A Painful Grace

I’ve mentioned before how big a fan I am of Father Mike Schmitz’ homilies. I recently decided to re-listen to this years’ Lent and Easter homilies because they moved me so much while I listened to them, but it was easy for me to forget their message in the routine of daily life. This is one that hit me hard the second time, perhaps more so than the first time because on the repeat I was going through a couple hard days of waning hope and high regret. It took me way back to childhood.

I was dubbed a perfect child. Never a problem, sweet disposition, smart, studious, talented in everything I tried. It became my brand but also my necessity. As life became complicated and there was danger of my dad leaving us for his mistress and second family, I was supposed to be the pride that kept him anchored. I studied harder, I practiced piano incessantly, I got into an enviable college, I studied a hard and lucrative major. I graduated with honors and was hired by one of the best technology companies in the world. I was reproachless. 

I also believed in my own strength. I believed that I could avoid my parents’ messiness and heartaches because obviously I knew better, I was more sensible, more courageous. I could continue to set goals, work hard, achieve, repeat.  

It didn’t matter that I felt lonely and terrified of dropping the ball. It didn’t matter that underneath, I felt I had nothing to offer but that – the product, the achievement. And I couldn’t afford to fail because if I did, what would be left? I just had to keep working, keep trying to control the outcome.   

But God has a way of giving us the graces we need, not the graces we want. I wanted strength; my weaknesses were always lurking. I wanted courage; I backed down more times than I could count. I wanted to be the kind of person who conquered challenges, who spoke truth to power, who faced consequences with strength and aplomb. I wanted to be this person; I wasn’t. I made mistakes as a mom, as a leader, as a friend. By all accounts, my life has been blessed in so many ways. By all accounts, I appear strong, calm, under control. Except by me. I fell way short of the person I thought I would be.  

In his homily, Father Mike talks about the greatest grace. In those moments when there’s no more excuses, no more strength of our own to rely on. When it’s clear we have failed and that we were so wrong about ourselves. When we have nothing of what we thought we had in ourselves. Those are the moments that God gives us this greatest grace: the realization of two truths: the truth about ourselves and the truth about Jesus. 

He says: In those moments, it would be a great grace to be courageous, strong, able. But God gives us a much greater grace. He sends us a trial we can’t bear with our own power. A trial we can’t endure, so we might endure it with His grace through the end. To be allowed to fail and see our heart as Jesus sees it. And to let ourselves be loved at that moment. The greatest grace is to be chosen as we really are and not how we’d like to be.  

It's a painful grace. The realization of our greatest weaknesses, powerlessness, and brokenness can overwhelm us with shame, guilt, and regret. Unless we realize that this is God reminding us of the truth about ourselves and our need, and the truth about the depths of his love in our lives.  Unlike in the world, we can fail and be chosen. Unlike in the world, we can be broken, imperfect, and weak, and still be loved with an unimaginable love. We can get up again, try again with the heart of a beloved child, surrendering our effort, our control, and our outcomes to Him. And that, to me, feels hopeful, joyful, light. A burden lifted. 

As Father Mike concludes in his brilliant words: To those of us who know these two truths: that we are broken more than we know and that we are loved more than we could hope, this is the power of Jesus Christ on the cross. And that, is the greatest grace.  

Amen.