By Rev. Kat Katsanis-Semel
The truth is: Everything of which I’ve been afraid, Jesus has walked me into and through. And there are extremely bitter things that he’s still walking me through. I haven’t bypassed one test, in my relatively short life thus far…except for, say, cancer…of which I’ve been unafraid. (So, of course, he doesn’t personally walk me through that one. Ha!) In my lived experience, Christ Jesus is a fully human, fully Divine, fear-annihilating being. He will stop at nothing, to squeeze the fear out of us. But what did we expect? The Gospel conveys that he cast out demons, perhaps fear being chief among them.
I wish that I could share a trite testimonial. I want to sing about how convenient God has been at every turn, shielding me from horrific harm, horrible heartache, profound psychological pain and so on. But that’s not truthful. For my path has never been one of easy victory. It’s been a Mary Magdalene path. What does that mean? It largely means that yes, my Lord has been faithful, but he’s rarely been convenient. And – with all due respect – I mean rarely!
It also means that my walk, like Mary Magdalene’s walk, has been one in which I’ve grown into communion with the same One who leads me into and through hardship – again, some of which still goes on. Hardship – when done well – becomes a form of spiritual initiation into sacred intimacy. Whether it was witnessing the illness of alcoholism in my family, going through a serious car accident, absorbing how shattered my parents were before and during their divorce proceedings, picking up my own mental health pieces and letting God put them back together – albeit gradually (in my view!), it’s all been difficult. I mean, the degree to which I’ve been exposed to life’s (metaphysically) dark side is almost comical. Case in point: My spouse and I met just months after there was a homicide in her family. And, to top it off, it was barely acknowledged in her family system! To this day, they won’t venture to touch this sensitive subject. So, why not add that into the mix, too?
The amount of agony to which I’ve been exposed – from recovering from my own sexual assault to walking others through their healing journeys around that and so on – would feel extreme to many. I eat trauma for lunch between cream cheese and lox. It’s been a path of shadows. It’s been a path of approaching holiness from the unruly side of the tracks. When folks asked me (on recent job interviews), what a highlight of my career has been, I replied, “It’s a toss-up between serving youth experiencing homelessness through yoga or reading the Bible to those dying from AIDS.” You can see why – unless someone is pretty spiritually mature – they look at me with barely concealed horror.
And I don’t mean that with arrogance, so help me God. Bragging about hardship is foolish at best. But there’s a subtle yet key truth that emerges from my professional and personal adventures; it is this: The unseen price to pay for spiritual maturity is high, and most get bankrupt before they get there, which imprisons them in a psychological purgatory. What am I talking about? Spiritualized surrender – paired with Divinely aligned action – is the price to pay; that ends up being the toll we hand over, on a daily basis, for as long as we live on this planet. Most get bankrupt on the way to real maturity, since they try to bypass the trials, traumas and tribulations…the lack, the want, the desert days…they want to exchange all of that for an easier path. But, honey, this isn’t Macy’s in January, and you can’t always exchange what you don’t like for something better. Thus saith the Lord!
What I most want to say is that the Jesus path has been one via which I’ve become “acquainted with grief.” (Does that sound familiar? It’s out of the Book of Isaiah – Isaiah 53:3.) I am good friends with suffering. It’s become quite comfortable. And it’s not comfortable because I’m glorifying it; for God alone is worthy of glory. It is comfortable, since it’s a stable and maturing force in my life. It’s funny, but if no one is suffering around me, I often question if I’m slacking off that day. Now, that is not everyone’s way of being, whether they’re on the Jesus path or not, and I respect that. It would break most people to walk in this way – break them beyond repair. And trust me, there have been moments when I thought I’d never come back online, either. Yet, all of this breaking open causes me to be fearless – nine times out of ten – in the face of deep distress.
Let’s look at this assertion in real time. Recently, my beloved and I were at a service – at Saint Bart’s Church in NYC. And, after the service, they served a meal to celebrate Pride Month. We stayed for it. Toward the end of our meal, I got the “Holy Spirit hit,” as I call it, to take another hamburger and set it aside for someone. So, that’s what I did. I went to the serving table, took another burger, loaded it with cheese and veggies, and then carefully wrapped it up. After we’d finished eating, she and I went outside and stood on the steps of the church. It was past dark by then, though the streetlights cast an ominous glow. A person visibly experiencing homelessness walked by. No, that wasn’t it. We scanned the crowd – Park Ave. gets plenty of pedestrian traffic at almost any time – but to no avail. We waited.
At last, a man walked by pushing a shopping cart full of plastic bottles. He was dirty and smelly. Bingo! The Holy Spirit nudged me, “That’s the one.” Alright, “He’s the one,” I said to my spouse. “Let’s go over.” We cautiously walked over, as he paused at the corner of Park Ave. and 50th St., perhaps to catch his breath. Then, I said, “Hello, sir. We came from an event at this church, and God told me to give this to you. It’s unwrapped. Untouched. Would you like it?” For a moment, a wave of suspense washed over us, as he took his time to return our gaze. Then, he met it. “For me?” he asked. “Yes, it’s a hamburger for you, if you want it.” Then, he smiled, receiving our offering. What he said next made us both laugh and cry. The man shot back: “Remember this: God is good….but Jesus? Jesus is the man.” Wow – you can’t make this stuff up!
As we walked home afterward, my spouse commented, “You’re fearless.” “What do you mean?” I replied. “I feel fear sometimes, like anyone does.” She pushed back. “No, you’ll approach anyone – like anyone – if the Holy Spirit tells you to do it.” I guess she’s right: I don’t “fear man.” I don’t even fear the devil, though I maintain a healthy respect for his insidious power. But I would fear the day when I stop listening to that still, small voice. I’d dread that day, since recognizing the Shephard’s voice, hearing it and heeding it, is what gives me life. That’s where my hope and faith lie. They no longer lie in diminishing suffering, though if that’s God’s will for me on any given day, then I know he’s capable of it. My hope and faith – at this point on my path in Christ – just lie in being a disciple…and in doing whatever the Good Shepherd says to do – or not do.
It’s a plain sort of hope and a simple sort of faith. In a way, I’m startled by this reality, because I, too, want good things for myself and my loved ones – on some level. Yet, that’s just not where my hope and faith lie now. They lie solely in leaning into God’s presence. They only lie in the Holy One and growing ever closer to him. For – when we have the Presence – we have it all, even in the midst of acknowledging desperation and depression, that of ourselves and others. The I Am That I Am Presence is everything. And I want to place my hope and faith in the Everything, not just good things. As we all know too well, those are fleeting, anyway.
Perhaps an appropriate prayer for me, during this life season, which I invite you to pray, too, is this:
“Lord, I don’t even care about having this cup pass from me. Yet, if you want to take it, then that’s fine with me. I don’t even have the strength to dwell on my suffering anymore. Yet, what I have the energy for is to pay attention to You, in the deepest promptings, and in every inward whisper. Grant me the sensitivity to sense the sound of your voice, Jesus; and grant me the boldness to follow it. Oh, that I would just follow it…no matter where it leads…whether it leads me in, or through or out of apparent suffering – or not. Being discipled matters most of all. It gives us life. As the Psalmist wrote, ‘In Thee do I put my trust.’ I love you. Amen.” ~ Reverend Kat Katsanis-Semel, MA