Tuesday Tidbits

Jesse Romero's Marian encounter in a local church... a personal experience with "the beam in my own eye"... and a prayer request

I apologize that you’re not seeing a ton of long-form posts from me—there’s just so much going on that’s interesting, yet not all of it lends itself to an extensive blog post. Here’s a biggie, though, to start.

Jesse Romero’s Marian Encounter

If you’re a Catholic with any kind of social media awareness, you’ve probably heard of Jesse Romero, Catholic evangelist, spiritual warfare expert, and author of several books—among them my favorite, The Devil in the City of Angels. Jesse, who lives in Arizona today, is a former boxing champion and law enforcement officer and holds a Masters Degree in Theology from Franciscan University in Steubenville.

Jesse is a dynamic speaker—to put it mildly—and so on fire for the Lord that he’s become a favorite on podcasts like Fr. Richard Heilman’s US Grace Force or the Dr. Taylor Marshall Show. Right now, he’s doing a Parish Lenten Mission tour in the Ohio Valley area, and I had the privilege to see him at St. Joseph the Worker in Weirton, WV.

Apparently, Jesse had a mystical experience—the first one in his entire life, he said—right in that very church. He said he was sitting in a pew that afternoon doing eucharistic adoration when a life-size statue of the Blessed Virgin Mary “came to life, floated over to me, and gave me a motherly hug.”

He said he broke down in tears, sobbing, “which has never, ever happened before.”

Amazing. You are great, VatiGod! And thank you, Holy Mother, for giving Jesse a taste of Heaven.

The Beam in Your Own Eye

Spiritual pride is one of my great weaknesses. Two things happened last week that reminded me of this. Initially, I didn’t even recognize them for what they were.

The first thing was that last week, I “emergency baptized” someone. I don’t want to go into the details right now, but my point here is that I let it puff me up with pride. It was me and Jesus—or Jesus and I, because you see, I’m so humble—snatching a soul from the claws of the devil. Look at that teamwork!

How do I know I was prideful about it and not just happy?

Because when I mentioned it to a couple of friends—yes, there’s that too; couldn’t have just kept it to myself, could I?—one of them asked me some critical questions, like “Did you do it correctly? Did you make her say the Creed? Did you do this, did you do that?”

My hackles went up immediately. I felt offended by her questioning my methods… and by insinuating there was something more I should have done.

The other thing was that a fellow OCDS sister had a fall and broke her femur. She was taken to the hospital for emergency surgery. I visited her a total of three times (in three weeks) and got really upset about the fact that nobody else did.

My thoughts went along the lines of, “What kind of religious community is this if we don’t support each other and be there for one another when it really counts?” And deeper: “What if this happened to me? Would nobody come to see me either?” (My fear of abandonment rearing its ugly head again.)

I went to confess this spiritual pride as I perceived it, and Father J. suggested to “bring this up gently with the group; sometimes you have to drag the others along with you.”

Another approach I didn’t even think of. Why? Because my mind instantly went into indignation mode.

All these thoughts were coursing through my head as I was sitting in my pew waiting for Mass to start, leisurely browsing my March Magnificat.

And of course Jesus showed me what I needed to know—by shoving Luke 6:39-45 right into my face. It wasn’t even today’s Mass reading, so go figure.

Jesus told his disciples a parable, “Can a blind person guide a blind person? Will not both fall into a pit? No disciple is superior to the teacher, but when fully trained, every disciple will be like his teacher. Why do you notice the splinter in your brother’s eye, but do not perceive the wooden beam in your own? How can you say to your brother, ‘Brother, let me remove that splinter in your eye,’ when you do not even notice the wooden beam in your own eye? You hypocrite! Remove the wooden beam from your eye first; then you will see clearly to remove the splinter in your brother’s eye.

“A good tree does not bear rotten fruit, nor does a rotten tree bear good fruit. For every tree is known by its own fruit. For people do not pick figs from thorn bushes, nor do they gather grapes from brambles. A good person out of the store of goodness in his heart produces good, but an evil person out of a store of evil produces evil; for from the fullness of the heart the mouth speaks.”

Father J.’s response was clearly the goodhearted one, giving others the benefit of the doubt. What does that make mine?

I realized that it was not just my own fear of abandonment speaking, but also my own guilt. When I left the home health care agency, I called up one my favorite client, a sweet little 96-year-old lady, and promised her to come visit her on my own time. She had told me many times how much she loved me and how much she appreciated my weekly visitations.

Somehow, I never got around to visiting her on my own time, though she was always in the back of my mind. Then, recently, I learned from the local obituaries that she passed away just a month and a half after I saw her last. I could have accompanied her in her final days, but I was just too busy. That’s a tough pill to swallow.

The Magnificat’s daily meditation on the subject by Alice von Hildebrand was also quite enlightening, so I will not keep it from you.

What Moves Us to Remove Our Beams

Saint Augustine tells us that he found some admirable virtues among pagans (let us think of Socrates), but that never, absolutely never, did he find a pagan who possessed the virtue of humility. The reason is that this virtue is possible only on the supernatural plane; it is therefore not accessible to those whose outlook is limited to natural ethics.

The humble person dreads to be called humble, and actually suffers when someone praises him for possessing this elusive virtue. The proud person, on the contrary, loves to hear his “humility” commended and basks in this praise. As long as we compare ourselves to other human creatures—be it for physical, intellectual, or spiritual characteristics—we shall always find someone who is “worse” off than we are…

But humility refrains from making purely human comparisons. This virtue teaches us to place ourselves naked in front of our Creator, the infinitely perfect and Holy One. Such a confrontation must bring us to our knees and force us to acknowledge that we are nothing but dust and ashes, as Abraham said when he begged God to spare Sodom and Gomorrah. It is inconceivable that someone should stand in front of the one true God and persist in the illusion that he is “something.”

All the gifts we possess come from God; by ourselves we are nothing, and would fall back into nothingness if God’s hand did not sustain us in existence through the concursus divinus (divine concurrence).

This confrontation between God and man could be crushing and lead us to metaphysical despair. (Let us recall the cry of St. Peter, ‘Depart from me, Lord, I am a sinful man,’ in Luke 5:8.) But the recognition of our nothingness should go hand in hand with an awareness that God, the infinitely good and merciful God, loves his creatures, these poor beggars that he has knighted by making them to his image and likeness. The moment that man perceives both his misery and his greatness, the consciousness that he is loved brings him such overwhelming joy that, appropriately, he prefers to be nothing because the one who loves him and whom he has learned to love is everything.

Prayers Requested for Unbound Session

Tomorrow, Thursday, March 27, I’ll be participating in an Unbound deliverance session for the very first time, in the role of a second intercessor. This is a big one—I just finished the training and am as much of a rookie as anyone could be. So your prayers of support would be very much appreciated. Thanks in advance!

God bless you!

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