Make me humble, make me meek,
Be the guidance that I seek.
Make me rise each time I stumble,
Be my strength when I am weak.
But above all this, I pray,
That you’ll lead me, day by day,
To see God’s face more clearly
Shining brightly through the fray.
Speak the truth above the lies,
Show the good that evil hides,
And in the sorrow and the pain
Unveil Love’s beauty in disguise.
Written by: Matthew Giardina
The following is a poem I wrote while reflecting on a chapter in the Venerable Archbishop Fulton Sheen’s great masterpiece The World’s First Love. The chapter is called “The World’s Happiest Marriage”, and it focuses on the marital union of Mary and Joseph.
Against the Grain
The virtue in the sacrifice
Humiliates my inner vice.
My heart of stone cannot contain
A love so pure and free of stain.
So take, dear Lord, this stony heart,
And with it may my sins depart.
For I have seen the greater good,
But in between, transgression stood.
When confronted with Love’s grace
Instinctually I hide my face.
Not from Love’s beauty, do I hide,
But from my ugliness inside.
The hopelessness of honesty
Comes crashing down in front of me.
I cannot move myself to take
A single step for heaven’s sake.
The road is paved, the path is clear,
But here I lay encased in fear.
Such lavish mediocrity,
A preference for infirmity.
Protection of the ignorant
Is mercy’s gift from Heaven sent
For having seen, I fear delay
Would truly be to disobey.
So steel me, Lord, against my grain.
I empathize with the insane.
Against myself, spur me to strive
To be a man, fully alive.
Written by: Matthew Giardina
“And Mary said: My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord; my spirit rejoices in God my savior. For he has looked upon his handmade’s lowliness; behold, from now on will all ages call me blessed. The Mighty One has done great things for me, and holy is his name. His mercy is from age to age to those who fear him. He has shown might with his arm; dispersed the arrogant of mind and heart. He has thrown down the rulers from their thrones but lifted up the lowly. The hungry he has filled with good things, but the rich he has sent away empty. He has helped Israel his servant, remembering his mercy, according to his promise to our fathers, to Abraham and to his descendants forever.” Luke 1: 46-55
When meditating upon the second decade of the Joyful Mysteries, in which Mary visits her cousin Elizabeth and proclaims God’s glory, I am typically inclined to view Mary’s actions as an act of pure charity, inspired by the Holy Spirit who filled her with His love when conceiving the Son of God within her womb. She was so filled with love that she could not contain it within herself and was driven as if by some compulsion to leave immediately and find someone to serve. I believe this to be true, but I have lately been looking at Mary’s actions through a different lens, which has helped me relate to the mystery in a deeper way.
Mary is a young girl who is suddenly blessed with the gift of life, and not just any life, but the life of the Author of Life. She is betrothed to Joseph but their marriage is not yet complete, and the divine revelation of the origin of life within her is revealed to nobody but herself. Although she consented to God’s will, she had to have been scared. She is human, after all. Sinless, but still human. She was not free from the worries and anxieties that plague the rest of us, and therefore, if I place myself in her shoes, I feel overwhelmed at the magnitude of the situation, and all the unanswered questions that it presents. How will my family react? Will they believe me, or assume I’ve conceived a child in the sin of premarital relations? What will Joseph think? Will he divorce me? What will my village think of me? Will I be shamed by them; will they look at me with judgmental disdain? How will I take care of this child if all my family disowns me and Joseph refuses to take me into his home?
All these things must have been running through Mary’s young mind, and being human, she must have felt a level of anxiety that threatened to crush her. Full of the Holy Spirit, but also full of worry and stress, she immediately set out to do something we can all relate to; she sought the comfort and counsel of a beloved elder who would be able to relate to and sympathize with her situation.
She set out to visit her older cousin, Elizabeth, who, not long before, had also been blessed to conceive a child through divine intervention. Elizabeth had been barren, but an Angel of the Lord announced to her husband that she would conceive and bare a son. Mary knew this. Just like we seek help and wisdom from our friends and family members, so too did Mary seek the wisdom and comfort of her cousin. She wanted to be near the one person who could relate intimately to the situation she found herself in; the one person who was most likely to believe that the child in her womb was placed there by God.
During the journey from her home to the home of Elizabeth, Mary did something else we can relate to. She needed comfort and reassurance that God would guide her through the challenging times ahead. That God would not abandon her in her times of need. That God would keep his promise. And so, as she journeyed, she read and meditated on all the sacred scripture passages in which God fulfilled his promises to help those who were faithful to him. Not only that, but she read specifically from the examples of faithful women who came before her.
We know this because when she arrived at the home of her cousin, she immediately begins repeating scripture passages in the form of the Canticle of Mary, also known as the Magnificat. Why did she speak using the words spoken by Naomi in the book of Ruth, or Hannah from the book of Samuel, or Judith, Esther, and the psalms? These were the words that came from her lips because they were still fresh on her mind. She spent the whole journey seeking comfort in God’s unrelenting faithfulness.
I can relate to this, in that anytime I feel overwhelmed with anxiety and worry, I instinctively turn to the Psalms for comfort. Look at the Psalms, they are the outpouring of anguished hearts. They are the cries of the suffering in their times of need. They are the fruit of the faithful seeking the help of their God.
Mary’s act of charity towards her neighbor Elizabeth is a beautiful example for all to follow, not because Mary was so good and holy that she only ever thought of others. Mary was good and holy, but just like all the rest of us, her goodness and holiness came from God. Charity is a divine virtue, one that is reserved for God himself, and that he bestows upon us as he sees fit. Mary surrendered her will to the will of God, and in turn, God used her worry and anxiety as a vehicle to pour out his Charity upon others.
It is easy for us to look back upon this moment in time, being intimately familiar with how Mary’s life unfolds, and forget that she did not have the gift of foresight; she did not know what her future held. She did not know how her story would end.
It is easy to fall into the trap of thinking that Mary saw her own life in the same way we see her life now. It is easy to disregard her human nature. Easy to look at the birth of Jesus in light of his resurrection, forgetting that Mary was not yet privy to that information. It is easy to forget that all the thoughts, concerns, worries, frustrations, questions, and anxieties that fill our minds also filled the mind of Mary. It is easy to forget how much we have in common with her.
What I learn from Mary’s example is this: If we surrender our worries and cares to God, God will use us to care for others. It might not be clear in the moment how God is using us, but we can rest assured that his hand is at work in our lives, and that our obedience to his divine will, our ‘fiat’, will be looked upon by him with merciful charity, especially in the moments when we feel the most afraid.
Written by: Matthew Giardina
Move me like your shadow, oh God,
that I might do your will with perfect immediacy and precision.
Fill me with the fruit of your Spirit,
So others may see your beauty in my love,
your goodness in my joy,
your perfection in my peace,
your providence in my patience,
your mercy in my kindness,
your abundance in my generosity,
your immutability in my faithfulness,
your strength in my gentleness,
and your power in my self-control.
Written by: Matthew Giardina
In the book “Outliers” Malcolm Gladwell talks about the dedication to perfecting a craft that is required to become the best at something. He gives the example of musicians and athletes and shows how those who have risen to a certain degree of accomplishment all have one thing in common: an extended period of unwavering pursuit. 10,000 hours of practice is what it takes, he says, to rise above the competition.
What if we applied this to our pursuit of holiness? What if we practiced being holy with the same mindset an athlete applies to his sport? What would be the outcome?
We have plenty examples of men and women who did just that. Some of them we call
“saints”. Those who have been canonized are meant to be examples to follow. We should be imitators of them just as they were imitators of Christ. But how did they do it? Did they become saints overnight? Maybe a few did, like St Paul, who became a saint in the time it took for him to fall from his horse to the ground. But most are not that fortunate. Most spend their entire lifetime striving towards a goal that is ultimately unattainable on our own, but one which they know they will achieve with the grace of God if only they put forth the effort. If only they patiently endure the countless hours of “practice”.
What does “practice” look like for someone striving to become a saint? It is unique for each individual, but in general, it is the process of cleansing, purifying, and strengthening that is necessary to build character. And not just any character, but the right character. The character of Jesus Christ.
Look at Jesus himself as an example. Why did he wait until he was thirty years old before he began his public ministry? He was waiting for his “hour” to come, yes, but what was delaying the hour? Maybe he needed 10,000 to pass before the right one would arrive. Or maybe, seeing how He was fully God and fully man, he didn’t need the 10,000 hours himself, but wanted to set an example of patient endurance in his waiting, to show us that, just because we spend the large majority of our lives in the quiet, uneventful, mundane, and monotonous drudgery of the world, it doesn’t mean we aren’t preparing for something magnificent. It doesn’t mean we can’t be working towards something truly spectacular. Something awe-inspiring.
An elite athlete may spend 10,000 hours alone in a gym shooting free throws before he has the opportunity to take the game-winning shot. A violinist may practice in her room for 10,000 hours to prepare for playing her solo on the big stage. So too, a saint may spend 10,000 hours chasing his children around before he’s patient enough to chase after God’s lost sheep.
My encouragement is to look at every trial in life as “practice”, to be patient, to persist, to put forth the effort necessary to grow in virtue, knowing you will not reach the goal or win the crown in a single day, or through a single act, but rather, you will attain that which you seek through countless hours of perseverance. My hope is that with this mindset we will all view the difficulties of life through a new lens. A lens that brings joy out of suffering. A lens that sees hardship as something that builds us up, instead of tearing us down. A lens that sees strength in the weak, power in the lowly, adventure in the mundane, excitement in the tedious, and life in the daily remembrance of our death.
Pick up your cross, carry it as long as you must, 10,000 hours if necessary, and one day it will carry you to heaven.
Written by: Matthew Giardina
God desires to furnish us with all that is good so that we might carry out all that is pleasing to Him through Jesus Christ our Lord. However, just as a house that is full of clutter cannot be furnished until the clutter has been removed, so too, our souls cannot be furnished with the good things of God until we have cooperated with the grace of God to remove the clutter that fills our hearts, minds, and souls. This requires patience and understanding on our part, for we so often pray for God to bless us with spiritual gifts so that we might go out and do great works, and then we wonder why we aren’t receiving that which we have prayed for. It is not that God does not desire to fill us with those gifts that we seek. On the contrary, he desires it even more than we do! No, the reason we do not receive the gifts we pray for is that often times we are jumping too far ahead. We want to move a couch and a love seat into a living room that is filled from wall to wall and floor to ceiling with junk. There is no place to put anything else!
God is giving us what we seek in an infinitely more perfect way. So perfect we often don’t perceive it because of our own blindness and imperfections. God wants to give us the couch we desire, but even more than that, he wants to make sure that when we have that couch, we’ll actually be able to use it for its intended purpose, otherwise the couch would become just another piece of the clutter.
A couch is meant to be sat upon, and God’s grace is meant to be used to carry out His will by doing all that is pleasing to Him. What good is a couch if it can’t be sat on, and what good is God’s grace if we haven’t the room in our hearts to let it move us to accomplish His will?
Similarly, a person who desires to build a home for himself may imagine what it will be like to live in the home. He may picture with great anticipation what it will be like to sit beside the grand fireplace in the living room, or to prepare a meal in the kitchen. However, when he hires a general contractor to build his dream home, the contractor will not start by building the kitchen or the fireplace first. First, he will clear the land and dig the footings. Would the man who plans to live there stop the contractor at that point and complain that the contractor isn’t giving him what he wants because he’s playing in the dirt instead of building a kitchen? I think we can all agree that would be foolish, so maybe we should all consider how foolish it would be for us to try and tell God he’s going about his work on us in all the wrong way. Maybe we all have a lot more underbrush to clear away than we realize, and God will get to building that fireplace when the time for building fireplaces is right. Until then, we should probably trust that He knows what He’s doing. After all, He has a lot more experience than we do. He’s literally been doing this since the beginning of time.
One final thought on the house that God is building in us. We often make the mistake of thinking that our lives belong to us. We are, in general, selfish, possessive, self-centered, and ignorant. It’s a bad combination, to be sure. I made the analogy of a person desiring to build a home for themselves, and I think we look at our own lives as if we are building them into something for ourselves. We make decisions based on what we think our careers, our families, our hobbies, our friend groups, and our legacy should look like. But do we ever stop to consider what it means to say that we are a “Temple of the Holy Spirit”? Our lives are a construction project, yes, but we are not the architects. We are not the owner, the general contractor, the tenant, or the 3rdparty inspector. We are the dirt. What God is building is a temple for himself, and we should consider ourselves fortunate to be the dirt that he’s using.
He’ll start by digging the footings, because God desires a strong foundation. He’ll clear away the sand, the rocks, and the roots. He’ll remove the things from our lives that are not well-suited to a strong foundation. Yes, that removal process will be painful. It will be messy. It might even appear useless, like a waste of time. But the more we cooperate with Him, the faster the process will be. This is the step of recognizing that God’s will is not our will, and that it is not God who surrenders to our will, but man who surrenders to the will of God.
Once the foundation is prepared, God will then take from the dirt the clay, and form the clay into bricks. Now we’re getting somewhere, right? We recognize bricks to be part of a strong house, and since bricks go vertically, we can feel like we’re starting to see something that resembles a house take shape. Don’t forget, though, that for a brick to be useful it first must be hardened by fire. This is the step of recognizing in ourselves the habits, desires, motives, and relationships in our lives that keep us from being holy, as our heavenly Father is holy. You may have felt the heat of the kiln already in your life. It is the feeling you get when you know that the thing you want is not the thing you should have. The fire burns, but it also hardens. Don’t run from the fire. Instead, recognize that the fire will only burn away those things that cannot enter into the kingdom of heaven, and all that is good will remain. Not only will it remain, but it will be refined, so that what comes out of the oven will be far better than what went in.
Once He has formed the bricks, He will need the mortar to hold them all together. Mortar is an aggregate; a whole formed by combining several different elements. We’ve been hardened, purified, refined, now we are ready to receive from God the good things we lack. God will give us what we need, and if we have successfully conformed our will to God’s will, by giving us what we need, he will at the same time be giving us what we want. Therein lies the key to happiness.
The key to happiness is a two-step equation. Step one: train yourself to desire only that which God desires for you, trusting that God desires only what is best for you. Step two: recognize that all things happen according to God’s will, and therefore, everything that happens to you in life, no matter how bad it might seem, happens according to God’s wisdom, and for your good. By following this equation, you will soon find the strength to be joyful despite your circumstances. You will discover the transcendent joy that resides with you through all the ups and downs of life, because you will know that the downs are just as important, just as good, and just as necessary as the ups. You’ll see your life as a journey without shortcuts. A journey in which every step takes you closer to your final destination. More than that, you’ll recognize that your final destination is not to be found in this world; a recognition that makes the complete surrender to the will of God all the more liberating.
Written by: Matthew Giardina
Following up on one of the thoughts presented in my previous post, the poem below is one I wrote a few years ago about one of my daughters, Giovanna. Giovanna has a particular fondness for flowers. She loves them so much that she cannot keep herself from plucking them, which often leads to me getting upset at her when she plucks all the flowers from our garden, because in my eyes she’s destroying something I’ve worked hard to cultivate.
Children come into our lives and, in many ways, disrupt the ‘order’ we’ve established. This disruptive behavior can be trying, at times, but I firmly believe it is for our own benefit. We often get caught up in our own desires, losing sight of the things that are truly important, but God sends children into our lives to save us from ourselves.
The poem is an honest argument for openness to new life in marriages. I say ‘honest’ because being open to new life comes with many challenges. It is not always easy, it is not always fun, and it is painful more often than not. In the end, though, the pain brings with it new growth, and by willingly submitting ourselves to suffering for the sake of what is right, we are in turn blessed in more ways than we can imagine.
Little Dove
I had a little garden,
One that most would overlook.
Ajuga here, a clover there
And remnants of a brook.
The dew upon the petals
Wet the palette of my heart,
Melded purples, gentle pinks,
A natural work of art.
A dove visited my garden,
Gold streaks laced in her hair,
And never had I seen a rose
Whose beauty could compare.
She hopped upon the border,
And flitted to and fro,
And with the plumpest fingers
Plucked all I’d tried to grow.
Each petal that she tugged was
A thorn pulled from my side,
While the beauty of her song
Caressed the pain inside.
I know, dear bird, your visit
To where my time is spent,
Although at times a trial,
Is one from heaven sent.
Don Bosco’s cry resounded,
“Lord, give me souls” to love.
I’ve one for you, dear patron,
God’s sweetest little dove.
Written By: Matthew Giardina
As we enter into this season of Lent, we are given scripture passages that focus our attention on fasting. From the Old Testament, Isaiah prophesies to the people that God is not pleased with them when they go around with their heads bowed, robed in sackcloth, and covered in ashes (Isaiah 58:5).
Isaiah goes on to speak the words of God by proclaiming that true fasting is to release those bound unjustly, to set free the oppressed, share your bread with the hungry, to clothe the naked, to shelter the oppressed and homeless (Isaiah 58:6-7). Does this sound familiar to you? It should, because Jesus said the same thing to his disciples when describing the kingdom of God. He said when the Son of Man comes in glory he will separate the sheep from the goats, and to the sheep he will say I was hungry, and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, a stranger and you welcomed me, naked and you clothed me, ill and you cared for me, in prison and you visited me (Matthew 25:35-36). These disciples inherit the kingdom of heaven.
What does this have to do with fasting, though? Let’s think through the process of giving to those in need. If I have food, God is calling me to give it to someone who doesn’t have food. If I then give what I have to those who have not, I, in turn, will not have it myself. If I’ve given away the food I was planning to eat, then I have nothing to eat. I have intentionally made myself hungry for the sake of another. What do we call it when we intentionally go without food? We call it fasting. Not only do we call it fasting, but more importantly, God calls it fasting. For it is not enough to give from our surplus; it is not enough to give only from what we have left over after we’ve completely satisfied ourselves. This is not true giving.
Let’s look at another example from the gospels to see this through the eyes of Jesus. Jesus sat near the treasury and observed how many rich people put in large sums of money. A poor widow also came and put in two small coins worth a few cents. Calling his disciples to himself, he said to them, “Amen, I say to you, this poor widow put in more than all the other contributors to the treasury. For they have all contributed from their surplus wealth, but she, from her poverty, has contributed all she had, her whole livelihood.” (Mark 12:43-44)
Again, what does this have to do with fasting? The woman, after making her offering, went home with nothing. She had contributed all she had, her whole livelihood. We can assume she fasted as a result, for she had nothing left. The rich people, on the other hand, likely went home with more than enough to satisfy all their wants and needs.
We see a very similar example of this in the Old Testament. During the time of the prophet Elijah there was a great drought and famine throughout the land. The Lord instructed Elijah to go to a specific region where he would find a widow who would provide for him. When the prophet Elijah meets the widow he first asks her for water, and then a little bread. Upon hearing that the woman has only a handful of flour in her jar and a little oil in her jug, and that she was just collecting a couple of sticks to go in and prepare something for herself and her son, and after they’ve eaten it, they will die, Elijah proceeds to ask the poor woman to bake him a cake. A cake! Really, Elijah? But the woman does as he says, because Elijah tells her that the Lord, the God of Israel, says, “The jar of flour shall not go empty, nor the jug of oil run dry, until the day when the Lord sends rain upon the earth.” (1 Kings 17:12-14) As a result of her faithful generosity, the woman and her son have enough food to keep them alive through the rest of the famine.
It is this type of generosity that God is calling us to in our true fasting. We often miss this, I think. We look at fasting through the wrong lens. We see only the giving up, and try to rationalize the good that we are doing. It’s hard to make sense of it, but in our creativity we’ve come up with some reasons that appear acceptable if you close one eye and don’t look out of the other. Is this how God meant it to be?
I’ll give the example of my sacrifice this Lent. I’m giving up coffee, which to me, feels like a real sacrifice. I struggle to make it through a long day at work without it. I feel the suffering, and I offer it up to the Lord along with my prayers for those who are suffering more than I. This is good, right? The concept of redemptive suffering is a real thing, don’t get me wrong, and we should absolutely offer our suffering up for others. But the question is not whether good can come from our suffering. The question is whether that is the type of fasting God desires. My sacrifice of coffee is with the best intentions, but isn’t that the stuff they pave the road to hell with? Sacrificing coffee for Lent and then offering up my suffering to God is not a bad thing, but it’s similar to receiving free all-inclusive passes to Disneyworld, loading the kids in the van, driving to Buc-ee’s, deciding we’ve gone far enough, and returning home. Buc-ee’s is great, but it’s not Disney-world. I love stopping at Buc-ee’s any chance I get, but it’s never a final destination. Similarly, offering our suffering for the good of others is great, and we should do it daily, but we can’t stop at that.
Imagine walking down a city street and seeing a man lying on the ground, starving to death, and you’ve got a giant foot-long subway sandwich in your hands. The man is too weak even to speak, but you know from the look in his eyes that he needs food, or else he will die. Imagine then that you take all twelve inches of that tasty sub and throw it in the nearest trash can. You then tell the man you really wanted to eat that sandwich yourself, but you sacrificed it for his sake, and you’ll offer your suffering up for him. Is that what Jesus meant when he said, “I was hungry, and you gave me food?” Hardly. I’m pretty sure you’d find yourself in the herd of goats on the left, after being cursed by the poor man’s last breath.
The key is to distinguish the difference between the fasting God is calling us to during the season of Lent, and the suffering that we will experience naturally throughout the course of our lives. Suffering is something that happens to us, fasting is something we do of our own volition. We cannot avoid suffering, and when it comes, we should absolutely offer it up. But if we look at our Lenten sacrifice in the same way we look at all the other suffering we endure, then we’ll very quickly find ourselves behaving as the Israelites did when they went around with their heads bowed like a reed, lying in sackcloth and ashes. (Isaiah 58:5) It is exactly this behavior that God disdained.
Returning to my sacrifice of coffee, am I giving the coffee I don’t drink to someone who doesn’t have any? No, of course not. Everyone I know has all the coffee they could want. Am I taking the money I save by not buying coffee during Lent, and giving it to someone who is in need? Nope. I buy the cheapest coffee I can find, and the coffee I drink at work is free, so over the course of these 40 days of Lent I’ll probably save a whopping $7.42. Will I donate that $7.42 to the food bank? Nope. It will disappear. I’ll spend it on something else without even realizing it. In addition to giving up coffee, then, I need to pick up something else. Ideally the thing I pick up will be a service to another. But, as I reflect on these scripture passages, I’m not even sure giving up coffee is the best idea to begin with.
Maybe I should discern more deeply what type of sacrifice God desires me to make during Lent. As I think about it, I’m reminded that my company is going through a period of cash flow issues, and because my family’s income is completely dependent on my company’s income, we are currently looking for ways to trim our expenses so that we can make it through this period of financial “famine”. Guess what? The other day, in looking for ways to trim expenses, do you know what I did? I looked at all the organizations we donate money to, and I felt like we were giving more than we needed to, so I cancelled our automatic monthly payments to three of the organizations we support. Looking at that action through the lens of true fasting, I am convicted. Did I follow the example of the widow woman’s generosity? Not even close. I did the exact opposite, in fact. As I reflect on that decision in light of the scriptures, I recognize that God is currently giving me and my wife the opportunity to practice true fasting, and right in time for Lent! And what did I do? I turned down the offer. Instead of sacrificing something in order to make it through this “famine”, I closed my hand to those in need. Instead of trusting that God would provide, I turned my thoughts and cares inward, looking out for myself instead of others. I know what happens when we look out for ourselves first. When we try to take care of ourselves, rather than giving God the opportunity to help us. What happens is that God allows us to handle things ourselves. He grants our request, knowing full well that we are incapable of it.
Thanks be to God, He has given me this insight so soon after I made my mistake, and so, after realizing it, I went back and reinstated our monthly donations for a greater amount than what I had canceled. Things may get worse before they get better. In fact, things might get really bad, and may never get better in my lifetime. But I will remain steadfast, with God’s help, and come what may I will do my best to give praise to God regardless of my circumstances. In truth, I am still so far from being in the position of the widow woman who was literally on the brink of death. The move I made was to protect our “emergency fund”, not our livelihood.
The main point I’ve tried to make thus far is essentially summed up in the two greatest commandments, you shall love the Lord, your God, with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind, and you shall love your neighbor as yourself. (Matthew 22:37-39) The examples I’ve given may lead you to think I’m proposing that true fasting consists only in serving the poor, but in truth, what I’m proposing is a more complete adherence to the greatest commandments. We are all poor in one way or another, so every opportunity to serve another human being is an opportunity to serve the poor.
To elaborate on this point, I’ll give another example. When a man and woman are joined in marriage, they are vowing to accept children from God. As you may know, the Catholic Church is pretty clear that a married couple should be open to life, and that all forms of contraception are forbidden. This is hard for many people to accept, given that pretty much the entire rest of the world, maybe with the exception of the Mormons, practice various types of contraception. So why are we called to accept children with open arms? Let’s think about a baby, first of all. When they are first born, they’re naked, right? And who typically clothes them? The mother and father do. They’re hungry and thirsty all the time, it seems like, and who gives them food and drink? The mother and father. Babies cry more than anyone else on earth, because they are afflicted in many ways, including teething, dirty diapers, the complete inability to help themselves. Who comforts them? The mother and father do. When a baby is sick, who cares for it? You guessed it; the mother and father do. So, in being open to life we are given every opportunity to do those things that Jesus said would merit us entry into the kingdom of heaven. What a blessing it is, then, for a mother and father to go through the trials and struggles that come with receiving new life into their homes!
The service a mother and father give their children is an act of loving our neighbor, and more often than not, when speaking of parents serving their children, there is real sacrifice involved. Enter: true fasting. Personally, one of the things I struggle the most with in regard to my children is the ability to set my own wants to the side at bedtime and give my children the attention they need. My kids have a hard time going to sleep at night, as I imagine most kids do, and really all they want is for me and my wife to be near them. That sounds so simple, right? Bedtime would be so much easier if I could just sit next to their bed and tell them a story, or hold them and sing to them, or lay next to them, or get them a cup of water for the fifth time, or whatever else it is they’re asking me to do. The bedtime problem would be solved. So why don’t I do it? I don’t do it because my kids’ bedtime also happens to be the time I get really hungry for a big bowl of Cheerios and peanut butter, and when the pantry is stocked, a few M&M’s as well. I want that evening snack, and my kids are preventing me from having it. So, I yell at them, I try to rush them to bed, I ask them why they’re so difficult all the time. When in reality, the only reason their inability to fall asleep even bothers me is because I have something else I want to do. What an opportunity! It’s so obvious, right? My kids need me at bedtime, but I want my Cheerios and peanut butter. What if I gave up my Cheerios and peanut butter in order to spend time with my kids? What if I made that sacrifice for them? What if I fasted from that snack that directly prevents me from loving my kids in the moment they need it most? I think that might be the type of true fasting God is talking about. Maybe you aren’t a Cheerios and peanut butter junky like me. Maybe you want your kids to go to bed so you can have a glass of wine, or watch the next episode of your favorite show, or catch the end of the ball game. Whatever it is, consider giving it up as a sacrifice for the good of your children, and praise God through the struggle.
I’ll take this openness to new life and our relationship with our kids one step further. Often, we are afraid to have more children because we think we are incapable of financially supporting them. In truth, what most of us are afraid of is not that we’ll be subjected to poverty, or put out on the streets, or unable to give them the bare necessities. What we are truly afraid of is that we may not be able to have a bunch of kids, and have all the other things we want, too. If we have another kid, won’t that mean I can’t afford that new car I’ve been wanting? Maybe not. Maybe I’ll be forced to continue driving my old clunker for a few more years. Would that be so awful? It might feel awful, but it’s an awfully good way to practice true fasting. God is calling us to give up those things we want as an offering to Him, and openness to new life is overflowing with opportunities to do this.
Therefore, this Lenten season, I invite you to practice True Fasting. Spend time reflecting on your own life and look for those moments when what you want is in direct conflict with what your neighbor wants. Could that be an opportunity to sacrifice your desires for the good of another? If so, let that be your fast. Embrace the suffering that comes with it, offer that suffering up, love God, and love your neighbor. I may decide later today that I’m going to have a nice hot cup of coffee, because I can’t figure out who I’m helping by giving that up, but maybe I’ll skip the Cheerios and peanut butter tonight, and give my kids what they need instead.
Written by: Matthew Giardina
