The search and the surrender to authenticity

A couple days ago I was waiting for an exam at the eye doctor and listening to a podcast called “The Laughing Mystic.” One of the show hosts, Laura, said, “We spend our early life climbing the ladder of success…Then we find at midlife that our ladder was unfortunately set against the wrong wall.” This statement fits my experience as I approach my 44th birthday this summer. Although I know many circumstances of my life are unique because I am a Franciscan Sister, I wonder if much of my experience is universal:

We all start naked, crying, and weak. Others dress us, feed us, wipe away our goo. We are held and heard, then shushed and sent. As soon as we can comprehend and speak, they ask us about our favorites and hopes. “What do you want to be when you grow up?” What do you want to be, to be, to be. What do you want, want, want. We are forced to define ourselves and desires before we ought, before we can sign our name.

As we age, many of us grow convinced we are strong, independent, and must shine bright. I sure did. In order to be noticed or celebrated we are told we must succeed. Success looks like might: olympians, presidents, the rich, the famous. If we say we’d like to do something small and simple, but are capable of advanced degrees, we’re told we picked the wrong answer to the question (what do you want to be?). Try again, try again. You need to aim high, dream big. You must achieve, achieve, achieve.

It doesn’t have to be this way. Life could be a series of encounters, of explorations and discoveries, instead of repeated attempts at victory laps. Instead of “Yay, look at me and what I can do!” we could say, “Here’s an experience and here’s what I notice.” We could be people who faithfully respond to each little whisper from the Holy in floppy surrender. Each effort— surrender-– is an offering on the altar of our lives. We could offer effort and energy detached from outcomes, and allow Love to make and remake us. By grace we could be unraveled. Undefined. Life could be a gentle discovery of being given and received. Considering Jesus and the Gospel (and the dangers of greed and pride), life in this manner could be better aligned.

But it’s probably more like this: a gap opens in us and we feel incomplete. We feel lost, uncertain. I know I looked around to understand what was expected, needed. I searched for clues, examples, role models. Many of us find those who we admire, idealize. Rarely do they see us too. But sometimes they see our talent – just a fraction of us— and they start to tell us who they think we are, who we could become. We wonder if they are correct, so we listen. We take in what they say and do.

We watch them politic and proselytize and advertise their outcomes and offerings: best-sellers and viral videos, stellar reviews, all endorsed by big names. We watch them win: fame, wealth, awards. They charm us and suggest formulas, ideas, plans. Build platforms! Believe! Achieve! The power of suggestion becomes like a weight that pushes against the pulse of our true selves. The humble heart hopes for grace and ease, but is shushed. Our light is dimmed.

The true self keeps beating, softly, but may go underground and hide away, its growth stunted without the tending that comes from sacraments, silence, and solitude. But often, the true self pushes through, like a weed insisting on its come-back, on its reach toward The Light. We each must choose what we water and what we weed as we go through our lives. The voices that name and claim us, but don’t know our true self, can boom, violently. Unaware they manipulate, tease, and tempt, trying to tear us away from what’s real, humble, and still. Liars distract us from the heart of God.

Yet, through the din, and after enough time, and with enough grace, goodness and truth can win. Truth winning may be abrupt or it could be gradual, but we’ll realize that we got naked again, like St. Francis stripping in that town square. It’s as if one day we look down and see our skins and masks were shed when we were unaware. Some, like me, will go on a long retreat and discover a deep affection for tiny twigs. Others stare at puddles. Still others sit in chapels for hours on end. Many will become ecstatic about silent blooms on unassuming houseplants.

And, we’ll look around and see that Spirit has been pointing us toward examples. We start to notice quiet guides that shunned fame, that were martyred in their devotion to mercy and humility. For example, the monks and nuns who show us how to put the common good ahead of self. Faithful ministers model how to witness and preach and point to the other: to Christ in a humble manger, Christ with the poor, Christ on the cross, Christ resurrected and revealing his wounds. We see artists who share their talent to God’s mission, glory. I remain inspired by Gen Verde, who I got to meet a month ago: nineteen consecrated women sharing the goodness of community through creativity. I learned that great writers like Annie Dillard initially preferred anonymity. And, Blessed Carlo Acutis said, “All people are born as originals, but many die as photocopies.”

We started naked and are too quickly defined. Years later, we discover we were harmed by the pull to please and the plague of confusion. We looked outward at a culture corrupted by fame, wealth, and greed, and the culture slyly convinced us of its lies. So we turn down the volume on that crap and become devoted to what’s hidden, small. We give attention to the silence of stones, the gentle life-cycle of a tree, the fiat of Mary.

The original design that God created us to be finds form, rises up from the rubble. With grace, we resist platform building and self promotion. We ignore royalties, ratings, and reviews. We ban stats. We abolish concern about “likes” and “follows.” We give away more than we can sell. We trust that Spirit is receiving our little offers– surrenders– and along the way we are becoming one small faithful witness in the crowd. We find the answer to who we want to be, who we were made to be: free. And, me? I am picking love and Christ’s beauty.