"This simple truth, that the sole purpose of man's life on earth is to do the will of God, contains in it riches and resources enough for a lifetime. Once you have learned to live with it uppermost in mind, to see each day and each day's activities in its light, it becomes more than a source of eternal salvation; it becomes a source of joy and happiness here on earth.
The notion that the human will, when united with the divine will, can play a part in Christ's work of redeeming all mankind is overpowering. The wonder of God's grace transforming worthless human actions into efficient means for spreading the kingdom of God here on earth astounds the mind and humbles it to the utmost, yet brings a peace and joy unknown to those who have never experienced it, unexplainable to those who will not believe."
From Walter J. Ciszek's book He Leadeth me
Showing posts with label He Leadeth me. Show all posts
Showing posts with label He Leadeth me. Show all posts
Saturday, September 8, 2012
Monday, August 6, 2012
The peace of abandonment to God's will--on a prison train to the labor camps
"...I thought again of that text: "The children of this world are wiser than the children of light." It seemed a peculiar thing to keep running through my mind, and yet a strange and exciting challenge for a priest-apostle on a prison train heading for the labor camps. The challenge seemed plain. Could my sacrifice, could my total dedication, could my stamina in doing the will of God be less than that of the children of this world? They knew that in order to survive a long sentence a man had to face and conquer one day at a time. Had I not resolved to see each day, one day at a time, as a gift of God within whose confines I was to accomplish his will? The prisoners survived by taking life as it came, rolling with the punches, hoping only to survive each day as it happened, one day at a time. Surely my motivation ought to help me see beyond that. Each day to me should be more than an obstacle to be gotten over, a span of time to be endured, a sequence of hours to be survived. For me, each day came forth from the hand of God newly created and alive with opportunities to do his will. For me, each day was a series of moments and incidents to be offered back to God, to be consecrated and returned in total dedication to his will. That was what my priesthood demanded of me, as it demanded of every Christian.
The children of this world were dedicated to surviving this life by whatever method possible. I, too, must be totally dedicated, but with an added dimension. I must not seek to avoid hardships or to soften their impact. I must see in them the will of God and through them work out my salvation. Otherwise, I would be acting rather as a child of this world than a child of light. I would be acting not out of faith but as a fatalist. I would have survived a series of moments, a succession of days, but I would have made nothing of them nor of myself. I resolved again, therefore, to accept each day and every moment as from God's hands, and to offer it back to him as best I could. I would not merely passively survive, like the children of this world, but with his help and his grace I would actively participate—and I would survive. I never doubted that, because I did not fear non-survival. Death would simply be a call to return to the God I served each day. My life was to do the will of God, as the prayer our Savior taught us put it quite simply, "On earth as in heaven." His will would determine how long I would spend on earth.
In such thoughts and prayers, peace returned. It was the peace, once again, that total abandonment to God's will brings. Only this time I was not in the quiet confines of a solitary cell in Lubianka, I was in the corner of a rough, jolting, profane prison car. My situation had not improved, but my disposition in the acceptance of God's will had returned. Along with it had come peace and a renewed confidence—not in my own ability to survive, but a total trust and confidence in God's ability to sustain me and provide me with whatever strength I needed to meet the challenges he would send me. What greater peace and confidence could I require? I even looked forward to laboring again in his vineyard..."
From Walter J. Ciszek's book He Leadeth me
The children of this world were dedicated to surviving this life by whatever method possible. I, too, must be totally dedicated, but with an added dimension. I must not seek to avoid hardships or to soften their impact. I must see in them the will of God and through them work out my salvation. Otherwise, I would be acting rather as a child of this world than a child of light. I would be acting not out of faith but as a fatalist. I would have survived a series of moments, a succession of days, but I would have made nothing of them nor of myself. I resolved again, therefore, to accept each day and every moment as from God's hands, and to offer it back to him as best I could. I would not merely passively survive, like the children of this world, but with his help and his grace I would actively participate—and I would survive. I never doubted that, because I did not fear non-survival. Death would simply be a call to return to the God I served each day. My life was to do the will of God, as the prayer our Savior taught us put it quite simply, "On earth as in heaven." His will would determine how long I would spend on earth.
In such thoughts and prayers, peace returned. It was the peace, once again, that total abandonment to God's will brings. Only this time I was not in the quiet confines of a solitary cell in Lubianka, I was in the corner of a rough, jolting, profane prison car. My situation had not improved, but my disposition in the acceptance of God's will had returned. Along with it had come peace and a renewed confidence—not in my own ability to survive, but a total trust and confidence in God's ability to sustain me and provide me with whatever strength I needed to meet the challenges he would send me. What greater peace and confidence could I require? I even looked forward to laboring again in his vineyard..."
From Walter J. Ciszek's book He Leadeth me
Sunday, July 22, 2012
The purest act of Faith
"...I had always trusted in God. I had always tried to find his will, to see his providence at work. I had always seen my life and my destiny as guided by his will. At some moments more consciously than at others, I had been aware of his promptings, his call, his promises, his grace. At times of crisis, especially, I had tried to discover his will and to follow it to the best of my ability. But this was a new vision, a totally new understanding, something more than just a matter of emphasis.
Up until now, I had always seen my role—man's role—in the divine economy as an active one. Up to this time, I had retained in my own hands the reins of all decision, actions, and endeavors; I saw it now as my task to "cooperate" with his grace, to be involved to the end in the working out of salvation. God's will was "out there" somewhere, hidden, yet clear and unmistakable. It was my role—man's role— to discover what it was and then conform my will to that, and so work at achieving the ends of his divine providence. I remained—man remained—in essence the master of my own destiny. Perfection consisted simply in learning to discover God's will in every situation and then in bending every effort to do what must be done.
Now, with sudden and almost blinding clarity and simplicity, I realized I had been trying to do something with my own will and intellect that was at once too much and mostly all wrong. God's will was not hidden somewhere "out there" in the situations in which I found myself; the situations themselves were his will for me. What he wanted was for me to accept these situations as from his hands, to let go of the reins and place myself entirely at his disposal. He was asking He of me an act of total trust, allowing for no interference or restless striving on my part, no reservations, no exceptions, no areas where I could set conditions or seem to hesitate. He was asking a complete gift of self, nothing held back. It demanded absolute faith: faith in God's existence, in his providence, in his concern for the minutest detail, in his power to sustain me, and in his love protecting me. It meant losing the last hidden doubt, the ultimate fear that God will not be there to bear you up.
It was something like that awful eternity between anxiety and belief when a child first leans back and lets go of all support whatever—only to find that the water truly holds him up and he can float motionless and totally relaxed.
Once understood, it seemed so simple. I was amazed it had taken me so long in terms of time and of suffering to learn this truth. Of course we believe that we depend on God, that his will sustains us in every moment of our life. But we are afraid to put it to the test. There remains deep down in each of us a little nagging doubt, a little knot of fear which we refuse to face or admit even to ourselves, that says, "Suppose it isn't so." We are afraid to abandon ourselves totally into God's hands for fear he will not catch us as we fall. It is the ultimate criterion, the final test of all faith and all belief, and it is present in each of us, lurking unvoiced in a closet of our mind we are afraid to open. It is not really a question of trust in God at all, for we want very much to trust him; it is really a question of our ultimate belief in his existence and his providence, and it demands the purest act of faith..."
From Walter J. Ciszek's book He Leadeth me
Up until now, I had always seen my role—man's role—in the divine economy as an active one. Up to this time, I had retained in my own hands the reins of all decision, actions, and endeavors; I saw it now as my task to "cooperate" with his grace, to be involved to the end in the working out of salvation. God's will was "out there" somewhere, hidden, yet clear and unmistakable. It was my role—man's role— to discover what it was and then conform my will to that, and so work at achieving the ends of his divine providence. I remained—man remained—in essence the master of my own destiny. Perfection consisted simply in learning to discover God's will in every situation and then in bending every effort to do what must be done.
Now, with sudden and almost blinding clarity and simplicity, I realized I had been trying to do something with my own will and intellect that was at once too much and mostly all wrong. God's will was not hidden somewhere "out there" in the situations in which I found myself; the situations themselves were his will for me. What he wanted was for me to accept these situations as from his hands, to let go of the reins and place myself entirely at his disposal. He was asking He of me an act of total trust, allowing for no interference or restless striving on my part, no reservations, no exceptions, no areas where I could set conditions or seem to hesitate. He was asking a complete gift of self, nothing held back. It demanded absolute faith: faith in God's existence, in his providence, in his concern for the minutest detail, in his power to sustain me, and in his love protecting me. It meant losing the last hidden doubt, the ultimate fear that God will not be there to bear you up.
It was something like that awful eternity between anxiety and belief when a child first leans back and lets go of all support whatever—only to find that the water truly holds him up and he can float motionless and totally relaxed.
Once understood, it seemed so simple. I was amazed it had taken me so long in terms of time and of suffering to learn this truth. Of course we believe that we depend on God, that his will sustains us in every moment of our life. But we are afraid to put it to the test. There remains deep down in each of us a little nagging doubt, a little knot of fear which we refuse to face or admit even to ourselves, that says, "Suppose it isn't so." We are afraid to abandon ourselves totally into God's hands for fear he will not catch us as we fall. It is the ultimate criterion, the final test of all faith and all belief, and it is present in each of us, lurking unvoiced in a closet of our mind we are afraid to open. It is not really a question of trust in God at all, for we want very much to trust him; it is really a question of our ultimate belief in his existence and his providence, and it demands the purest act of faith..."
From Walter J. Ciszek's book He Leadeth me
Sunday, July 15, 2012
Abandon self to the Father's will
"...Suddenly, I was consoled by thoughts of our Lord and his agony in the garden. "Father," he had said, "if it be possible, let this chalice pass from me." In the Garden of Olives, he too knew the feeling of fear and weakness in his human nature as he faced suffering and death. Not once but three times did he ask to have his ordeal removed or somehow modified. Yet each time he concluded with an act of total abandonment and submission to the Father's will. "Not as I will, but as thou wilt." It was not just conformity to the will of God; it was total self-surrender, a stripping away of all human fears, of all doubts about his own abilities to withstand the passion, of every last shred of self including self-doubt.
What a wonderful treasure and source of strength and consolation our Lord's agony in the garden became for me from that moment on. I saw clearly exactly what I must do. I can only call it a conversion experience, and I can only tell you frankly that my life was changed from that moment on. If my moment of despair had been a moment of total blackness, then this was an experience of blinding light. I knew immediately what I, must do, what I would do, and somehow I knew that I could do it. I knew that I must abandon myself entirely to the will of the Father and live from now on in this spirit of self-abandonment to God. And I did it. I can only describe the experience as a sense of "letting go", giving over totally my last effort or even any will to guide the reins of my own life. It is all too simply said, yet that one decision has affected every subsequent moment of my life. I have to call it a conversion..."
From Walter J. Ciszek's book He Leadeth me
What a wonderful treasure and source of strength and consolation our Lord's agony in the garden became for me from that moment on. I saw clearly exactly what I must do. I can only call it a conversion experience, and I can only tell you frankly that my life was changed from that moment on. If my moment of despair had been a moment of total blackness, then this was an experience of blinding light. I knew immediately what I, must do, what I would do, and somehow I knew that I could do it. I knew that I must abandon myself entirely to the will of the Father and live from now on in this spirit of self-abandonment to God. And I did it. I can only describe the experience as a sense of "letting go", giving over totally my last effort or even any will to guide the reins of my own life. It is all too simply said, yet that one decision has affected every subsequent moment of my life. I have to call it a conversion..."
From Walter J. Ciszek's book He Leadeth me
Thursday, July 12, 2012
Humility is truth
"...God must sometimes allow us to act on our own so we can learn humility, so we can learn the truth of our total dependence on him, so we can learn that all our actions are sustained by his grace and that without him we can do nothing—not even make our own mistakes.
Learning the full truth of our dependence upon God and our relation to his will is what the virtue of humility is all about. For humility is truth, the full truth, the truth that encompasses our relation to God the Creator and through him to the world he has created and to our fellowmen. And what we call humiliations are the trials by which our more complete grasp of this truth is tested.
It is self that is humiliated; there would be no "humiliation" if we had learned to put self in its place, to see ourselves in proper perspective before God and other men. And the stronger the ingredient of self develops in our lives, the more severe must our humiliations be in order to purify us. That was the terrible insight that dawned upon me in the cell at Lubianka as I prayed, shaken and dejected, after my experience with the interrogator.
The Spirit had not abandoned me, for the whole experience had been his work. The sense of guilt and shame I felt was rooted in my failure to put grace ahead of nature, my failure to trust primarily in God rather than in my own powers..."
Learning the full truth of our dependence upon God and our relation to his will is what the virtue of humility is all about. For humility is truth, the full truth, the truth that encompasses our relation to God the Creator and through him to the world he has created and to our fellowmen. And what we call humiliations are the trials by which our more complete grasp of this truth is tested.
It is self that is humiliated; there would be no "humiliation" if we had learned to put self in its place, to see ourselves in proper perspective before God and other men. And the stronger the ingredient of self develops in our lives, the more severe must our humiliations be in order to purify us. That was the terrible insight that dawned upon me in the cell at Lubianka as I prayed, shaken and dejected, after my experience with the interrogator.
The Spirit had not abandoned me, for the whole experience had been his work. The sense of guilt and shame I felt was rooted in my failure to put grace ahead of nature, my failure to trust primarily in God rather than in my own powers..."
From Walter J. Ciszek's book, He Leadeth me
Saturday, June 30, 2012
Prayer
"...And I learned soon enough that prayer does not take away bodily pain or mental anguish. Nevertheless, it does provide a certain moral strength to bear the burden patiently. Certainly, it was prayer that helped me through every crisis.
Gradually, too, I learned to purify my prayer and remove from it the elements of self-seeking. I learned to pray for my interrogators, not so they would see things my way or come to the truth so that my ordeal would end, but because they, too, were children of God and human beings in need of his blessing and his daily grace. I learned to stop asking for more bread for myself, and instead to offer up my sufferings, the pains of hunger that I felt, for the many others in the world and in Russia at that time who were enduring similar agony and even greater suffering. I tried very hard not to worry about what tomorrow would bring, what I should eat, or what I should wear, but rather to seek the kingdom of God and his justice, his will for me and for all mankind.
"Thy will be done." That was the key, but only slowly did I come to experience how perfect a prayer is the Our Father, the Lord's Prayer. "Lord, teach us how to pray", the disciples had said, and in his answer the Lord had explained the whole theology of prayer in the most simple terms, exhaustive in its content and yet intended for the use of all men without distinction. The human mind could not elaborate a better pattern in prayer than the one the Lord himself gave us.
He begins by placing us in the presence of God. God the almighty, who has created all things out of nothingness and keeps them in existence lest they return to nothingness, who rules all things and governs all things in the heavens and on earth according to the designs of his own providence. And yet this same all-powerful God is our Father, who cherishes us and looks after us as his sons, who provides for us in his own loving kindness, guides us in his wisdom, who watches over us daily to shelter us from harm, to provide us food, to receive us back with open arms when we, like the prodigal, have wasted our inheritance. Even as a father guards his children, he guards us from evil--because evil does exist in the world..."
From Walter J. Ciszek's book, He Leadeth me
Gradually, too, I learned to purify my prayer and remove from it the elements of self-seeking. I learned to pray for my interrogators, not so they would see things my way or come to the truth so that my ordeal would end, but because they, too, were children of God and human beings in need of his blessing and his daily grace. I learned to stop asking for more bread for myself, and instead to offer up my sufferings, the pains of hunger that I felt, for the many others in the world and in Russia at that time who were enduring similar agony and even greater suffering. I tried very hard not to worry about what tomorrow would bring, what I should eat, or what I should wear, but rather to seek the kingdom of God and his justice, his will for me and for all mankind.
"Thy will be done." That was the key, but only slowly did I come to experience how perfect a prayer is the Our Father, the Lord's Prayer. "Lord, teach us how to pray", the disciples had said, and in his answer the Lord had explained the whole theology of prayer in the most simple terms, exhaustive in its content and yet intended for the use of all men without distinction. The human mind could not elaborate a better pattern in prayer than the one the Lord himself gave us.
He begins by placing us in the presence of God. God the almighty, who has created all things out of nothingness and keeps them in existence lest they return to nothingness, who rules all things and governs all things in the heavens and on earth according to the designs of his own providence. And yet this same all-powerful God is our Father, who cherishes us and looks after us as his sons, who provides for us in his own loving kindness, guides us in his wisdom, who watches over us daily to shelter us from harm, to provide us food, to receive us back with open arms when we, like the prodigal, have wasted our inheritance. Even as a father guards his children, he guards us from evil--because evil does exist in the world..."
From Walter J. Ciszek's book, He Leadeth me
Thursday, June 28, 2012
He Leadeth me: the series
From Walter J. Ciszek's book He Leadeth me (updated September 8, 2012)
Faith in him alone June 16, 2012
Painting by Akiane Kramarik Prince of Peace
Faith in him alone June 16, 2012
Seeking and finding God June 22, 2012
In Russia June 24, 2012
What Hell must be like June 28, 2012
Prayer June 30, 2012
Humility is truth July 12, 2012
Abandon self to the Father's will July 15, 2012
The purest act of Faith July 22, 2012
The peace of abandonment to God's will--on a prison train to the labor camps August 6, 2012
Grace unexplainable to those who will not believe September 8, 2012
Prayer June 30, 2012
Humility is truth July 12, 2012
Abandon self to the Father's will July 15, 2012
The purest act of Faith July 22, 2012
The peace of abandonment to God's will--on a prison train to the labor camps August 6, 2012
Grace unexplainable to those who will not believe September 8, 2012
Painting by Akiane Kramarik Prince of Peace
What Hell must be like
"The world of solitary confinement is a universe of its own...the isolation...the silence...the interrogations that would go on for 24 or 48 hours with no rest no sleep no food...the psychological...the minutes of silence and solitary routine stretched out without end...
There was no such sort of human companionship to sustain you at Lubianka. When you came back from an interrogation session here, you were on your own. You could only torture yourself by going over and over the session in your own mind, wondering whether what you had said was right, or what you might have done better, agonizing again and again over every question and every answer. Here there was no relief to be sought by talking it over with somebody else, by asking advice (poor as it might prove to be), by sharing experiences and sympathizing with one another.
Solitary confinement, in short, must be very much like what some theologians paint as the principal torment of hell: the soul at last recognizing its mistakes for what they were and condemned forever to the loss of heaven, constantly tormenting itself with reproaches and tearing itself apart because it still sees and understands and wants the things it has lost forever, but knows it is condemned to lose forever because of its own choices, its own failings, its own mistakes..."
From Walter J. Ciszek's book He Leadeth me
There was no such sort of human companionship to sustain you at Lubianka. When you came back from an interrogation session here, you were on your own. You could only torture yourself by going over and over the session in your own mind, wondering whether what you had said was right, or what you might have done better, agonizing again and again over every question and every answer. Here there was no relief to be sought by talking it over with somebody else, by asking advice (poor as it might prove to be), by sharing experiences and sympathizing with one another.
Solitary confinement, in short, must be very much like what some theologians paint as the principal torment of hell: the soul at last recognizing its mistakes for what they were and condemned forever to the loss of heaven, constantly tormenting itself with reproaches and tearing itself apart because it still sees and understands and wants the things it has lost forever, but knows it is condemned to lose forever because of its own choices, its own failings, its own mistakes..."
From Walter J. Ciszek's book He Leadeth me
Sunday, June 24, 2012
In Russia
After Father Ciszek and Father Nestrov arrive in Russia with refugees from Poland, Father Ciszek says:
"...The rudest awakening of all, however, was our growing realization that we might have no apostolate at all here. Though freedom of religion is technically guaranteed by the 'Soviet Constitution, proselytization is strictly forbidden. The constitution guarantees freedom of atheist propaganda, but those who try to spread the truths of the faith or foster religion are in fact breaking the law; Nestrov and I had known this, of course, simply as a matter of pure fact; now we began to experience it as a fact of daily life.
Nobody wanted to talk about religion, let alone practice it. Though none of the workers in our barracks knew that Nestrov and I were priests, they were still reluctant to so much as discuss any matters dealing with God or religion. We were accepted among them as fellow workers, in an easy spirit of comradeship. We shared the work, the poor food, the poor housing, the daily hardships. The refugees, especially, were a simple people with a difficult lot in life that they accepted with resignation. They welcomed us in their company, conversed freely, and answered practical problems with the cliches and bromides born of common hardships or cultural heritage. But they would not speak of God or hear of God.
They were afraid. Nestrov and I, too, became cautious and even fearful; you could not help it in that atmosphere. We were afraid not only for ourselves and for what we still hoped might prove the ultimate success of our apostolate, but for the people among whom we hoped to minister as well. They had so little in this life that we did not want to be the cause of further trouble to them. We knew, and they knew, there were informers and party members who would report any religious activities. It was even necessary not to say anything to the children about God, tempting as such a thought might be, lest they in all innocence tell others about our conversation and so give us away..."
The two priests thought that they had made a mistake in coming to Russia...
"...And then one day, together, it dawned on us. God granted us the grace to see the solution to our dilemma, the answer to our temptation. It was the grace quite simply to look at our situation from his viewpoint rather than from ours. It was the grace not to judge our efforts by human standards, or by what we ourselves wanted or expected to happen, but rather according to God's design. It was the grace to understand that our dilemma, our temptation, was of our own making and existed only in our minds; it did not and could not coincide with the real world ordained by God and governed ultimately by his will..."
From Walter J. Ciszek's book He Leadeth me
"...The rudest awakening of all, however, was our growing realization that we might have no apostolate at all here. Though freedom of religion is technically guaranteed by the 'Soviet Constitution, proselytization is strictly forbidden. The constitution guarantees freedom of atheist propaganda, but those who try to spread the truths of the faith or foster religion are in fact breaking the law; Nestrov and I had known this, of course, simply as a matter of pure fact; now we began to experience it as a fact of daily life.
Nobody wanted to talk about religion, let alone practice it. Though none of the workers in our barracks knew that Nestrov and I were priests, they were still reluctant to so much as discuss any matters dealing with God or religion. We were accepted among them as fellow workers, in an easy spirit of comradeship. We shared the work, the poor food, the poor housing, the daily hardships. The refugees, especially, were a simple people with a difficult lot in life that they accepted with resignation. They welcomed us in their company, conversed freely, and answered practical problems with the cliches and bromides born of common hardships or cultural heritage. But they would not speak of God or hear of God.
They were afraid. Nestrov and I, too, became cautious and even fearful; you could not help it in that atmosphere. We were afraid not only for ourselves and for what we still hoped might prove the ultimate success of our apostolate, but for the people among whom we hoped to minister as well. They had so little in this life that we did not want to be the cause of further trouble to them. We knew, and they knew, there were informers and party members who would report any religious activities. It was even necessary not to say anything to the children about God, tempting as such a thought might be, lest they in all innocence tell others about our conversation and so give us away..."
The two priests thought that they had made a mistake in coming to Russia...
"...And then one day, together, it dawned on us. God granted us the grace to see the solution to our dilemma, the answer to our temptation. It was the grace quite simply to look at our situation from his viewpoint rather than from ours. It was the grace not to judge our efforts by human standards, or by what we ourselves wanted or expected to happen, but rather according to God's design. It was the grace to understand that our dilemma, our temptation, was of our own making and existed only in our minds; it did not and could not coincide with the real world ordained by God and governed ultimately by his will..."
From Walter J. Ciszek's book He Leadeth me
Friday, June 22, 2012
Seeking and finding God's will
"...To predict what God's will is going to be, to rationalize about 'what his will must be, is at once a work of human folly and yet the subtlest of all temptations. The plain and simple truth is that his will is what he actually wills to send us each day, in the way of circumstances, places, people, and problems. The trick is to learn to see that—not just in theory, or not just occasionally in a flash of insight granted by God's grace, but every day. Each of us has no need to wonder about what God's will must be for us; his will for us is clearly revealed in every situation of every day, if only we could learn to view all things as he sees them and sends them to us.
The temptation is to overlook these things as God's will. The temptation is to look beyond these things, precisely because they are so constant, so petty, so humdrum and routine, and to seek to discover instead some other and nobler "will of God" in the abstract that better fits our notion of what his will should be. And that was our temptation at Teplaya-Gora, just as it is the tempta-tion faced by everyone who suddenly discovers that life is not what he expected it to be. The answer lies in understanding that it is these things—and these things alone, here and now, at this moment—that truly constitute the-will of God. The challenge lies in learning to accept this truth and act upon it, every moment of every day.
The trouble is that like all great truths it seems too simple. It is there before our noses all the time, while we look elsewhere for more subtle answers. It bears the hallmark of all divine truths, simplicity, and yet it is precisely because it seems so simple that we are prone to overlook it or ignore it in our daily lives..."
From Walter J. Ciszek's book He Leadeth me
From Walter J. Ciszek's book He Leadeth me
Saturday, June 16, 2012
Faith in him alone
In Father Walter J. Ciszek, S.J'.s book He Leadeth me, we learn one man's story that begins in October 17, 1939 in Albertyn, Poland. The Soviets had come to town.
I hope to print some excerpts here as I continue to read the book. It is a remarkable story of faith.
Father Ciszek is the parish priest in this small town. He tells us that the Jesuit mission which had flourished for ten years in Albertyn was destroyed in a matter of weeks.
"Again and again, as I watched all this happen, I had to force myself not to think of the question that kept returning unbidden to mind: "Why has God allowed this evil to happen?" Why persecutions?...
...The perplexity and pain grew within me as I saw the visible Church, once strong and organized, dissolve under the attacks of these invaders and watched the people grow estranged, pressured ceaselessly into accepting this new order.
And what of the young people who were literally torn away from their parents and forced to join the Young Pioneers or Komsomol organizations, taught to report on any "deviations" of the old people at home? How frustrating it was to hear the Church and priests and religious openly slandered in communist propaganda, and to know that the children had to learn and repeat atheist doctrines every day in school and in their class work. How could God allow all this? And why?...
...It was not a crisis of faith, any more than it is for anyone who has ever suffered a great loss or faced a family tragedy and asked himself the same questions. It was rather a crisis of understanding, and no one need be ashamed to admit he has been troubled by it. Anyone who has done much reading in the Old Testament is familiar with those questions. "How long, Lord, how long will you allow our enemies to triumph over us?"
Most especially in the days after David, in the ages of captivity, when the glories of the golden age of Solomon were but a memory by the rivers of Babylon and Israel had been broken and led away in shame, does the question recur again and again. To Israel, surely, it must have seemed the end of the world, the end of the covenant, the end of God's special care for his chosen people.
Yet, from our vantage point in history, we know it was really quite the opposite. Israel's troubles were in truth a manifestation of Yahweh's special providence, his special love for his chosen people. Like a fond and loving father, he was trying to wean them away from trust in kings or princes or in armies or the powers of this world.
He was trying to teach them, again and again, that their faith must only be in him alone. He was leading them, through every trial and in every age, to the realization that God alone is faithful in all tribulations, that he alone is constant in his love and must be clung to, even when it seems all else has been turned upside down. Yahweh is still the Lord behind the events and happenings of this world; he can be found there and he must be sought in them, so that his will may be done.
It was he who had chosen them, not they him. It was he who had first made the covenant with them, who had led them and cared for them, shepherded and fed and guarded them in every tribulation. Their part in the covenant must be to trust in him alone, to remain always faithful, to look to him and not to other gods, to rely on him and not on rulers or on chariots or bowmen.
He was ever faithful and so in turn must they be, even when he led them where they would not go, into a land they knew not, or into exile. For he had chosen them, they were his people, he would no more forget them than a mother could forget the child of her womb."
I hope to print some excerpts here as I continue to read the book. It is a remarkable story of faith.
Father Ciszek is the parish priest in this small town. He tells us that the Jesuit mission which had flourished for ten years in Albertyn was destroyed in a matter of weeks.
"Again and again, as I watched all this happen, I had to force myself not to think of the question that kept returning unbidden to mind: "Why has God allowed this evil to happen?" Why persecutions?...
...The perplexity and pain grew within me as I saw the visible Church, once strong and organized, dissolve under the attacks of these invaders and watched the people grow estranged, pressured ceaselessly into accepting this new order.
And what of the young people who were literally torn away from their parents and forced to join the Young Pioneers or Komsomol organizations, taught to report on any "deviations" of the old people at home? How frustrating it was to hear the Church and priests and religious openly slandered in communist propaganda, and to know that the children had to learn and repeat atheist doctrines every day in school and in their class work. How could God allow all this? And why?...
...It was not a crisis of faith, any more than it is for anyone who has ever suffered a great loss or faced a family tragedy and asked himself the same questions. It was rather a crisis of understanding, and no one need be ashamed to admit he has been troubled by it. Anyone who has done much reading in the Old Testament is familiar with those questions. "How long, Lord, how long will you allow our enemies to triumph over us?"
Most especially in the days after David, in the ages of captivity, when the glories of the golden age of Solomon were but a memory by the rivers of Babylon and Israel had been broken and led away in shame, does the question recur again and again. To Israel, surely, it must have seemed the end of the world, the end of the covenant, the end of God's special care for his chosen people.
Yet, from our vantage point in history, we know it was really quite the opposite. Israel's troubles were in truth a manifestation of Yahweh's special providence, his special love for his chosen people. Like a fond and loving father, he was trying to wean them away from trust in kings or princes or in armies or the powers of this world.
He was trying to teach them, again and again, that their faith must only be in him alone. He was leading them, through every trial and in every age, to the realization that God alone is faithful in all tribulations, that he alone is constant in his love and must be clung to, even when it seems all else has been turned upside down. Yahweh is still the Lord behind the events and happenings of this world; he can be found there and he must be sought in them, so that his will may be done.
It was he who had chosen them, not they him. It was he who had first made the covenant with them, who had led them and cared for them, shepherded and fed and guarded them in every tribulation. Their part in the covenant must be to trust in him alone, to remain always faithful, to look to him and not to other gods, to rely on him and not on rulers or on chariots or bowmen.
He was ever faithful and so in turn must they be, even when he led them where they would not go, into a land they knew not, or into exile. For he had chosen them, they were his people, he would no more forget them than a mother could forget the child of her womb."
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