Christ Haunted

I recently came upon my 7th grade confirmation picture.  I am standing in front of our fire-place in my family home in Fort Dodge, Iowa with my hands folded, looking out with a forced look of piety–an other worldly gaze. I laughed when I saw it after all this time. I was simply parroting what I thought my parents, my priest, and my nun thought I should look (and feel) like.

But then I recalled the stories of St. Theresa of Lisieux and other spiritual masters, and how their earliest encounters with the unseen God often came with little pomp or fanfare–almost unnoticed. I reflected back to this confirmation moment, and that underneath all the religious trappings, I experienced my very first spiritual desire — for more of God.

With years of hindsight, I now understand that this was my true-self taking my first autonomous spiritual breath. It had nothing to do with the expectations of others–It came from within, not without.

St. Theresa of Lisieux says that those desires arising from God within us will not be frustrated, but rather be fulfilled. She was a mere 5 yrs. old when she experienced her first desire for God.

St. Augustine was much later in realizing this desire . He was in his thirties when he became aware that his ambiguous inner hunger and restlessness was in fact a deep desire for God.

“Love God, and do what you will” was his cry. This could be easily misunderstood. The catch is, if you truly love God above all things, your desires will arise directly from that love, and agree with what God desires for you.

Shortly after my confirmation I had an impulse to do something in response to this new desire. I decided to walk to mass each morning before school. Where this inner drive came from I could not explain. I could not name or describe it except as an inner pull to express and experience something more. It was the only ‘spiritual’ thing I was accustomed from my religious upbringing to do –attend mass.

Little did I know that this season in my life would become a milestone, a marker in my life. I would return to this time in my mind over and over as if it were an altar of stones I had placed to mark this place and time– and to remind me of who I really am, of who I belonged to. Like a lighthouse directing me to safe harbor, this memory would lead me back many times in the years to come.

From that time until today, the underlying theme of my life has been a coming to and going away from this love and desire for a life led by God. It has been an ongoing journey towards a more full, mature, and real expression of that first desire for the unknown and the unknowable.

Lest I have given you the idea that this is an experience for only saints and mystics, or that I consider myself one— I have heard many, many stories from my friends and in group discussions that indicate that, as remarkable as these experiences are, they are much more common than we may think. Many of us have had these experiences in childhood or adolescents, or as a young adult. We suspected them to be special and possibly life directing. But, not knowing what to do with them, life around us buries these experiences and we forget. Then later in life they resurface, giving us another chance to respond.

Our journeys are rarely smooth and straight. I suspect for many of my readers, you have a story of straying away from who you really are—from God, and then returning, bearing the marks of our travels.

Whole periods of my life have been spent off-course and lost in the woods–taking side trips to dead-ends and the very edge of cliffs. But when I look back, the undeniable fact is this; the one constant, unchanging element of my life from that day to this is that God has always been just a cry away. No matter how low I have gone, how far I have fallen, and for how long, a heart-felt cry would instantly re-instate me into His loving presence and care.

This unrelenting pull towards God, this deep desire, is  often covered up by the siren’s cry of materialism, of comforts, and of prestige. Yet, in those moments where I am tired of myself and the emptiness of the things I chase, there comes this faint but distinct pull that reminds me of what I felt as I walked alone to mass those cold Midwest mornings before school.

Writer Flannery O’Connor describes in her short novel Wise Blood the protagonist Hazel Motes as the “Christ-haunted” sinner, and Jesus a “wild ragged figure” moving from “tree to tree in the back of his mind,” menacing the psyche’s deep shades. In my childhood days we referred to this presence as the “Holy Ghost”.

I experience this pull– not as menacing, but as relentless. It is a constant call to return home and to stay there. Like a magnet, this interior pull has been the one sustaining force in my life—guiding me time and time again back to the source of my strength, guidance, love, and life. God never stops drawing me back to himself, and like the ocean salmon compelled at all costs, I return to that place from which I came.

Kind Regards,

Bob