On Who I Is

Last weekend I went to see the rebooted Spider-Man movie. SPOILER ALERT: At the end of the movie there's a great line from a completely ancillary character (a high school teacher), who says, "I had a professor in college who told us that there were basically 10 plots in all of fiction. I disagree. There is only one: 'Who am I?'"

Okay, fine, so the spoiler is that I'm a nerd who went to see the rebooted Spider-Man movie.

Why is identity the fundamental question of fiction? Because art imitates nature and the fundamental question in all of our lives is who I am.
Let me tell you a story. It's a quick one, and, as usual, it's about me. Last Saturday I was visiting with a priest friend of mine, wasting time and playing guitar. He is an excellent singer, so the two of us were messing around with some harmonies on old folk songs (nerdtacular enough yet?)

That's me, on the right. Behind the fence and running into the house to get my ear plugs.

At one point, Fr. made the drastic mistake of thinking we actually sounded good and pulled out a recorder. When we listened to the playback, it was clear that we did not sound good. Or, to be more precise, that I did not sound good. Now let's back up a moment.
I, in an attempt to "improve myself," have been taking singing lessons once a week for roughly the last five months. Over that time, my teacher has repeatedly told me that I've shown marked improvement (I can only assume that where I started was disastrous indeed). On top of this, I've been belting out lyrics to turned-up radios and in showers since I was old enough to realize that music is awesome (i.e., since the fetal stage). I taught myself to play guitar in high school so that I could play at open mics, and I've played in a couple of bands over the years, doing backing vocals here and there. Realizing that through all of this I've probably sounded like a cross between Bullwinkle and a rock compressed retroactive embarrassment for nearly a decade of public humiliation into about 30 seconds of listening to myself.
Now, this isn't one of those "oh I hate myself so much and you should feel bad for me and please tell me about how much you've loved my singing over the years" moments. This is an honest assessment of my singing abilities (no, I will not put up a recording of myself to prove it).
After that, I had another series of revelations: I'd thought I was at least a decent singer, which turned out to be false. What else had I been thinking about myself without any basis in reality? For on thing, I've always liked to think of myself as a writer. Poetry, short stories, essays, etc. They all roll off the tip of the pen (or the underside of the keyboard) like a greased turkey down a steep hill.

I say! Err, well, I suppose I write.

Reality check: I've written nothing in the past year except this blog and my MA thesis, and have never been published beyond college reviews. Therefore I am not a writer.
I also like to think of myself as a runner. I've run two marathons and a half marathon and numerous 5k's. As a matter of fact, I just ran a 5k last Sunday.

There I am! About 30 people back on the left, and not actually in this picture or this race.

Reality: While I did run this last Sunday, prior to that I hadn't run since my last 5k, in December. And before that it had been over a year since I'd been out on the road for anything even resembling a jog (still finished in 27 minutes, though. Nowhere near anything that could be considered 'good,' but still not my worst). Therefore I am not a runner.
I also love reading books. When I was a kid, I'd tear through several a week, no problem. I read the 7th Harry Potter (okay, fine, I wasn't a kid when that came out) in 18 hours straight. I've also been known to devour books on philosophy and theology, as well as the classics.

I would never even dream of owning a Kindle. They just don't smell the same.

Reality: while I've always got a book or two on hand, I've also got shelves and shelves of books that I haven't read yet. Seems I've fallen more into collecting books than actually reading them. And I can hardly go a day without someone going slack-jawed with a "You've never read Brideshead Revisited?!" or a "Seriously? You only got 100 pages into Infinite Jest?" (more like Infinite-ly Boring). What can I say? I was a Lit. major back in the fore-years. Therefore, despite past conquests, I am not a reader.
The list can go on (and on and on). I'm not a songwriter, I'm not an artist, I'm not a poet, I'm not a leader, I'm not a good cook, I'm not very well groomed, I don't have a nice wardrobe, and I still haven't figured out where I can buy mustache wax so I can do those little curly-ques on the ends.

Awwwwww, yeah.

But don't get me wrong here. I'm not saying "Oh my life is so terrible and I'm such an awful failure!" It's such an odd reaction in our society that when we try to talk about faults and finitude, people will inevitably think to themselves "In order to be a good friend, I must contradict him when he admits to not being perfect," then say something to the effect of "Oh, Inkler, I've read your poetry, and it's quite good!" That's not my point. And if any of you think to say, "But Inkler, I've seen you, and you're not really so terribly groomed after all..." I shall strike you from my friend list. NOT MY POINT.

What then is my point? My point is that my identity can't come from anything I do myself. Even if I were really good at these things, I still would not be the best. The simple truth is that the pool is far too big for me to be the best at anything (particularly if we include not only all 7 billion people alive today, but also all the people who have lived). Now, I know, I know, statistically someone has to be the best there is at some activity. Someone out there can lift more weight than anyone else. Someone is better than anyone else at identifying types of brachiopods. Someone really was the quickest draw in the West. But is that enough for an identity? Would you walk up to someone at a party and say "Hi! I'm the guy/gal who read the Webster's Dictionary cover to cover in 4 minutes, 3 seconds"? Sure, you might, but that's only a conversation starter, it doesn't encapsulate you.

You may also, conceivably, introduce yourself as a fan of polka, though this may be a second- or third-meeting type of conversation rather than a right-off-the-bat statement.

And my goodness, this post is already rather long. Get your head in the game, Inkler! (And now I'm talking to myself...)

The point is this: if I am not defined by my actions, even as admittedly mediocre as I am at them, then who am I? This is the fundamental question of fiction because it is the fundamental question of our hearts. This question masks a deeper one though, one which is much more frightening: am I worthy of love? Why be the best guitarist? Why be the funniest comedian? Why be the greatest writer? In order to be loved. It's just like the animal kingdom - I must be the best (at least within a certain radius of distance) in order to attract attention. But if I can't even define myself with any sort of accuracy, can I be loved? Who am I? Is that person who I am worthy of love?

I will give you the easy answer, but by starting it this way, I am telling that it will be a struggle. The easy answer is yes - I am the beloved. I am made for love. Before I moved or breathed God knew me and loved me. Before I could do anything productive for my parents, before I could speak, before I could even understand or recognize them, my parents loved me. I know that I am lucky in this, but I'm sure I don't know how lucky.

That is the easy answer, and it is true. Before we are anything, we are loved. Without questioning the truth of this as the basis of all human being and loving, I must say that this is a struggle to believe. This is a struggle to accept. It is so tempting to try to define ourselves, to hold up our accomplishments and actions as badges of our worth. It is so tempting to believe that love must be earned, by behavior, by avoiding sin, by making sacrifices in order to receive that love. That's where the terrifying image of God as judge who keeps a tarry card of our sins and good deeds comes from. It is terrifying because we cannot outsmart God. We cannot weigh the scales in our favor.

This is so tempting, and I can guarantee that 100% of the despair in our world springs from this question of who I am, and whether that person is worthy of love. Knowing that it is only love that defines us does not relieve us of the terrible question, the terrible doubt. It is one thing to "know" something intellectually, it is an entirely different thing to live that knowledge, to be that knowledge. It is a different thing, and it is a constant struggle to allow God's love to define us. But that is what life is: one long, long lesson - one long, long love letter - in allowing ourselves to be loved first, and living out our response to that.

Ah, the good old days.

On Prayer

First, let me be the first to say that I am one of the least qualified to comment on prayer. I'm still a baby in the spiritual life, and make no claims to any sort of prayer "experiences," nor to having any particular insights. Neither do I pretend to have any sort of sanctity - I am only a weak and fallen man, but one who lives in the hope of love. Secondly, what I have to say about prayer will likely be nothing new, and it may be that it won't even apply to you. There are as many ways of praying as there are people because prayer is communion with God, and - to steal a phrase from Bl. JPII - each of us is made to commune with God in a "radically unrepeatable" way.
In fact, if it's not clear already, I'll just come out and say it: I'm a little leery of giving pointers on prayer because prayer is such a fundamentally important activity, and because I am no expert. Further, no one has ever asked me for pointers, which may be enough of an indicator to most of you that you may without guilt stop reading now.

On the other hand, if you're from Cleveland, you may be familiar with this delightful little piece of graffiti. Also, heed the imperative.

So with that disclaimer out of the way, I'd like to offer just a few straightforward bullet points regarding prayer. I have found these points helpful, but even more so, I continue to find them helpful, because as I said, I'm still feeling my way along in the dark.

1) Consistency

There is no relationship that has ever been built, thrived, or even survived which does not require consistency, which is really commitment. In the case of prayer, from God's side the relationship already exists: we are the beloved daughters and sons of the Father, brothers and sisters of the Son, through the power of the Spirit, effective in our lives. From our side, though, the relationship needs to be nurtured. It's not that we need to "build" a relationship - we're already loved. But we do need to learn that love. We need to learn that we are loved. We need to learn that God's heart is one that beats with love for us. And not just for us, but for you in particular. But learning this is like lovers learning each other: it takes commitment and consistency. I've listed this one first because it's probably the most important - our spiritual director at the seminary would often say that half the battle is just showing up - and being the most important, it's also the easiest one to violate. So show up. Set a daily schedule for prayer, whether 5 minutes, 10 minutes, or an hour. I'm not saying that you only pray during the allotted time. Think of a couple who is dating: throughout the day or week they'll probably talk to each other in a less than formal way, but if they are serious about their relationship, they'll also need to set aside real time to be with each other. Think of prayer in much the same way: yes, we should be "praying unceasingly" and "preaching the gospel at all times," even occasionally using words to do so, but we'll also need to give God real, committed, dedicated time, consistently.
(I'm not speaking from a high horse here, I've missed the last three days of my prayer schedule, and consistency is often the thing I struggle with most, because there's always something else which seems more important. I've even got a mantra that I repeat to myself all the time - "Prayer comes first," but as my spiritual director pointed out to me not too long ago, even a brief look at my actions shows that this simply is not the case in practice. Why am I telling you this? Because I am a weak-willed and fallen man who is constantly disproving his belief in his own perfection. Some days the realization that I'm not perfect hurts like a knife to the heart of my pride, but it's actually good news. It means I need Christ.)

2) Humility

Speaking of prayer as a relationship gives an unfortunate impression that it is just like any other relationship, which involve actual dialogue. In our common experience, when the other person in a relationship is silent or outright ignores us, it usually means that something went sour. When a woman gives me the cold shoulder or introduces me to the friend zone (I know, shocking, but it happens to even me), I usually take this as a sign that she is not interested in spending any more time with me. Prayer is not like this. Prayer for me has been a long history of silence, a lot of wondering if I am sitting in an empty room all alone. When I am at my most prideful, I think "This is a waste of my time! If I wanted to be ignored, I'd go hang out a singles bar" (I'm not alone in this - St. Teresa of Avila complained that while she was always so busy with God's work, it was a great disappointment that God would seem to withdraw at precisely those times that she had set aside to pray). Other times, I imagine that Jesus is in a coma and I am sitting with him because I love him (I'm not alone in this either - St. Therese of Lisieux wrote that Jesus was so often asleep in the boat when she prayed, reminding us of the gospel passage where the disciples cried out in the midst of the storm, "Lord, do you not care that we are perishing?!").
Regardless of how my heart behaves during prayer, it takes humility to keep me sitting in that chair - it takes accepting that my time is not the most valuable thing in the world, that I am smaller than God, and that the work of God is not always "productive" in any sense that I can comprehend. It's remarkably difficult to break the American "time = money" mindset, especially for a person who finds value in production. 
While I'm sitting here typing away about how humble I am, that's not my point. My point is that we must be humble. Prayer requires humility because prayer is continually presenting ourselves, our hearts, our lives, and our attention to God, and if we are sincere, prayer will break our hearts of stone and form us continually into the image of Christ even in the silence and apparent abandonment.


3) Use your humanity

When we see something like this, why does our very human heart swell? (well, at least mine does, though I admit that it's dependent on taste, experience, and etc. But bear with me) There is something about the physical presence of the building, the lighting, the arches, the soaring ceiling, the muted colors that speaks to us. Why? Because we are not angels. That is, we are not detached from materiality, nor should we desire to become so. Prayer is the response of our whole being to the gift of our whole being from God. As such, it should involve our whole humanity. This is one of the geniuses of Catholic spirituality (though certainly not limited to Catholics) - in liturgy, we don't pray simply by sitting and turning our mind to a long mental recitation, but by standing, processing, kneeling, bowing, prostrating, striking our chests, making the sign of the cross, listening, receiving, looking, and on and on. Why? To draw on our physicality, and to offer our bodies up in prayer, to pray with and through our bodies, because our bodies are ourselves.
Thomas Merton writes, 

The salvation of man does not mean that he must divest himself of all that is human: that he must discard his reason, his love of beauty, his desire for friendship, his need for human affection, his reliance on protection, order, and justice in society, his need to work and eat and sleep. A Christianity that despises these fundamental needs of man is not truly worthy of the name. (Life and Holiness) 

With that in mind, here is the directive: find what you are attracted to, and use it in prayer. I sit in my holy hour with an icon of Christ. As I've written before, this teaches me humility because I do not understand it, but I trust the Church. Because I love reading, I also utilize the writings of the saints or other sure spiritual guides in prayer. My mind is a part of my person that God has gifted me with, and I want to offer it back to Him in praise. Maybe for you it's taking a walk, or appreciating Nature, or sitting in the silence of a church, or painting or writing. 
Regardless of what you choose, remember that it is not about you, it is about offering glory to God. I admit that I occasionally did homework assignments in the chapel under the excuse that I was "praying." No doubt, this is one of the things I will come to answer for in the last days, and it's only because I trust in the mercy of God that I can be flippant about this (I expect I'll answer for my flippancy too). Prayer is not about finding an hour or however long just so we can do something that we like to do. It's about sitting with Christ, who is Lord of our lives. But because He is Lord of our whole life, it is not appropriate to shut out all feelings, thoughts, emotions, memories, and desires. Prayer does not mean becoming a robot. It means offering all of ourselves to Christ, and that includes our thoughts, feelings, and desires, which He will purify and direct to their true goal, Himself.


4) Find a friend

Another genius of the Catholic faith, and there are many, is the adamant belief that we are not alone. While of course there is no substitute for Christ or the power of God the Father active through the presence of the Spirit in our hearts, the communion of saints is made up our brothers and sisters who have allowed Christ to live His life in the world through their own actions, thoughts, and loves. The saints are those who have lived, like Paul, "no longer I, but Christ." This is mystical and mysterious, but it is above all human - to believe that holiness is only for a select few or that it somehow requires us to repress our humanity is to disbelieve the Incarnation. The Word became flesh so that we might become one with Him, and the saints are people who have allowed their lives to meld with His, to become words, speaking the Word.
With that in mind, the saints are very real role models for our lives of faith. This does not meant that we must become another Therese or another Augustine or another Julie Billiart or any of the others. We must become other Christs, not secondary versions of our brothers and sisters. Even so, the saints are our friends and guides, still present with us by virtue of the fact that they are united to Christ, who is with us "to the end of the age." 
So the directive is this: introduce yourself to the saints. There are certainly enough of them that you will find a very dear friend among them. Three of my favorites are St. Therese of Lisieux (as if you didn't know that already), Bl. Charles de Foucauld, and St. Thomsa More. A Carmelite nun, an ex-Trappist hermit and missionary, and a British layman martyr, all living very different lives, all giving themsleves completely to Christ, and living God's life in the world. But the point is not to read up on the people that I've found helpful, the point is to find the saints who resonate with your own experiences, and to let them bring you to the love of their hearts, who is Christ.


Late Addition: My pastor is famous for giving long, loooong homilies. So long that he'll preach for 20-25 minutes, then sit down, pray the rest of the Mass, and before the closing prayer he'll get up and say "Another point I forgot during the homily is..." and go on for another 5 or so minutes. Luckily for us, it's all fantastic stuff. I don't know if this is fantastic, but here's a point I'd meant to make in this post and forgot.
I'm constantly asking people to pray for me, and promising my prayers for them in return. It's gotten to the point that one of my seminarian friends accused me not long ago of wishing for "magic" - basically, of trying to control God by getting as many people as possible to pray for me. I'd like to make two quick points with regard to this:


1) Prayer is never about controlling God. Even at those times when we are asking for something (intercession), what we are really asking is not for God to change His mind, but that He may change our hearts. Look at Christ's prayer in the Garden: "May this cup pass from me, but not my will but yours be done." This is the perfect form of intercessory prayer: My God, here is what I want, here is what I recognize as being good for me, but I am submissive before what you have in store for me because I trust that you love me and will only my good. This is sharing our heart with God, naming our desires (which is very important), and recognizing our own finitude. It is not enough to simply suppress all desires and attractions: God wants to use those as tools to draw us into communion, especially when that communion means subsuming those desires for God's glory.
2) When I ask for prayers, I have two motives. One is sneaky: any opportunity I can invite someone to pray for any reason is an opportunity I will take. Yes, praying for me may be a superficial and quickly disposed prayer, but it is prayer. It is far more important to me that people pray than that I receive something - asking people to pray for me is really just an easy way of asking people to pray. The second is more theological: if prayer is union with God, then it must also be union with each other. That is, if you are united to Christ in your prayer and I am united to Christ in my prayer, then we are necessarily united with each other. So asking  someone to pray for me is asking them to share my life. Asking someone to pray is asking them to share intimacy with Christ and to be drawn into their life as well. This is why prayer is effective, because its goal is union with Christ, who is the linchpin, who draws all into one in Him. Because, as my good friend Flannery wrote (following Teillhard de Chardin), everything that rises must converge. So asking for prayer is not just asking for a few words, or asking for some magic. It is asking for a sharing of life, for the intimacy of the shared union with Christ. It is asking for Heaven, here and now.