Needing New Lenses
I recently decided to take up Augustine’s “Confessions,” the Church doctor’s account of his turn from lust, vice and heresy to holiness and wisdom. I’ve just reached the point in Augustine’s account at which he opens the Bible and reads the verse that finally motivates him to abandon his hesitation and stubborn earthly attachments, surrendering himself to the workings of God’s grace: “Not in reveling and drunkenness, not in debauchery and wantonness, not in strife and jealousy. But put on the Lord Jesus Christ, and as for the flesh, take no thought of it for its lusts” (Romans 13:13).
The Lord knew that it was precisely and only this verse that could speak to Augustine powerfully enough to change the ordering and governing principles of his life. The Lord spoke to him where he was, as he was, enabling him from that moment to see his former life as one filled with wretched things. Augustine finally came to hate all of the sins that had been keeping him from giving himself entirely to Christ. Yet, upon his conversion, Augustine’s view of his former self was not merely saturated with hate. His conversion also clarified and illuminated his vision, allowing him to see how Christ had been working in him despite and in the midst of his vices.
I continue to be struck by this sharpness of vision, whereby Augustine comes to see God’s will in the chain of painful events that brought him to the threshold of the Catholic Church. He writes to God about himself and his friends during the time he belonged to a group of heretics: “To enable me to eventually straighten out my life, You secretly used both their and my own perversity.”
As a writing tutor at IU, I’m constantly talking to students about “lenses” for their papers. When students write about a text, they often use a scholarly argument or a philosophical idea to clarify, complicate or refine the points they seek to make. We use lenses all the time, often without realizing it and often using our own experiences and ideas as our lenses.
When I look at a painting, I consider its features in light of the movement to which the artist belongs and his or her beliefs about art. When I listen to a politician speak to a particular issue, I consider his or her words in light of what I know about that issue, as well as my own political opinions and those of others. In other words, no experience exists in a vacuum – we bring our unique sets of skills, knowledge and understanding to every circumstance.
When we allow Christ to take possession of our hearts, He wipes off and adjusts our lenses so that we can see not just explicitly holy things as good, but all things as part of His universal design. This doesn’t make our vices permissible. Instead, it should spur us to gratitude that, even in our mistakes and waywardness, the Holy Spirit is working in us so that even our worst moments might lead us back to Christ.
Saint Josemaría Escríva once said, “There is something holy, something divine, hidden in the most ordinary situations, and it is up to each one of you to discover it.” God provides the grace; it’s our job to live with eyes and hearts that are permeable to the moments and ways in which He offers this grace.
When we’re open to receiving the Lord in places sacred, mundane and frightful alike, that grace fills and transforms every corner of our lives. The “chance” encounter with an old friend, the annoying customer in the checkout line, and the comment that insults our beliefs become opportunities to share Christ’s joy and warmth, cultivate serenity and patience, and rely on the wisdom of the Holy Spirit.
If we allow the Holy Spirit to guide us back to Love – and continually to Love – we’re able to see with clear and sharp vision how “all things work for good for those who love God” (Romans 8:28).
