conversion

Book Break: Hind’s Feet on High Places

/ J. Thorp / Leave a comment

Our second son, Gabriel, is discerning religious life with the Franciscan Friars of the Renewal (CFRs) in New York City. Not long after he left for the friary, we were talking with him on the phone and asked what we could send that would be useful and received. The friars take their vow of poverty seriously, own very little, and share what they have with others and their Harlem neighbors, so sending a care package can be a challenge.

At the time, one of his brother postulants was looking for a particular spiritual book I didn’t know, called Hind’s Feet on High Places, by Hannah Hurnard. Since we have the luxury of the internet, I found it quickly on eBay and had it shipped to our home, intending to include it in our next package. By the time it arrived, however, we spoke with Gabe again and learned they had already obtained a copy. So I slipped it into our bedroom bookshelf, amongst other books I hoped to read soon.

I opened it late in my Lenten journey this spring and began the book with some trepidation. It is very much an allegory: The main character is named Much-Afraid, who lives with her relatives, the Fearings, in the Valley of Humiliation. She is lame and deformed and regards herself as unloved and even unlovable. She is betrothed to her cousin Craven Fear, a vicious bully—and the only bright spot in her life is that she works for the Shepherd, who is loved by all who follow him and feared and avoided by all who don’t. The shepherd promises Much-Afraid that, even in her lame state, he can give her hind’s (deer’s) feet and bring her to the high places where her relatives have no power over her. But the path seems impossible and contradictory at times.

See what I mean? Very much an allegory.

In the early pages, it felt like it would be too simple and childlike to hold my attention, but instead I found it to be a carefully observed account of the path to faith, conversion, surrender, and charity. I’ve not walked that path in its entirety, mind you—but the early stages of the journey were spot on. After only a couple of chapters, I found myself shuffling along in Much-Afraid’s shoes, then watching as she proceeded further that I have ever gone, and praying to God to bring me along, too.

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Everything He Has Is Ours

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This post also appeared in the Sunday, March 17, issue of the St. Michael Catholic Church bulletin.

A few weeks ago I was blessed to attend a day-long silent retreat for church staff, led by Father Park. It had been a long while since my last silent retreat, and the time was truly blessed.

One of the scripture passages given to us for reflection was an old standby: the Parable of the Prodigal Son (Luke 15:11-32). Like many of you, I’ve heard this story countless times and sometimes approach it like an old friend I know well, slipping into familiar patterns without a second look or thought.

This time was different. Instead of focusing on the father’s forgiveness, the younger son’s repentance, or the older son’s hardness of heart, what struck me was the father’s unflagging generosity with both his sons.

Or, more specifically, our Heavenly Father’s unfailing generosity with me.

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Strong and Wrong or Weak and Wise?

/ J. Thorp / Leave a comment


This post appeared as a column in the Sunday, November 19, edition of the St. Michael Catholic Church bulletin.

Last Wednesday’s gospel challenged me. Jesus starts and ends with strong, provocative language—”If anyone comes to me without hating his father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, and even his own life, he cannot be my disciple” (Luke 14:26) and “In the same way, every one of you who does not renounce all his possessions cannot be my disciple” (Luke 14:33).

In between, he offers two examples for our reflection. In the first, He asks who would undertake to build a tower without first calculating whether or not he could finish it; in the second, he calls to mind a king assessing the strength of an advancing army to determine whether he could successfully oppose them.

In both examples, the concern is clear: Will I be able to persevere and succeed with the resources I have at hand? But the actions and outcomes are subtly different. In the first, the builder does not take the time to calculate, and his inability to complete his tower leads to failure and ridicule. In the second, however, the king does take the time, and upon realizing he cannot win, seeks peace before the battle ever begins.

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He’s Got His Little Ways

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Blogger’s Note: This is a strange column. It appeared in last weekend’s bulletin for St. Michael Catholic Church. I wrote it early last week, just before deadline. Reading it, I recognize it as mine, but it feels like someone else wrote it. I have received direct feedback thanking me for writing and sharing it, because someone needed to hear it. Holy Spirit moment, then?

This morning an old Dwight Yoakam tune popped into my head: *

You’ve got your little ways to hurt me
You know just how to tear me up
And leave me in small pieces on the ground

The context was not a bad breakup or a cruel mistress, but the realization that I am, in many ways, the same sinner I was before my conversion. I’m not struggling with big sins that kept me separated from the Lord. But the struggles and temptations are still there, and I am often seemingly helpless against them. I’m still tempted to seek physical pleasure—most often in the forms of food, drink, and rest—instead of spiritual goods. And I still turn to the internet when I’m stressed or desire distraction—only now its online TV series, silly YouTube videos, sports highlights, and political news.

These are not grave issues, and most of the time, I am not consciously choosing them in opposition to what God is asking of me. The reality is less serious, but much more insidious: I slip unconsciously, effortlessly, out of the present moment and away from my family and responsibilities. Often I don’t realize until much later how much time I’ve lost or what I’ve missed; when I do realize, the Accuser is there, reminding me how childish and helpless I still am.

That’s where I found myself this morning. Last evening, I spent the final three or four hours before sleep vegging in front of a screen. It started with a family movie, followed by a clean comedy video, but then devolved into satirical movie trailers and political pundits by myself, on my phone. When I was almost too tired to get ready for bed, I realized I hadn’t prayed a rosary yet, despite having friends who needed those prayers. I rushed it while shuffling about getting ready for bed—then rose this morning and immediately opened a browser on my phone.

Holiness indeed, whispered the Accuser in my ear. You have no self-control at all, do you?

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Seeing Jesus in the Poor

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Religion that is pure and undefiled before God and the Father is this: to care for orphans and widows in their affliction and to keep oneself unstained by the world.

James 1:27

A year or two ago, I took my dad to visit an old friend. I heard many stories from their younger days, from middle school through their time in the Army.

I knew my father grew up with a little bit of nothing: He was the youngest of his siblings; his mom died when he was little, and his dad and stepmom had new babies to provide for and little means to do it. That morning I learned that Dad and his friend lived out of Dad’s car for awhile when they were in high school, scraping together what money they could for food or a cheap hotel room by doing odd jobs for their teachers and neighbors.

I learned something else as well: As tough as Dad’s life was at that point, his friend’s was tougher. From his outside perspective, Dad had a wonderful family—a place to get a half loaf of bread if things got really bad. Dad was his friend’s safety net.

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