IT WAS JOY, sheer and sure, to go back to “Consoling the Heart of Jesus” and read that I’m not a melancholic like Fr. Michael (mushy, probably, because I get affected by heart-tuggers but depression does not bother me anymore). On the contrary, I was on the third part of the ecce-fiat-magnificat shout-out, a relief from the tear-jerking “Laika” space-race story I was happy to get out of.
I’m now in Fr. Michael’s (Appendix I) battle for spiritual joy, what he calls the roller coaster ride of consolations and desolations. He didn’t need to cheer me up because I was glad to go back to the book where he described me as being a (now) bubbly type who will find the Appendix helpful, where he introduces the reader to the right weapons for battle, his simplified version of St. Ignatius’ exercises and St. Faustina’s experiential spirituality. He used the acronym AIR for Awareness, Identify and Respond. How timely, again, that Cita showed me her effort at scraping clean the chopping board that Aes asked her to. The one that he wrote grafitti on during his past battle with depression. He has been busy in the kitchen lately (because of Cita’s “bad weather”) and he thought of making better use of the wood, the Aware part of the Appendix, which of he has no knowledge. Mary’s hand at his decision, clear and evident. I’m just thankful that he is back in his element, cooking up dishes that we all love, up to insisting I twist UtoL’s arm for Lori’s chicken recipe which he could not get over with.
Fr. Michael said that the big part of the battle for spiritual joy is won simply by the awareness of the battle, and that it takes place in a roller coaster. There happens the ups (consolations) and downs (desolations) of life. Just like the actual ride, the best technique to deal with it is with eyes open (not shut, as though it will change the fear that goes with the thrill). As in life, with eyes closed, it is foolish to battle with unseen enemies. Especially, identifying them. When, in a state of consolation, we would feel a dip and drastically shift to desolation. We ought to control the choices we make during the ride ( on the car or in life) in order to keep an equilibrium that prefers to be up rather than down, not easily swayed by occasional feelings of fear, sadness or worry, but ever praising and giving thanks.
Once we’re able to confidently identify where we are, it becomes easy to respond through enjoying (eating up) the consolation, being humble about it and listening to what God is saying, in the course of the ride, being aware of whatever misery is being washed away by His mercy. Desolation disappearing because we have learned to recognize – and eat up – consolation, in humility and recognition that it’s God’s gift. With which, who would bother to be desolate?
Like Kuya Ed (Cultura), when he posted on the UCC chat site his belated gratitude for the prayers offered for his sister, Rosalia, who had leukemia and passed away last November 2. Which made me (tell him and) adjust her place from my petitions for the sick to prayers for the departed. In order not to repeat my error in praying for the healing and recovery of a former colleague in Abu Dhabi who died three years ago already, thanks to the corrective information of our mutual boss and friend.
God does know our hearts but it is our Christian duty to be compassionately aware of the propriety of our prayers. Unless we have a hotline to heaven’s archivist to update our data. In my heart of hearts, it will please God if our intentions are properly and spiritually disposed. Where did I read that prayer is supposed to be natural and instinctive, like a communion with another soul and, especially, God. It should not be routine or mechanical and, even if memorized from the utter constancy of habit, He will know if it’s felt. Particularly, one is not supposed, I think, to fall asleep in the middle of saying it. A Legionary priest once said an unforgetabble description of praying: It’s not the position but the disposition. If I may honor his quote with “submission,” I pray he receives a wishful petition that he is still in His graces.
The 3 pm alarm went off as I was preparing to position myself before the tabernacle. Punctuality being my middle name (in contrast to my delaying-sounding surname), I’ve made it a habit to never be late, not only as a personal dignity but also out of respect for the time of the other person/s. It was a Monday, day-off of most churches (and the church gates were locked, like last Saturday) so I ventured onto the garden Via Crucis. I was momentarily taken aback by the missing first station. This is what happens when one hasn’t been faithful to his erstwhile vows, mea maxima culpa. Another credit to both Ate Myla and Fr. Michael, never mind if it discredits me immensely. It was only for a while that I worried where the first station went (silly thought, really) because, on further examination, it was where it was supposed to be, only buried in thick shrubbery as to be visible. I filed a mental note before proceeding with the Way. The note accompanied me all the way so that it was my reflection after each prelude to prayer. It never left me until I got home.
The first thing I did was consult with UtoLiza on who to tell about it. Advent being upon us, I thought it would be a pity if Christ’s passion place were not given as much attention and commemoration as we do preparations for His First Coming. UtoL immediately agreed when I suggested Ate Thelma, our fellow bible-sharer, who is presently Vice-chair of the Parish Pastoral Council. She, in turn, was open to the idea and would have gladly brought up the idea to Kuya Noel, PPC Secretary, were it not for propriety. So I volunteered to do it on her behalf. Long story short, plans are afoot for the Mother Butler Guild to clean the entire garden which, surprise! they intend to plant with flowering plants for the additional purpose of growing them for their task of beautifying the altar.
It was no accident that last night was Day 5 of our TTJ. The theme was “Mary is our treasury.” Like my fellow pilgrims, I felt happy that, however humbly, I did a little part in recognizing Mary as the treasury of God’s graces by acting on the necessity of putting back in order the garden of her Son. And I had the help of my friends to do just that. My co-journeyers, except UtoL, did not know this. Yet I shared with them the joy that I discovered out of the feeble deed that I adopted. From joy to joy. Amen.
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