The Song is Changing Everything

This is an example of how consolation confirms faith.

I’ve been torn apart by bitter family conflict that seems to be getting worse by the day. So I set up an appointment to talk with Father James. I was seeking reconciliation.
On the day of my appointment, before Mass, I went to the chapel to pray; another parishioner was there, preparing the altar. I guess he could tell that I was distressed because he gave me a sheet of paper me with an excerpt by St. Francis de Sales. I took it, thanked him, folded it up and put it away; I was serious about the business of praying and I didn't want to be distracted.

After Mass I stayed in the chapel, silently begging God to help me resolve the issues that are tearing my family apart, and hurting each of us in ways that will scar us for the rest of our lives. I prayed for answers to hard questions; I told Him that I wasn’t seeking any of the consolations that I often experience; I didn’t want sweet tears or shimmering images; I only wanted real and lasting change in the lives of my children and grandchildren.

But just before I left the chapel, I had an inner vision of Christ with His cross on His back. His arms were outstretched, His hands nailed to the wood. He was bent forward by the weight and pain of this cross. I was inside of Him, my body inside His, my arms were stretched out with His, my hands nailed to this cross inside of His own. Without words, He was telling me that two of my loved ones were on opposing arms of the cross and because my hands were nailed in place, there was no way to bring them together by my own power. The only way these two would ever be reconciled would be through the blood that flowed from the very heart of Christ Himself. The blood that flowed through His body, and through mine would be the only effective medicine.

Father and I had a long talk about the problems in the family, and when I left I felt calm. Over the next few days, I kept coming back to the vision and to the feeling of being inside the body Christ, of being nailed to this particular cross with Him. I had finished reading and recording the Apostolic Letter of John Paul II on the Christian Meaning of Suffering and had been mulling over the whole idea of suffering: what is suffering and why do we suffer; why did Christ have to suffer? Every time the questions would come up I’d remember the vision, and I kept hearing Christ say, “Trust me; stay in me; walk this path with me.”

I don’t know how the problems in my family will be solved, but I am beginning to notice that a current of faith and hope and love is deepening and growing stronger inside of me; this current like the resonant voice of a river that is light in one instance, rich in another; a river that murmurs the name of God without ceasing flows through me. It assures me that change is eminent.

It is becoming clear to me that my first task is to stay rooted in the Heart of Jesus, standing in prayer with my arms wide open, praying for my children, and for all the people I love. The circle of people that I love grows wider every day
My second task is to stop trying to deny the particular pain that God has given to me, or to deny my failures, limitations and mistakes; it is also to begin to use the gifts he has given to serve whomever He chooses for me to serve in earnest and without false humility.

With all this in mind, it was three days later when I remembered the paper Ted had given to me. I found it, unfolded it and read it. What I read confirmed that the vision was indeed a gift from God, a message and a refuge. Here is what was written on the paper:

Your Cross
The Everlasting God has in His wisdom foreseen from eternity the cross that He now presents to you as a gift from His inmost Heart. This cross He now sends you He has considered with His all-knowing eyes, understood with His divine mind, tested with His wise justice, warmed with loving arms and weighed with His own hands to see that it be not one inch too large and not one ounce too heavy for you. He has blessed it with His Holy Name, anointed it with His graces, perfumed it with His consolation, taken one last glance at you and your courage, and then sent it to you from heaven, a special greeting from God to you, an alms of the all merciful love of God.
---St Frances de Sales

The peace of the cross of Jesus is not only the kind of peace that frees a person of a burden, but the kind that makes one believe the burden is worth bearing. It is only by grace that I am to stay in the place of mindfulness where I watch as my pain is transformed. This cross is the instrument that keeps me from squirming away from the very force that is trying to form me, the potter’s hand that wants to shape me into a vessel capable of carrying a certain measure of grace to the people God would have me serve.
The vision was a gift and it has a certain weight or quality that I can come back to over and over. Every time I revisit it I feel blessed. And it is not just an abstraction or a metaphor, but it is a place of real formation, even though it can’t be seen by the physical eye.
At this place I gain insight into the causes of turmoil in my life and in my family; I am gaining insight into my own woundedness, and into our familial wounds. And with insight comes understanding. Understanding then, changes behavior and each subtle change in behavior makes way for peace because it changes the way I see the world; it changes my interactions with others; it changes my relationship with God.
When I remember the cross, and when I stay hidden inside of Him, the river flows through me, murmuring like a lover, soothing like a mother, assuring me that all is well, like a good father, guiding and encouraging me like a teacher, staying close to me like a friend, healing me like a physician.
The voice of the river sings and its song is changing everything.