Fr. Michael Sweeney, O.P., Director
While offering a workshop several months ago, it occurred to me to ask the participants what, in their view, was the greatest single impediment to discerning and using their charisms. The response was all but unanimous: fear.
Since then, I have repeated
the question, and always the response is the same. The greatest impediment to
using the charisms is fear: of failing, of looking foolish, of appearing
presumptuous, of ridicule.
There are times when fear is understandable. So, for example, I recently played in a golf tournament, having played before only three times in my life. Fear of failing, of looking foolish or of ridicule would certainly have led me to reconsider taking part. I justified the venture to myself with the conviction that, with me playing, everyone else would look good. They did.
Herein lies the crux of the matter: if we take our faith seriously we will, occasionally, certainly appear to be ridiculous. St. Paul suggested as much:
“For since, in the wisdom of God, the world did not know God through wisdom, God decided, through the foolishness of our proclamation, to save those who believe.…God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise; God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong; God chose what is low and despised in the world, things that are not, to reduce to nothing things that are, so that no one might boast in the presence of God” (1 Cor. 1:21, 27-29).
If God has decided to save the world through “the foolishness of our proclamation” then we cannot hope to escape looking foolish on occasion. But why should there be an inner relationship between faith and foolishness? And what has this to do with playing golf badly?
We first look to the proclamation of the cross, which is (as Paul says)foolishness to non-believers. Of course the cross appears to be foolish: apart from revelation, no one aspires to be crucified. No one aspires to be despised, humiliated, ridiculed, let alone put to death. To glorify Christ crucified really does appear to be foolishness for those who do not yet believe.
Yet it is on the cross that Jesus is able “to reconcile all things to himself”; it is on the cross that our Lord is able to reach out to every man and every woman, taking upon himself all that is human, and all that opposes our humanity. By assuming every human suffering—and by accepting every human evil—Jesus guarantees that nothing can stand between him and us. In this sense, he shows us what it is to be faithful: to be faithful is to stay with us, to stand in total solidarity with us, so that even in our sinfulness there is nothing that can come between us and him. This is the “folly of the cross” become “the wisdom of God.”
We are commissioned by Our Lord to continue his work in this world. This is why we have received the Holy Spirit: to stand in solidarity with every man and woman; to stay with each man and each woman as each must face this world, and claim his or her particular life and destiny.
This, then, is the inner relationship between faithfulness and folly: we are to embrace everything that is human, in order that we may raise up all that is human. We are to play golf well if we can—that day is yet to come in my case— but we are also to play it poorly— something which I can accommodate even now. This is because we are to stand in solidarity, not only with those who play golf well, but also with those who play golf poorly. (And, while I play golf very poorly indeed, I would like to remind my reader that there are many more who play golf poorly than who play it well. If solidarity with mankind is my commission, to play golf poorly is a very good strategy.)
Do we fear to appear ridiculous? The only remedy is to rejoice in our folly. If I set out to be foolish, then I will not fear the outcome. St. Paul understood this very well when he suggested that we should boast of our weakness: “Who is weak, and I am not weak? Who is made to stumble, and I am not indignant? If I must boast, I will boast of the things that show my weakness” (2 Cor. 11:29-30). Nothing could more oppose the spirit of this age than to make a boast of our weakness. Nothing will conquer our fear more effectively than to embrace weakness and folly.
Must we therefore appear foolish? I am afraid so. If we are to teach, to advise, to exhort, to heal, to welcome others—if we are to exercise any charism at all— we will most certainly approach the whole enterprise feeling and appearing to be foolish. After all, only God can truly teach, advise, exhort, heal and welcome. If we are to provide the opportunity for God to act through us, then we must—however haltingly and awkwardly—propose ourselves to others. We must join them on golf courses when we have only just begun to play golf. We must enter their hospital rooms when we fear that we ourselves need a physician. We must welcome the stranger, even when we feel estranged. We must situate ourselves in the very places where God alone can act, for the charisms we have received have been given so that God can act through us. If this is not a formula for appearing ridiculous to ourselves and to others, then such a formula does not exist. (And, after all, I proved the existence of such a formula less than one week ago on a public golf course.)
I would like, therefore, to make a modest proposal: let us embrace together the whole folly of following Christ. Let us begin each day with the question, “Well, Lord, what foolishness have you in mind for me today?” If we are truly to overcome our fear, then let us boast in our weakness. We might, therefore, add, “And, Lord, which of my weaknesses do you prefer that I parade today?” Let us anticipate our foolishness and enjoy our weakness, for it is our foolishness and our weakness which will establish us in solidarity with the whole of mankind, even as it is through our folly and our weakness that God can manifest his wisdom and strength.