Category Archives: Catholic Living

The “Non-Option” of Despair

My husband and I are currently working our way back through Peter Jackson’s Lord of the Rings films. The other night we were watching this scene from The Two Towers, in which 300 men are preparing as best they can to defend the fortress of Helms Deep against 10,000 orcs that will besiege their gates by nightfall. Legolas, in great anguish, is calling Aragorn’s attention to the obvious: most of them are either too old or too young and are hopelessly outnumbered by the enemy…they are all going to die. Aragorn’s response: “Then I will die as one of them!” The video link above then skips to Legolas’s apology later, right before the battle begins: “Forgive me,” He says to Aragorn. “I was wrong to despair.”

I remarked to my husband how significant Tolkien’s theme of hope is throughout this trilogy. The company of joined Middle Earth forces is facing an enemy that has both the desire and ability to wipe them out completely. In reality, their only option is to fight this evil; their only choice is to bravely face the enemy and hope for their realm to once again be at peace, ruled by a just and noble king. In this particular scene we see what happens when hopelessness begins to blur the clarity of this reality: it causes us to abandon our cause and actually prevents us from any action. Despair freezes people. 

The funny thing about despair is that it pretends to give us an alternate option. But Tolkien’s depiction of hope in his sweeping narrative and through his compelling characters most powerfully reveals that despair is actually not an option, though it seems like such a viable and reasonable one in our moments of weakness and hopelessness. I can’t help but draw parallels from this film scene in our own responses to the spiritual warfare we experience in the pilgrimage of the Christian life. 

How many times do we face overwhelming odds and, over time, when things are at their darkest, get worn down to the point of complete despair? The thing about Legolas is that he is actually an extremely brave warrior and dedicated friend who, up to this point, had been a hope-filled comrade to Aragorn and the entire “Fellowship of the Ring.” He was the kind of guy who rallied the troops. But, we see that even Legolas can become despondent, given certain circumstances. We too, after fighting so bravely, can find ourselves vulnerable to the lie that the enemy whispers to our hearts: “Your hope is not a sure thing. Don’t be a fool. Save yourself the disappointment at the end. Stop moving toward heaven; it’s out of your reach.”

When we think of “options,” we think of alternate routes to get to an end goal or destination. The lie from the enemy of our souls is that despair is an option—our only option—that it has an end in store for us that is better than what we risk losing if we choose hope. But it’s a lie. Despair just arrests and binds us in fear. It is when we hear the lies being whispered that we need, more than ever, to hold on to God’s promises, to recognize and listen to the voice of the Father. This is what He says:

“For surely I know the plans I have for you… plans for your welfare and not for harm, to give you a future with hope.” (Jeremiah 29:11)

“See, I am making all things new… [my] words are trustworthy and true… I am the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end. To the thirsty I will give water as a gift from the spring of the water of life. Those who conquer will inherit these things, and I will be their God and they will be my children.”(Revelation 21:5-7) 

When next the enemy tells you that despair is your only option, remember and respond with triumph that though you are afflicted, you are not crushed; though you are perplexed, you will not be driven to despair (2 Corinthians 4:8).

Copyright 2020 Jessica Ptomey

Spirituality in the Private Life

Undoubtably, we are all so glad to be in this Easter season and finally on the other side of Lent, as this was a Lent none of us would have imagined or chosen for ourselves. I might be wrong, but when people are signing themselves up for Lenten sacrifices I don’t imagine that anyone is telling God that they have decided to spend six weeks stowed away in one house with their spouse and children, with no social activities, and with food and supplies limited to what is left on sparse grocery store shelves in the wake of pandemic-induced hoarding behavior. I’m pretty sure no one came up with that one.

At the moment we are still living with this reality, but it is Easter now. We have the opportunity to give thanks with our families for the resurrection and the hope that is ours in this world—regardless of circumstances. Whether or not we can buy toilet paper, or whether or not we can return to a normal mode of life, God is in control and heaven is our home. And during this Easter season we also have the opportunity to assess what God has been teaching us throughout this very unusual Lenten journey.  

What God actually called us to this Lent was a completely private spirituality. And if you think about it, isn’t that really hard? It’s often a lot easier to participate in our normal public religious activities, and even add to those with more public Lenten rituals, than it is to let God work on our hearts in quiet, private places or practice charity with members of our household that are draining our already depleted stores of patience. 

As the coronavirus quarantine took effect and all public events were cancelled, we started to see an influx of virtual activities. Now on the one hand that was a huge blessing. My family has been able to watch Bishop Barron’s Word on Fire broadcast of the daily and Sunday Masses over the last few weeks; and it has been a wonderful experience to continue to pray the Mass and make a Spiritual Communion when we cannot leave our houses. But we can also see that the culture of overactivity and the tendency to avoid the gift of quiet found new ways to manifest themselves during a nation-wide quarantine. 

If we reflect on this past Lent from a perspective of divine providence, I think that we can come away with the conclusion that God meant to use this time to help us work on our private spirituality, to help us get better at the most simple and domestic expression of the two great commandments: “love God and love your neighbor.” So, if this was the opportunity that we were given this Lent, how did we do? Were we able to sit with the Lord and let Him open our hearts and convert them more fully to His will? Were we able to perform acts of service and love (seen only by God and our family) in the midst of a challenging home dynamic? 

We probably had some failures and some successes, and the beautiful reality is that every moment is a moment for conversion. If we mostly missed this unique opportunity during Lent, we can enter into God’s invitation during Easter. We can realize that God opens up these private opportunities, often ones we would never pick ourselves, because it is the private spirituality that matters most. God wants our hearts more than our sacrifices or religious activities (1 Samuel 15:22). 

In his 1923 essay “Turning Inside Out,” G. K. Chesterton wrote, “All tends to return to the simple truth that the private work is the great one and the public work the small.”[1] Let’s celebrate the call to spiritual renewal in our private lives as we reflect on God’s love and provision this Easter season. Are we loving well in the private life not on display to the public? Who we are in private is who we really are. If we let God transform our private lives, I believe that we will find ourselves dynamically transformative within our public ones. 

Copyright 2020 Jessica Ptomey

[1] Chesterton, G. K., Dale Ahlquist, Joseph Pearce, and Aidan Mackey. 2011. In defense of sanity: the best essays of G.K. Chesterton. San Francisco, CA: Ignatius Press, p. 163.

Our Circumstances in His Story

I write this on the Feast of St. Joseph, during the first week of our American coronavirus quarantine. A week ago yesterday the World Health Organization labeled COVID-19 a pandemic, ushering in a temporary (how long remains to be seen) halt to our normal routine and pace of activity. Unfortunately, we are already getting a glimpse of the devastating impact that such necessary measures will have on our economy and certain people’s financial and physical livelihood. Our prayers rise to heaven for the sick, dying, and dead, as well as all of those faced with economic loss and destitution. 

As we recognize these challenges and tragedies, many of us Americans are faced with a different reality. We are not missing paychecks (yet), we have plenty of provisions to keep us from starving (perhaps we are guilty of taking more than we reasonably need), and we and our loved ones are currently safe and healthy. Yet we find ourselves disturbed, frustrated, anxious or afraid. Some of us perhaps have legitimate reasons for anxiety and fear. Others of us may be struggling with more superficial disappointments, and we are failing to practice gratitude and be faithful stewards of the circumstances that we have been dealt and the time in which we have been providentially placed to live.

Some perhaps face the cancellation of events or travel that were long in the making; and being forced to relinquish those fondly anticipated plans has brought bitter disappointment. Others perhaps sorely miss human contact and the sustaining rhythm of social activities. Still others have become despondent at the disruption of daily and weekly public worship services. Certainly, all Catholics I know who are currently unable to receive the Eucharist feel great sorrow. Others just have a great deal of trouble sitting still and enjoying slowness and solitude. We could discuss the significance of these disappointments, argue over which ranks greatest in terms of loss, justify our feelings, or express frustration about how well or efficiently things are being handled. But ultimately, in terms of our spiritual response to a widespread crisis like this, we all have the same opportunity. 

In his morning reflection on today’s gospel reading, Bishop Robert Barron said this about St. Joseph’s response to his life-long interaction with crisis after crisis: 

“The little we know about Joseph is that he experienced heartbreak, fear unto death, and a parent’s deepest anxiety. But each time, he read what happened to him as a Theo-drama, not an ego-drama. This shift in attitude is what made Joseph the patron of the universal Church.”

As I sat with the gospel and Barron’s words this morning, I reflected on my own typical response to crisis or the disappointment of my plans. Am I living a Theo-drama or an ego-drama? My own personal crisis in the midst of our current social upheaval amounts to nothing more than the disappointment of my plans. But as I continue to reflect, I realize that this reality is only a slight amplification of my daily struggle to let go of what I want and resign myself fully to God’s providence. I keep wanting to write the story my way, in each daily detail. When God reveals a different narrative, I often don’t want to accept it. In my head I have written it all out, and the disappointment floods in when God says—either with a whisper to my heart or the booming voice of circumstance—that’s not the story. 

There’s a wonderful and deeply challenging little book that many of you have probably read and is worthy of continual re-reads: Abandonment to Divine Providence by Fr. Jean-Pierre de Caussade. The message is so simple—the circumstances of our life are God’s will; we need only to abandon our own will to His in that moment, realizing that where we find ourselves by divine providence is where we are meant to live, fully loving God and others. 

We have all heard many people remark recently that it’s no mistake we are living through these challenging times during Lent. Living abandoned to God’s will, according to His plan and His story means that we recognize the daily providence in our circumstances at all times. Our current opportunity is always our opportunity—saying “yes” to God’s story in our circumstances. The lie from the enemy is that circumstances that we don’t want are interrupting our story and disrupting our happiness. God’s truth is that our joy and peace is never disrupted when we willingly live in the only story there is—His.

Copyright 2020 Jessica Ptomey