Potholes on the High Road: Forgiving Those Who Trespass Against Us
. . . So, have I forgiven this man? It seems a moot point now. The baggage of resentment evaporated with my prayer. No matter how hard I try, I just cannot pray and hate in the same sentence.So if there is someone out there you just can't forgive, someone who hurt you so much that you are burdened with the sheer weight of it, and cannot put it down, then prepare for the moment when you will offer prayer for that person, and maybe even the sacrifice of some of the very suffering that person imposed. Offer it as a share in the suffering of Christ and the garment you wear - like Saint Maximilian Kolbe's - will no longer be divided. You cannot both pray for a person and hate him at the same time. I've tried it, and it cannot be done. "And Jesus said, 'Father, forgive them for they know not what they do. And they cast lots for his garments." (Luke 23:34). . . .
Protect Us from All Anxiety: Nightmares and Dreamscapes in the Desert
. . . A few days ago, Pornchai and our friend, Donald, were in our cell talking about anxiety in prison. I told them of the awful dream I had. Donald suggested that I must feel really let down by being left to face the mob alone on the steps of the Church. Then Pornchai said, "I disagree. He wasn't alone at all." I was really thunderstruck by Pornchai's insight, and I believe he was right. The dream wasn't about the obvious source of my anxiety, the mobs pointing fingers of accusation, but rather about the fact that I am not alone in my anxiety, that Christ is there with me. How could I not see it? I see the same dark dream now in a completely different light. The next day, Pornchai brought up the "Libera Nos" prayer again, and asked me about the "protect us from all anxiety" part. It is rare that Pornchai speaks about his past, but he told me about his ongoing problem with anxiety. Living in the same cell, I have been aware of some of the times he awakens in the night in the steel bunk four feet above me, and I can feel the anxiety and pain in those times. Pornchai sleeps with his Saint Maximilian Kolbe medal hanging on the stone wall just inches from his face. I have seen him clutching it in the night. . . .