Place your hope in God alone. (Rule of Saint Benedict 4. 41)
When glaciers recede, at first the mountains they expose are as bare as the moon. But up the stark cliffs the lichen first, then the wild sweet peas, then the alders grow. Evergreen forests, moose and bear come to thrive on slopes relieved of eons of ice. The grizzlies and the bald eagles multiply, given a habitat and half a chance.
What about us? Can we come back?
It’s a spiritual ice age, these days. Cool people tell us that we emerged randomly from nothing and will soon dissolve back into nothing. Who cares? They say our impulses control us. We can’t alter our destructive habits, so we might as well yield to what’s killing us. Give up. Despair. End it. Take everyone down with you.
But the true Church holds onto the warmth of love and holds out for the thrill of life lived in harmony with our Creator. The Christian hope is redemption.
Redemption is a process: a slow one. Glaciers and fingernails move at about the same speed. So do souls.
Redemption is a transformation that we willingly participate in. We surrender the parts of ourselves that are mean or petty, that clash with the character of the One who made us. The God who formed the universe and who endows each tiny creature with its own particular beauty also calls each one of us. He wants to pull us towards him, but he gives us our freedom. We participate willingly or not at all.
First we must reconcile with the source of goodness, in order to develop goodness ourselves. Then we let our old identity die away even as a new identity forms within. The new person gets up every day and struggles to do the right thing. It’s not a futile struggle. It’s the exertion of the caterpillar morphing into the butterfly. Every decision you make against evil for good contributes to your eternal form. What you will be has not yet been revealed, but it will be glorious.
Look around and observe glimpses of glory. God is always at work everywhere for good. Contemplate what he has already done.
Right now you may feel slimy, constrained and exhausted. But you get stronger as you keep trying. The effort is part of the process. You’re not producing anything: you’re becoming someone. For a while, you have fewer powers, not more. The force of rage has dissipated. Your new source of strength is the Spirit who is peaceful, everywhere and constant.
Your new movements are awkward at first, but soon enough you’ll stretch wings and be flying. It’s a whole new experience of reality. No regrets for the dry husk left behind.
