Seized by Christ

They are experiencing Christianity as joy and hope, having thus become lovers of Christ.

Category: Health, Suffering, & Mortality

The spiritual meaning of sickness, mortality, and the stewardship of the physical body.

  • Groaning for New Creation:

    Groaning for New Creation:

    What Romans 8 Teaches Us About Suffering and Heroism

    A powerful passage from Romans 8 offers a vivid picture of how God brings new life into the world. In it, St. Paul describes creation itself as being in labor—groaning and travailing in pain as it waits for something better to be born.

    Quick Look at the Passage

    Paul writes that “the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the sons of God” (Romans 8:19). Right now, the world is broken and full of suffering. It’s like a mother in childbirth: intense, uncomfortable, and full of groans.

    Creation isn’t passively waiting. It’s actively straining toward the moment when God’s people—mature, adopted sons and daughters conformed to Christ—will be fully revealed in glory.

    Believers aren’t spectators either. We “groan inwardly” too (v. 23) as we share in Christ’s sufferings now, so we can share in His glory later. The Christian life, Paul says, is one of co-laboring with God. New creation doesn’t just happen to us. It comes through us—through ordinary people who say yes to responsibility, die to self, and keep going when it hurts.

    The childbirth image is perfect because it’s honest: there is no birth without labor. Comfort that avoids all pain short-circuits the process. Real fruitfulness requires travail.

    Why This Matters for Everyday Heroes

    In times of cultural or personal crisis, old ways pass away and something new struggles to be born. The “heroes” who step forward aren’t the loudest or the most comfortable. They are the ones willing to embrace the groaning:

    • They accept difficulty or marginalization instead of escaping into distraction.
    • They take up responsibility when it would be easier to stay passive.
    • They practice the daily disciplines of dying to self—forgiveness, honesty, service, prayer—so that Christ’s life can come through them.

    This is the hero’s journey in biblical terms: suffering, responsibility, and then new life. Scripture links the two sides tightly. No labor, no birth.

    As one reflection put it:

    “New life does not come without labor. The heroes who step forward are those willing to embrace that suffering and responsibility, dying to self so that the new creation can be born through them.”

    A Simple Invitation

    If you’re feeling the weight of the times—the groans in your own heart or in the world around you—take heart. That discomfort may be the very sign that something good is coming. Don’t numb it or run from it. Offer it to God. Let it form you into the mature son or daughter He’s calling you to be.

    The revealing of the sons of God is worth the labor. Creation itself is counting on it.

  • Dying to Live:

    Dying to Live:

    Marginalization, the Hero’s Journey, and Becoming One with Christ

    Several weeks ago, the Sunday reading spoke of those who are alive in Christ having also died with Christ. I’ve been meditating on this ever since, and it strikes me as literally true in the deepest sense.

    Those who truly identify with Christ have gone through a death to themselves and a rebirth in the Spirit. In their own lives, they have experienced a death to the old self—often painful—followed by an inspiration, an awakening that makes them one with Christ in a real, transformative way.

    Christ died for our sins. Our own death to self is frequently the direct result of our sins, our avoidance, our need for control. In this way, we participate in “paying for our sins”—not as a way to earn salvation, but as the lived reality of union with the One who paid the full price.

    United with Christ in Death and Life

    The New Testament doesn’t present this as a metaphor to admire from a distance. It is a spiritual reality we are invited to enter:

    “I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me. The life I now live in the body, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me.”
    — Galatians 2:20

    “Or don’t you know that all of us who were baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death? We were therefore buried with him through baptism into death in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead through the glory of the Father, we too may live a new life.”
    — Romans 6:3-4

    “For you died, and your life is now hidden with Christ in God.”
    — Colossians 3:3

    “Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here!”
    — 2 Corinthians 5:17

    We are called to count ourselves “dead to sin but alive to God in Christ Jesus” (Romans 6:11). This is not something we achieve by effort alone; it is something we receive by faith and live out daily.

    Marginalization: The Common Doorway

    Everyone who becomes truly one with Christ has been marginalized in some way—by society, by circumstances, or by the consequences of their own sins.

    Jesus made this abundantly clear:

    “It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance.”
    — Luke 5:31-32 (see also Mark 2:17, Matthew 9:13)

    He spent His time with tax collectors, prostitutes, lepers, and outcasts—the people on the margins. The parables of the lost sheep, the lost coin, and the prodigal son all celebrate the joy in heaven over one sinner who repents.

    The ones who start life on the margins often have only one direction to go: upward, toward God. For the rest of us, the death to self usually comes—willingly through surrender or unwillingly through crisis.

    When Society Makes “Hitting Bottom” Difficult

    Our modern society, with its genuine compassion and generous safety nets, often makes it hard for anyone to actually reach the margins or fall completely off the edge. While these supports help many people in real, practical ways, they can also unintentionally prevent the kind of desperation that forces us to confront our need for God.

    Many people live comfortable, respectable lives that never quite bring them to the end of themselves. As a result, the dramatic “come to Jesus” moment that so many saints and ordinary believers describe remains elusive.

    If You Haven’t Had Your “Come to Jesus” Moment Yet

    If you’re reading this and thinking, “I don’t believe I’ve had that moment yet—what can I do?”, then you have already been stirred by grace. The very fact that you’re asking shows the Spirit is at work.

    The next step is honest self-examination: Are you satisfied with your current state? If the answer is no, then the invitation is clear—undertake the hero’s journey. Seek God with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength.

    One of the most powerful examples is the prodigal son. He had to hit rock bottom—feeding pigs, longing for their food—before he “came to his senses” and returned home. His father didn’t wait on the porch; he ran to meet him.

    Basic Training for the Journey

    While on this journey, we need practical disciplines—the “basic training” of the Christian life:

    • Prayer — to grow in humility and dependence on God.
    • Fasting or voluntary sacrifice — to help overcome our passions and disordered desires.
    • Charity (generosity toward others) — to grow in the selfless love of Christ. This means actively looking for the good of the other and taking our eyes off ourselves.

    These three practices—prayer, fasting, and almsgiving—appear throughout Scripture as the classic path of transformation. As we faithfully “fill these water jars,” God does what only He can do: He reveals Himself and turns our ordinary water into wine.

    The Transformation Is Real

    This is not a self-improvement project. It is participation in the death and resurrection of Jesus. The old self dies (sometimes kicking and screaming), and the new creation emerges. Christ lives in us.

    The journey may begin with pain or dissatisfaction, but it ends in freedom, love, and the joy of knowing we are no longer our own.

    If this reflection resonates with you, I invite you to begin—or continue—the journey today. Start small: an honest prayer of surrender, one act of generosity, or a simple fast from something that has too much hold on you.

    God is not waiting for you to be perfect. He is waiting for you to come to the end of yourself—so He can raise you to new life in Him.

    Have you experienced a “death to self” moment in your own life? What practices have helped you most on the journey? I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments.

  • What About Those Who Lose Faith in Times of Crisis?

    What About Those Who Lose Faith in Times of Crisis?

    When the Shaking Hits Home

    What About Those Who Lose Faith?

    In my last reflection, I wrote about how the Church has endured massive instability — Arianism, the Reformation, Modernism — and how each crisis felt like the very ground was shaking. Yet every time, God raised up saints who preserved and renewed the faith. He has not abandoned His Church.

    But an uncomfortable question remains: what about those who don’t make it through the shaking? What about those who lose their faith?

    Why We Must Care

    Jesus took this seriously. He warned, “Whoever causes one of these little ones who believe in me to sin, it would be better for him to have a great millstone fastened around his neck and to be drowned in the depth of the sea” (Matthew 18:6). Many ordinary Catholics grew up believing the Church was a solid rock. When scandals, confusion, or division appear, they feel betrayed. Some quietly walk away, concluding the whole thing was never true. That is a real tragedy, and we should feel sorrow over every soul that drifts.

    Why Some Faith Collapses

    At the same time, much of today’s faith is built on thin soil. Cultural Catholicism, social habit, or sentimental attachment can look strong in good times but cracks quickly under pressure. This is exactly what Jesus described in the Parable of the Sower: seed that springs up fast on rocky ground, but withers when the sun beats down (Matthew 13:5-6, 20-21).

    The Tension We Carry

    Here is the hard truth we live with:

    • Every soul is infinitely precious to God. He desires none to be lost (cf. 2 Peter 3:9).
    • Yet trial has a purifying purpose. Untested faith rarely grows deep.
    • Many of the greatest saints began with weak, shaky, or even childish faith. What changed them was being forced to wrestle honestly with their doubts, cling to Christ in the darkness, and emerge purified.

    A Sifting for Our Time

    Perhaps God is allowing a sifting. Shallow faith collapses. But others, seeing the cracks, are driven to press closer to Christ and discover what is truly real. History shows this pattern repeatedly: crisis exposes, purifies, and eventually raises up stronger witnesses.

    It is not easy to live in such days. Watching people we love lose faith is painful. But we are not without hope. The same Lord who walked with the disciples through the storm is walking with us. The Rock has not moved.

    The Choice Before Us

    The shaking will reveal what our faith is built upon. Will it drive us away in bitterness or disappointment? Or will it drive us deeper into Jesus Christ — the only foundation that cannot be shaken (cf. Hebrews 12:26-28)?

    Let us pray fervently for those whose faith is wavering. Let us strengthen what remains in ourselves. And let us trust that even now, God is raising up the saints our age so desperately needs.

  • Why Chaos Is the Only Way to See Your Crown

    Why Chaos Is the Only Way to See Your Crown

    The prophet Daniel sees a vision that still terrifies readers today. In a dream, he watches the great sea churned by violent winds. From those dark waters rise four monstrous beasts — wild, devouring, and trampling everything in their path (Daniel 7:2-14).This is not just ancient history. It is a picture of what happens inside us when chaos hits.The “great sea” represents our own soul in turmoil. The beasts are the raw, destructive passions that rise up when life feels out of control: crushing fear, raging anger, the desperate need to dominate people or circumstances. When the winds of crisis blow, these inner beasts awaken and threaten to devour our peace.

    But God does not leave us there.

    Right in the middle of the terror comes a clear, supernatural command — the Gospel acclamation we hear today:

    “Stand erect and hold your heads high, because your liberation is near at hand.” (Luke 21:28)

    This is the turning point.

    Our natural instinct when beasts appear is to run or freeze. But the Lord calls us to something higher: a deliberate, Spirit-led posture. To stand erect is to refuse to let fear or chaos define us. It is the moment the will, strengthened by grace, takes its proper place and says, “My identity does not rest on how stable my life feels right now.”

    The beasts look powerful, but they are temporary.

    Daniel’s vision ends with a far greater sight: the Ancient of Days seated on the throne, and “one like a son of man” coming on the clouds to receive an everlasting kingdom (Daniel 7:13-14).

    Jesus deliberately takes this title — Son of Man — for Himself. His Kingdom is not temporary like the beasts. As He says in the Gospel:

    “Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will never pass away.” (Luke 21:33)

    The chaos is loud. The Word is quiet. But only one of them lasts.

    Look at the Fig Tree

    Jesus gives us a simple image:

    “Consider the fig tree and all the other trees. When their buds burst open, you see for yourselves and know that summer is now near. In the same way, when you see these things happening, know that the Kingdom of God is near.” (Luke 21:29-31)

    Even in the middle of chaos we are meant to look for signs of the Kingdom breaking through — small buds of patience, compassion, trust, or peace where there used to be only fear and anger.So what does “standing erect” actually look like in daily life?

    • Stop feeding the beasts. Limit what stirs up unnecessary fear, comparison, or rage.
    • Anchor yourself in the Word. When the roar gets loud, speak Christ’s promises out loud.
    • Look for the buds. Ask: Where is grace trying to grow in me right now?

    Chaos is painful, but it is often the only place where we finally see our true Crown — the eternal kingship of Christ that the beasts can never touch.

    Stand tall. Your liberation is drawing near.

  • When Feelings Become the Main Goal

    If the highest goal in life is simply “feeling happy,” then good emotions become the scoreboard.

    But feelings are fleeting. A great meal, a kind word, or a small win can lift you — then a headache, bad news, or ordinary tiredness knocks you flat.

    When we build our lives around chasing the next good feeling, three things happen:

    • Shallowness: We avoid anything deep or difficult — hard conversations, sacrificial love, honest self-examination, or spiritual growth — because discomfort feels like failure.
    • Avoidance: Challenges get sidestepped. Why fix a struggling marriage, push through boring but meaningful work, or confront our weaknesses when quitting feels better in the moment?
    • Fragility: We become brittle. The smallest setback — rejection, illness, financial stress — can shatter our sense of worth.

    Chasing feelings flattens life. Everything shrinks to “How do I feel right now?”

    Why This Collides with Deep Faith

    Christianity (and many historic religious traditions) directly contradicts this. At its center stands the Cross. Jesus did not promise constant happiness. He carried a cross, suffered, died, and told His followers, “Take up your cross and follow Me.”

    The path to resurrection runs through suffering, not around it. Real love, real growth, and real joy are forged in the fire, not the comfort zone.

    What This Looks Like in Practice

    The person chasing feelings quits when marriage gets hard, work feels mundane, or sickness comes.

    The person following the Cross stays faithful, keeps loving, keeps showing up — even when it hurts. Over time they grow stronger, not more fragile.

    This is the hero’s journey: the hero leaves comfort, faces the dragon, and returns transformed. The battle isn’t pleasant, but it’s where character is built.

    The Better Way

    Don’t let your feelings run your life. Make union with Christ — along with truth, duty, and love — your North Star. Seek to become the kind of person who can stand firm when feelings are low. Feelings are gifts to enjoy when they arrive, but they make terrible masters. The Cross offers something far better: a deep, resilient joy that circumstances cannot steal.

    Face the dragon. Carry the cross. On the other side waits a life of real weight, real meaning, and real strength.

    Where in your life are you tempted to prioritize comfort over the Cross?

  • You Are Not Hidden:

    You Are Not Hidden:

    Isaiah and the Lie of Abandonment

    There is a lie that strikes at the deepest part of the human heart: My way is hidden from the Lord, and my right is disregarded by my God (Isaiah 40:27).

    We all know the feeling. Life grows heavy. Circumstances pile up. Prayers seem to echo unanswered. In those moments, the mind quietly rewrites reality: God doesn’t see this. He’s indifferent. I’m carrying it alone. Isaiah 40 confronts that lie with thunderous clarity. The passage does not offer vague comfort; it dismantles the deception with the character of God Himself.

    The God Who Does Not Tire

    Look at who Isaiah says the Lord is: “The everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. He does not faint or grow weary; his understanding is unsearchable” (40:28).

    This is no distant deity running low on patience. The same God who spoke galaxies into existence never reaches the end of His strength. When your reserves are empty—when you “grow faint” and “fall exhausted” (40:30)—His power remains undiminished. He is not limited by the same exhaustion that cripples us. He sees the full picture even when we cannot see the next step.

    The Promise of Renewal

    The beauty of Isaiah’s words peaks in verses 29–31:

    “He gives power to the faint, and to him who has no might he increases strength. Even youths shall faint and be weary, and young men shall fall exhausted; but they who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint.”

    Notice the progression. The passage moves from total depletion to supernatural renewal—but the key is in the posture: those who wait for the Lord. This is not passive resignation. Biblical waiting is active trust: fixing your eyes on the One who is never weary while you feel very weary. It is the decision to believe the truth over the lie.

    In the language of story, every hero’s journey includes a threshold where human strength fails. The protagonist reaches the limit of what they can do in their own power. The Christian story diverges here. God does not wait at the far side of the trial with a trophy. He meets you in the middle of it. He strengthens you on the way. He lifts when you cannot stand. He carries when you cannot walk.

    The Lie Exposed

    So the lie is exposed: you are not hidden. You are not abandoned. Your destiny is not overlooked. The God who created the stars (40:26) knows your name, counts your tears, and holds your future. The same hands that never grow tired are the ones that uphold you.

    This is the truth Isaiah demands we remember when the whisper returns. You do not walk unseen. You do not fight alone. The everlasting God walks with you, renews you, and gives you strength that outlasts your own.

    When the feeling of abandonment rises again—and it will—return to Isaiah 40. Read it slowly. Speak it out loud. Let the words rewrite the story your fear is trying to tell. The Lord has not forgotten you. He never will.

    “They who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength.”

    Hold on to that. The eagle does not flap frantically; it rides the wind. So will you, if you fix your hope on the God who never wearies.

  • Not All Suffering Is Redemptive

    We hear a lot about how suffering builds character. “Face the dragon.” “Pick up your cross.” “Embrace the struggle.” These ideas can be powerful and true. But we need balance.

    Not all suffering is good. Not every pain leads to growth.

    The Danger of Romanticizing Pain

    It’s easy to turn suffering into something noble and heroic. We love stories of people who overcame huge trials. But if we’re not careful, we start glorifying pain itself. That’s a mistake. Some suffering doesn’t make you stronger. It just breaks you.

    Examples:

    • Pointless cruelty — abuse, torture, or evil done for no reason
    • Chronic illness that slowly drains your life with no clear purpose
    • Deep trauma that leaves lasting fear, wounds, and brokenness

    In these situations, simply saying “just endure it” or “God will use it” can feel cold and even harmful. It can pile guilt on top of the pain.

    What the Bible Actually Shows

    Christianity doesn’t pretend this is simple. The Bible wrestles with the “problem of evil” — why a good God allows terrible suffering. Jesus Himself cried out on the cross, “My God, why have you forsaken me?” He knows real pain.

    Jesus also prayed in the garden, “Father, if it’s possible, let this cup pass from me.” He didn’t chase suffering because He loved pain. He accepted it for a greater purpose.

    When “Loving Struggle” Goes Wrong

    If we start loving hardship for its own sake, it can become self-destructive. Some people stay in bad relationships, refuse needed help, or push themselves until they break — all while calling it “being strong.” That’s not heroic. It’s unwise.

    The Wise Path

    Real wisdom is learning to discern:

    • Which hardships should I face and grow through?
    • Which ones should I resist, reduce, heal from, or walk away from?

    Not every hard thing is a cross God wants you to carry forever.

    The balanced way forward looks like this:

    • Face the dragons you’re truly called to face (your own weaknesses, responsibilities, honest repentance).
    • Seek help and healing for the wounds that are crushing you.
    • Fight evil and injustice where you can.
    • Ask God for wisdom to know the difference.

    Suffering is part of life. Some of it will refine and strengthen us. Some of it will simply hurt — and that’s okay to admit. Even destructive suffering can sometimes lead to growth later, but we can’t assume that will always happen.

    You weren’t made to chase comfort at all costs.

    But you also weren’t made to chase pain at all costs.

    Walk with wisdom. Carry the right cross. Seek healing when you need it. And trust that God meets you in both the battles and the recovery.

  • The Geometry of Grace:

    The Geometry of Grace:

    Why the Yoke is Actually Light

    We’ve all heard the cynical refrain: “Misfortune falls on the good and the bad alike.” We treat life like a chaotic lottery where lightning strikes the saint and the sinner with equal indifference.

    But is that actually true?

    If we look through the lenses of Catholic Exegesis, Neurobiology, and the Hero’s Journey, we discover a startling reality: Grace isn’t just a theological “extra.” It is a fundamental shift in how a human being interacts with reality.

    1. The Suburbs of Heaven

    C.S. Lewis famously suggested that for those who say “Yes” to God, this life is the beginning of Heaven; for those who say “No,” it is the beginning of Hell.

    This isn’t just a poetic thought. It is a description of an internal ecosystem. The Book of Wisdom tells us that those who do good fare well. When you live a life of grace, you are no longer rowing against the current of the universe. You are aligned with the Creator’s design. This alignment creates a “protective shield”—not by magic, but by a radical reordering of your life.

    2. The Biological Advantage of Peace

    Let’s look at the “structure of the brain.” A life of sin—gluttony, drunkenness, aggressive driving, or constant domestic strife—keeps the brain in a state of chronic Amygdala Hijack. This is the “fight or flight” center. When it’s overactive, your body is flooded with cortisol, your immune system weakens, and your peripheral vision literally narrows. You become more “prone to injury” and “susceptible to accidents” because your brain is too cluttered to pay attention.

    A “Real Christian,” however, operates from the Prefrontal Cortex—the seat of peace and discernment. By practicing chastity, fasting, and a clean conscience, you are essentially “fine-tuning” your biological machine.

    • Better Sleep: Because your conscience is clear.
    • Less Sickness: Because your stress levels are lower and your habits are more responsible.
    • Fewer Accidents: Because you are “less in a hurry” and more aware of the people around you.

    3. The Hero’s Risk and the Martyr’s Paradox

    Now, there is one place where the “Safety of Grace” seems to fail: Sacrifice. In the classic Hero’s Journey, the protagonist eventually leaves the “Safe Zone” to face the dragon for the sake of the village. For the Christian, this is the call to be a Martyr or a servant. We are much more willing to take an injury for others.

    But even here, the experience is different. As Brother Lawrence noted, God does not permit a soul totally abandoned to Him to suffer for “any appreciable length of time” without Divine support. When the world sees a catastrophe, the Christian sees a rebirth.

    4. A Different Dimension of Suffering

    When trials do come—and they will—the “Real Christian” isn’t living in the same dimension as the worldling. For those living only for this world, a trial is “sheer hell” because it threatens their only treasure.

    For the person in Grace, suffering is Sacred Alchemy. Following the thought of St. John Paul II, we see that suffering:

    1. Consumes Evil: It burns away the parts of our ego that we haven’t yet surrendered.
    2. Acts as Penance: It helps us understand the true cost of sin—our own and others’.
    3. Opens a Door: It is the “New Jerusalem” mindset, asking not “Why is this happening to me?” but “What is God trying to show me?”

    The Call to Action: Die to the Hurry

    Spiritual transformation isn’t a theory; it’s a practice. If you want to experience this “Light Yoke,” start with the Great Simplification. * Clean your conscience: Go to Confession and clear the mental clutter.

    • Audit your pace: Intentionally move slower this week. Watch how your “luck” changes when you are no longer in a frantic hurry.
    • Fix your eyes: When the next trial hits, ask God for the strength to see it as a “door” rather than a “wall.”

    Edited with assistance from Gemini

  • The Holy Paradox: Why Choosing Christ Doesn’t Make You “Better”

    The Holy Paradox: Why Choosing Christ Doesn’t Make You “Better”

    Moving from the Ego’s “Us vs. Them” to the Radical Humility of the Father’s Eyes.

    The Subtle Poison of Religious Pride

    When we decide to give our lives to Christ, we cross a threshold. It feels like a victory—and in many ways, it is. But right behind that victory lurks a subtle, spiritual poison. We begin to look at the world through a lens of “us” and “them.” We start to wonder: Am I better than they are?

    The short, jarring answer is: No.

    In the economy of Grace, there is no “better.” There is only the called, the seeking, and the found.

    The Myth of the Self-Made Saint

    We like to think our “Yes” to God is a personal achievement. We treat it like a trophy we earned. But Catholic Exegesis and the history of the Saints tell a different story.

    It is God who provides the environment. It is God who provides the attitude. It is God who guides the choice. You didn’t invent the air you breathe; you simply finally decided to stop holding your breath. Even the initiative to seek Him is a grace He provided.

    Key Insight: All that is good in us comes from Him. All that is evil in us is simply that which has not yet died.

    Beyond the “Sheep and Goats” Mentality

    Our brains are wired to categorize, to judge, and to rank. But to live a life of grace is to override those biological shortcuts and adopt The Father’s Eyes.

    When we look at someone “trapped by sin” or “downtrodden,” we are seeing only the surface. We have no idea what is happening in the deep recesses of their heart. Consider these three truths:

    1. The Invisible Battle: That person may be fighting a psychological or spiritual slavery you cannot imagine.
    2. The Proximity of Grace: The “worse off” a person appears by our standards, the closer they may be to a total, explosive conversion.
    3. The Elder Brother Trap: Like the brother of the Prodigal Son, we can be “right” on the outside while being miles away from the Father’s heart on the inside.

    Suffering as Sacred Alchemy

    Transformation isn’t just about feeling good; it’s about dying to the self. St. John Paul II once wrote that there is a specific kind of suffering that “burns and consumes evil with the flame of love.” When we see someone struggling, we aren’t called to point a finger. We are called to step into the fire with them.

    Because we have been blessed with grace, we don’t have a higher status—we have a higher responsibility. We are called to suffer personally to help others overcome their shadows. This is the “Hero’s Journey” of the soul: descending into the mess of humanity to bring back the light.

    The Mirror: Fixing Our Eyes

    If you find yourself comparing your holiness to your neighbor’s, you have taken your eyes off the Prize.

    We still have enough of ourselves that needs redemption to keep us busy for several lifetimes. The goal isn’t to be “better” than the person in the pew next to you; it is to be more “dead to yourself” than you were yesterday.

    The Call to Action: Today, look at the person you are most tempted to judge. Instead of a “goat,” see a “lost sheep.” Instead of a “sinner,” see a “prodigal.” Ask for the grace to see them not as they are, but as the Father sees them.

    Developed with assistance from Gemini AI

  • The Man Who Lived a Myth (And Was Real)

    The Man Who Lived a Myth (And Was Real)

    If someone told you this story as fiction, you’d roll your eyes and say, “Come on, nobody’s life is that tidy.”

    A boy is born into one of France’s ancient noble families, bloodline reaching back to the Crusades, family motto: Jamais arrière—“Never back.”

    He loses his parents at six, inherits a fortune, and promptly becomes the most spoiled, lazy, and debauched young officer in the French cavalry: expelled from school, famous for orgies and gourmet dinners in the Algerian desert while on duty.

    At twenty-eight, something cracks open inside him. He walks into a Paris church and tells a priest, “I don’t believe in God, but teach me about Him anyway.”

    He gives everything away, joins the strictest monastery he can find, decides even that isn’t poor enough, and leaves.

    He disappears into the Sahara to live closer to the poorest of the poor (the Tuareg nomads whom his own army regards as enemies).

    He builds a tiny hermitage of mud bricks, learns their language, compiles the first real Tuareg-French dictionary while half-starving at 9,000 feet on a frozen plateau.

    He begs to be ordained a priest only so he can celebrate Mass alone in the desert, telling God, “I want to live where no one knows You, so that You are not alone there.”

    On the night of 1 December 1916, bandits come to kidnap him for ransom. A fifteen-year-old boy guarding him panics at the sound of approaching French camel troops and shoots the hermit through the head.

    He dies instantly, face in the sand, apparently a failure: no converts, no community, no one to carry on his vision.

    He is buried in a ditch.

    A century later, in 2022, the Catholic Church declares him a saint.

    Nineteen religious orders and lay communities (Little Brothers of Jesus, Little Sisters of Jesus, and many others) now live all over the world according to the rule he wrote for a brotherhood that never existed while he was alive.

    From prodigal son to desert hermit to forgotten martyr to spiritual father of thousands: his life follows the ancient hero’s journey so perfectly that it feels invented.

    Except it isn’t.

    Every detail is documented, photographed, witnessed.

    Charles de Foucauld (1858–1916) lived a legend, then died in obscurity, and only then did the legend begin to walk on its own.

    Sometimes reality is allowed to be more beautiful than myth.

    Feel free to share.

    (If you want a one-sentence version for social media:

    “Rich playboy → atheist officer → Trappist monk → Sahara hermit → murdered by a scared teenager → canonized saint whose spiritual children now circle the globe. Charles de Foucauld didn’t just live a myth. He lived the whole myth, and it was true.”)

    Further reading
    • Charles de Foucauld’s own letters and spiritual writings are collected in Charles de Foucauld: Essential Writings (Orbis Books, 1999)
    • The best single biography in English remains Jean-Jacques Antier, Charles de Foucauld (Ignatius Press)
    • Pope Francis on Charles: Gaudete et Exsultate §§66–68 (free at vatican.va)
    • Pope Leo XIV’s recent references appear in Dilexi Te (2025), §§42–45

    This reflection was shaped in conversation with Grok (xAI), December 2025.