The Charism in Your Cross

A few days ago, one of my friends and I sat on the beach, eating ice cream and talking through the mysteries of life, the universe and everything.

“Sometimes I just wish I wasn’t like this,” she sighed.

“Like what?” I asked.

“You know – deep, moody, melancholic thinker. Overanalysing everything. Convinced that optimism’s a bit naïve. I wish I was a sanguine, all bubbly and adventurous and carefree.”

I burst out laughing.

“You know I love you because you’re deep and moody and overanalytical, right?”

“What?”

“Come on,” I said, “Who else could I have a three-hour conversation with about the most profound workings of God in the depths of our hearts? Who else would sit with me in the most painful of my hurts and not try to fix anything, but simply look for Divine Grace at work in the wound? Maybe what you see as your Cross is actually your Charism.”

As I said it, I felt a deep resonance stir. Maybe – just maybe – what we perceive as our crosses, those burdens of our character and our lives that we’d most like to be rid of, are actually a gift from God giving us the best possible means for us to communicate Him to the world.

Maybe the person whose past of drug abuse, unhealthy relationships, and anger management issues has brought them shame is actually the person whose testimony will most impact that young person sitting in a rally wondering if God could ever love them in their mistakes.

Maybe the introvert who feels they have no capacity to mingle or navigate a crowded gathering is actually the person whose quiet words of encouragement or intercessory prayer will impact their friend’s life irrevocably.

Maybe the over-feeler who has spent 2018 experiencing her empathy as a burden is actually called to remember the God who gave her that gift and asks her to wield it for His Kingdom by being a sanctuary for others.

(that last one’s me, by the way)

In discerning a career path, I keep having to confront the fact that many of the jobs I’m drawn to are also jobs I would struggle to cope with emotionally.

I’d love to teach – but I know that I’d become attached to every child’s story, fret about their futures, and stay up to the wee hours worrying about their home lives. That’s not a reason not to teach, but it’s a reason to be cautious in choosing a career that’s fairly well guaranteed to make an emotional wreck of me, especially if (as I do) I experience God’s call to invest emotionally in things outside of my career – including family, volunteering, and quality friendships.

The same goes for counselling or social work or youth ministry or nursing or prison chaplaincy or refugee law: the things that I would choose because I care crush me when I can’t stop caring.

Empathy (the ability to understand and share the feelings of others) sounds like a good thing, but an excess of it can seem like a heavy cross when you have no clue how to detach or surrender things back to God.

I know my tendency to enter deeply into the pains and joys of other people to an excessive degree, and obsess about their wellbeing until I’ve made myself unwell.

Heck, in 2016 when one of my housemates was applying for permanent residency, another was finishing her Master’s degree, and the third was stressing out about exams, I barely slept for a week because I was so worried about them. In helping friends who have struggled with mental health difficulties, I have become anxious about their anxiety and despondent in the face of their depression.

All of this is a recipe for burnout. I find myself drawn to help everyone, but in doing so exhaust my own emotional capacity and end up a weeping mess of nerves. That ain’t healthy.

But neither is the instinct to run away and hide so that I can’t ‘see a need without doing something about it’ (I simply don’t see anything!). As a Christian, I am called to imitate Christ in loving unto death, and not isolating myself for the sake of a comfortable and pain-free life.

It’s a tough balance, and I won’t pretend to be very far advanced in navigating it. Throughout 2018, I’ve experienced my own emotional life as a burden, hating the part of me that obsesses over other peoples’ well-being and renders it difficult for me to sustainably help the world in many of the ways I want to help.

But maybe what I see as my Cross is actually my Charism.

A charism, according to the Catechism, ‘whether extraordinary or simple and humble’ is ‘a grace of the Holy Spirit which directly or indirectly benefits the Church.’ (CCC 799) It is something ‘to be accepted with gratitude… and used in keeping with charity.’ (CCC 800).

Throughout the New Testament, various charisms are listed, including apostleship, evangelism, teaching, exhortation, mercy, healing, and many others. These ‘spiritual gifts’ are always for the service of the whole Body, not merely the individual’s benefit (St Thomas Aquinas).

For a religious order and other institute, the word charism is associated with a particular spirituality or shared spirit between its members for mutual growth in holiness and mission.

At its essence, a charism is our unique way of experiencing and expressing God.

If we are drawn to the God who is merciful to us, we express our faith by being merciful to others. If we are drawn to Christ’s healing ministry, perhaps it is a signal that He invites us to participate in that healing ministry on Earth today.

For me, the two ideas that most deeply draw me to the person of Christ are ‘sanctuary,’ and ‘incarnation’. Over the course of several years’ prayer, I’ve come to think of these things as the facets of the diamond of God that shine in my direction most brightly. They aren’t the only aspects of who He is, but they are how I have most deeply understood Him in the context of my own life.

Accordingly, these are the aspects of God I most desire to, and am most equipped to, share with others. Christ is a Sanctuary – a place of peace and refuge and the one in whom our hearts find a Home. And He chose Incarnation – to live through the reality and mess and finiteness of a human life and a human body, and by doing so to raise our mess to glory.

These ideas never cease to excite me – apart from when I try to execute them without God’s help. Sometimes I attempt to be a sanctuary for all peoples without first finding my Sanctuary in Christ. Sometimes I attempt to authentically witness to the mess and pain and finiteness of reality without first uniting myself to the Lord’s own life of suffering. It is then that I experience my charisms as a cross, a burden, something I’d rather be rid of – because they are too heavy for me to carry alone.

The same goes for every person called to act as an apostle, every person engaged in works of mercy, everyone tasked with exhorting the people of God. Cut off from Christ, we can do nothing. When we choose to see our identity without situating it in its Source, we will end up wishing it was different.

Every charism, whether extraordinary or simple and humble, is a grace of the Holy Spirit. However you have understood God in your life – whether that has been through a profound conversion or subtle whisperings of grace; whether in your quiet, contemplative, introvert personality, or as someone loud, action-based and zealous for souls; whether as an artist or a Truth-seeker or servant of justice – accept it with gratitude and use it in keeping with charity.

Do not be afraid of your unique soul.            

Our greatest weakness and our greatest strengths are often two sides of the same coin. Life in Christ takes the coin we’ve been staring at with negativity and despondency, and flips it over to reveal how God’s glory is accomplished in it. There is glory in growing pains. There is a charism in your cross.

And maybe, as St Catherine of Siena says, by becoming who we were created to be, we will set the world on fire with God’s love.

AMDG