to be vulnerable and honest with Christ, because this is the way he wants us. He can see through our masks. And he loves what he sees.
Sincerely,
Joezilla
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