Pacifist? Or coward?

 

As a Franciscan, I often claim the mantel of “pacifist” as part of the package. And I am wondering if that is simply a convenient euphemism for “scared to fight”. I am thinking back throughout my whole life; grade school, high school, college, and adulthood. I have gotten into relatively few fights. Which is not to say I haven’t been beaten up; that was the result on most occasions where actual physical violence wound up taking place.

There was one time in grade school where I saw red during a fight; the other boy was choking at me (I mean REALLY choking me) and I went full-out hulk on him when I got free. I think that incident frightened me; I don’t remember the fight after that. He was choking me, I couldn’t breathe, and I felt my soul ROAR in anger. The next thing I knew the kid was on the ground, begging me to stop.

All other times, I either backed away, ran away, or endured subtle or not-so-subtle bullying for whatever period of time I had to endure it.

My tendency, even in simple verbal arguments, is to attempt to see the other’s point of view, even to the extent of conceding the point, in order to avoid confrontation. I am afraid of violence, real or perceived. I am afraid of pain, both the receiving and the taking. 

Does this make me smart, in the spirit of self-preservation? Or does this make me a coward, unwilling to take a stand on what I believe in to avoid temporary discomfort? Or is it both?

I don’t know. But I ought to examine this in more detail

Right here, right now

Sometimes I just do not want to write, where I have no insightful theology and flowery words with awesome implications Today/this week/this Lent has been one of those times. I find myself exhausted, stripped bare. I do not have the energy for any pretensions anymore. And maybe that is a good thing. Maybe that is what Lent is truly about. I have found myself doing instead of sitting. Serving instead of saying. Acting in concert with prayer instead of praying because that’s what a priest is “supposed” to do.

The Divine wants me stripped bare. Without pretension. Without bells and whistles. Praying because I am moved to pray, not to check a box. Serving others because that is what a human does for their fellow humans, not because of a vague fear of eternal punishment.

Right here. Right now. As much as I loathe that song by Jesus Jones, that's what's echoing in my ears...

There is no other place I want to be.

Spouse of Christ & the Holy Spirit

Ok I need to examine this about myself. 

I seem to have some sort of obsession with habited nuns. No it’s not a fetish or anything; it’s more of a fascination. When I see who they are and what their life is, I WANT that life. They are mystically wed to Jesus Christ. He is their husband and spouse. That kind of love that keeps them enraptured in front of the Blessed Sacrament. the Sisters of Life, the Discalced Carmelite nuns move me so deeply, I listened to a podcast after dropping off James last Friday, and I didn’t want the drive to end because I was enthralled with “Bride of Christ”. Now as a priest, the Church is technically my “bride”. But is it really the same? I believe the Holy Spirit as feminine…is SHE my bride? This mystical marriage thing fascinates me.