Stigmata

Ok, it was me.

I had no idea what a stigmata was.

And if you would have told me, I would have utterly rejected it as invalid.

Why? Because stigmatas didn’t fit in my theology.

Christ dying for me was great.

Basking in the favor of a loving God who had paid the price for my wrongs….brilliant.

I lay guzzling “spiritual milk”, tasting all the goodness of God.

But I just stayed there suckling on the breast, a grown adult refusing to be weaned.

Yes, crave that spiritual milk…

“so that by it you may GROW UP in your salvation”. (1 Peter 2:2)

Becoming Catholic was like an ice bucket of water to the face.

I was suddenly surrounded by the faces and stories of grown ups, Saints throughout church history…

And let me tell you, their lives left no room for my spiritual milk, “Jesus is my homeboy”, attitude.

Instead…. I came face to face with things like the stigmata,

The cross,

Thirst…

Suffering,

“Submit yourself”.

One by one their lives spread before me, Thirsty for only the One who can satisfy,

Year upon year cutting away anything else blocking their way….

Instead of year upon year suckling at the breast….

Year upon year there was a weaning off…

Year upon year their lives crecendo…

It brought Peter’s words to life:

“…you also, like living stones, are being built into a spiritual house to be a holy priesthood, offering spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ”…(1Peter 2:5)

Housing God within, A temple, Taking on the priestly mantle, Offering sacrifices on our altar, Not just for ourselves, Not just for our sins, We join ourselves to the plight of our brother, Because that is what Christ did for us.

And slowly, We wean.

We learn to walk…up the jagged hill of Calvery. Slowly, We open our hands, Even if the nail scars us. Each, one, in their own ways, slowly taking on the cruciform.

My theology is different now.

I pick my head up from the breast, I cling hard to that precious pierced hand, Because I can’t make it up this road, That kind of love will not fit inside me.

That kind of surrender revolts me.

May He hold fast when the toddler tantrums strike, When I question His every training.

May He persist when I want pity… This love is deeper than I was taught, This love more costly.

This all consuming fire, comes to consume.

The heat is terrifying.

Oh sweet fire of love, Have Your way in us.

Leave your mark on us all.