On Repeat
There are two dimensions to a New Year’s resolution: forming a new habit, and breaking an old habit. Adding more greens to my diet implies cutting out some other, unhealthy element or elements. Exercising regularly implies taking time away from other pastimes that foster slothful behavior. In other words, when I say I want to improve myself, I’m also saying I want to do away with some wretched part of me that I’ve been grasping for too long.
I suggest that we adapt the New Year’s resolution mindset to our spiritual lives, beginning with some self-examination. What is the major chronic sin that you have been grasping too tightly? The one that you lug with you into the confessional every time? The one that makes your soul feel itchy, and you just can’t seem to stop scratching?
In my own experience, it’s the chronic sins that most, as poet Theodore Roethke writes about lust, “fatigue the soul.” Our weakness in the face of our signature sins, whatever they may be, easily plunges us into what can feel like despair. John Donne conveys this feeling marvelously in his first Holy Sonnet, saying to God,
Oh I shall soon despair, when I do see
That thou lov’st mankind well, yet wilt not choose me,
And Satan hates me, yet is loath to lose me.
Repeating the same sin again and again leaves us wondering, “Why can’t I just conquer this?”
I don’t claim to know a lot, but I do know the answer to this question: it is because we cannot conquer our sins by our own sheer willpower.
So often, when I find that a sin has become a habit, I see the formation of that habit as a personal failure and a demonstration of weakness. This perspective is not erroneous per se, but it fails to get at the heart of the issue. It is not simply my lack of resolve and strength that allows ugly sins to take root and run wild like invasive species. More precisely, it is my lack of reliance on God and my failure to turn to Him in times of temptation that provides sins with a cozy environment in my soul.
In practice, this distinction between our resolve and our failure to rely on Christ to strengthen our resolve can feel like a technicality. In truth, it is a critical distinction that makes us Christians (and keeps us from being heretics – Google “Pelagianism”). Conscientious people of all creeds can correct bad habits. But the Christian has the saving wisdom that that, while we have the power to improve ourselves, we do not have the power to save ourselves – and this is the greatest blessing our loving Father could have given us.
As Thomas Merton writes in “The Seven Storey Mountain” (you knew there would be a Merton quotation in here eventually), “Our weakness should not terrify us: it is the source of our strength . . . Power is made perfect in infirmity, and our very helplessness is all the more potent a claim on that Divine Mercy Who calls to Himself the poor, the little ones, the heavily burdened.”
If we could save ourselves, we would miss out on the authentic, deep, pure joy of experiencing and receiving the Father’s wisdom and the beauty of His unconditional love and ever-renewed gift of mercy.
When I quoted John Donne earlier, I did not provide the situation’s complete context. Right before lamenting, “Oh I shall soon despair,” Donne qualifies this statement: “Except thou rise, and for thine own work fight.”
What a beautiful contradiction that, when we offend our Father, it is He who gives us the grace to see our missteps clearly, ask for forgiveness sincerely, and grow in virtue consequently. That the Lord will provide the strength necessary to choose Him, if only we ask for it.
This year, may we learn these lessons together, my friends.
Katelyn has interned with The Message the past three years and is a graduate of Indiana University in Bloomington. She will begin law school in the fall. You may contact her at kklingler@evdio.org.
