Incremental Holiness

Laboriously feeds the squirrel, as we Germans say

This week is special. I can feel the stirrings of the Holy Spirit inside of me, trying to nudge me ever so slightly upward on the rocky path to holiness.

One thing I learned about striving for holiness is that big leaps are rare. Most of the learning and transformation happens in infinitesimal baby steps. Well, at least for me since that’s the only person I can speak for.

Yesterday, I received two blessings showing me that there is some spiritual growth after all (which is excellent because sometimes I feel like I’m moving backwards). In both instances, I reacted differently than I would have only a few months or a year ago.

The First Chastisement

The first incident happened at the monthly OCDS (Order of Carmelites Discalced Secular) meeting. I was elated to see that my friends L. and M. handed in their applications for the Aspirancy, a 12-month period of familiarizing yourself with the order and discerning whether you’re a good fit for the Carmelites (or they for you). As I jokingly listed the many perks they’d receive now, N., one of the council members, stepped in and berated me in front of the whole group for spreading misinformation.

My first instinct—how I would have normally reacted—was to be terribly offended.

But then two thoughts occurred to me, based on the teachings of two of the great Carmelite Saints, St. Teresa of Avila and St. Therese of Lisieux.

The first thought was that if I lived in a monastery like St. Therese, I’d have to be okay with being chastised by my elders all the time… a near-certainty, given my impulsivity and my big mouth. And in the spirit of obedience, I’d have to swallow my pride and suck it up. So that’s what I decided to do.

As for St. Teresa of Avila, the order’s spiritual mother, in her book, The Way of Perfection, she repeats over and over the need for humility and detachment. This is partially achieved, she says, by recognizing how sinful we are and that we deserve all kinds of blame and criticism. In chapter 36, she writes about the forgiveness part of the Our Father, saying…

What can be said against someone like myself, or what wrong can be done to her who has deserved to be always mistreated by the demons? If the world were to treat me very badly, such mistreatment would be just. In sum, my Lord, I have nothing as a result to give you by means of which I may ask you to forgive my debts.

Funny thing: I noticed a while ago that N. and I are in many ways quite similar. She is one of my “mirror people”™ and vice versa. God puts mirror people in our life so we may gain self-awareness and humility. Generally, they reflect some undesirable part of ourselves back to us, such as competitiveness, envy, self-righteousness, or a victim mentality. They tend to annoy the heck out of us, but in truth they are our greatest teachers.

Yesterday, I realized why it’s so difficult to forgive our mirror people for their behavior: because it means forgiving ourselves—which, in my experience, is the hardest thing to do.

The Second Chastisement

In this case, I was the one doling it out. After the OCDS meeting, I went to Aldi for some groceries. I only needed a few items, so I didn’t get a cart—and, as usual, ended up hauling an armful of stuff to the register.

A man my age was in line for the checkout, but only sort of because he was still busy filling his cart. As he saw me approaching, he quickly closed the gap to the next person in line to make sure I didn’t slip in ahead of him.

That really ticked me off—especially when I saw that he was wearing a T-shirt that said in the front, Jesus… Because of Him, and in the back, Heaven knows my name, with a Bible verse underneath.

I thought grimly, Buddy, if Heaven knows your name, I wouldn’t want to be you.

Then he broke the camel’s back by scrolling on his phone instead of getting his crap moved onto the belt and downstream so that I, waiting behind him, could finally unload my groceries.

I had had enough of this. “Um, excuse me, could you get moving here so I can put my stuff down?” Then I added snidely, “Kinda hard to live up to that T-shirt, isn’t it?”

I could tell he felt guilty. As the cashier rang up his groceries, he avoided my gaze and then made a hasty escape.

Now I started feeling guilty myself. Was that necessary? chimed the voice of the Holy Spirit in my mind. Would Jesus have acted like this?

Ordinarily, that thought wouldn’t have hit home until much later. The typical sequence of events would go like this:

• At first, I’d feel totally justified for my reaction.

• Then, at home, I would rerun the incident in my mind and start doubting that I did the right thing.

• Then I would fret over the incident the entire day (and the next and the next).

• Eventually, I’d go to confession and unload my guilty conscience.

But this time, I didn’t wait. I decided to make amends right then and there.

I caught up to the guy as he was putting away his shopping cart. “Hey,” I said, “I want to apologize. I’m a Christian too, and I shouldn’t have said that to you.”

He laughed in obvious relief. “No, no, you’re good. I should have paid more attention; it’s really all my fault. But thank you!”

I walked away feeling amazing.

Who knows, next time, I may be able to just keep my mouth shut and not blow up on some poor schmuck who is oblivious to what’s going on.

Incremental baby steps, Jesus. Thanks for those, today and always.

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