Today, my son got stuck in the maple tree in the front of our house. I was preoccupied on the front porch, making sure our toddling one-year-old did not toddle herself face first off of the front porch. Though I was helping my toddler walk around safely, I most certainly could have helped him out of the tree. I could have scooped her up, and given him one hand while holding her with my other. Instead, I did what every good mother would do to help...nothing. I assessed the situation from my perch twenty feet away, and decided that this was a pickle he needed to get himself out of. Though he was, indeed, stuck, I determined that he would be best served by solving his own problem.
After his desperate plea for help and my seemingly severe refusal, I began encouraging him with guiding words and hollers of praise as he made progress. Eventually, his leg became untangled from the branch, his boots were firmly back on terra firma, and he had a smile that beamed from ear to ear, silently communicating his sense of accomplishment. In contrast, earlier in the day, we had all of the wooden puzzles out in my attempt to occupy my young ones during our homeschooling. While running around with her favorite stuffed doll, my three year old stepped on one of the pieces that had a plastic nub for a handle. While these nubs are great for teaching dexterity, they are pretty painful to step on. I immediately scooped her up and cuddled her, rubbing the spot where the offensive nub attacked her poor, adorable foot. I held her until her sniffles subsided, and subsequently cleared a path through the puzzle pieces. Now these things have seemingly nothing to do with one another. However, after listening to a talk from Father Michael Gaitley (found here) about God's mercy and the chaos of our current times, I realized that both of these acts were pointing me to how God interacts with His children.
In Father Michael Gaitley's video, he opens by describing his experience touring a newly-built cathedral in Los Angeles with some seminarians he had never met before. These other seminarians were harshly judging everything they saw, from the low placement of the altar to the angles of the ceiling. By traditional Catholic standards, this cathedral is the antithesis of the Notre Dame in Paris. It is modern, it is bland, it is simple. And as Father Gaitley tells in his story, he realized that the cathedral was perfect for where and when it was built. In L.A., a majority of Catholics are from immigrant families facing difficult challenges. As Father Gaitley notes, the cathedral is a respite from the chaos and stress of their lives, and the low placement of the altar is a reminder of how God comes down to His people. The cathedral may look like a terrible mistake from a traditional Catholic perspective, but it is truly an act of mercy from the perspective of those it serves. How many times, how many people, how many interactions have I approached with the harsh attitude of the seminarians Father Gaitley describes? I exalt myself, thinking I know best, assessing a situation or a person without stepping outside of my own point of reference. One might look at the tree vs puzzle piece scenario, and say that I am inconsistent in my parenting. My daughter wasn't really hurt by the puzzle piece. Within a minute, she was back running around with her doll. On the other hand, my son really was stuck in the tree, his foot caught awkwardly in the crevice of a branch. How could I turn my back on him, yet coddle my daughter?
I know my children, that's how. As a mother, I know my children better than any other. I know their situations, their personalities, their development, their capabilities, their temperaments. I know when their cries are earnest and when they are fake, when they are due to pain or when they are due to fear. I know when their tantrums are for attention or are genuine, and I know when they are capable of conquering versus when they are in over their head. And, of course, I respond according to what I know, and what I believe is best for them and their growth and health and happiness. Sometimes, it will look like severity - as in the case with my son stuck in the tree. Sometimes, it will look like mercy, as in the case of my daughter and the puzzle piece. Someone who views me from a different family, a different background, a different reference point might take a look at my parenting and judge me for being unfair, or too harsh with my son, or too soft with my daughter. How could we possibly judge what is right for all of humanity from our limited point of reference?
And yet, we do, all the time. We do it in our spiritual lives, our political lives, our family lives, our professional lives., our sexual lives, our financial lives, our health lives. I would wager that, to one degree or another, right this minute, every one of us is walking around thinking we know what is right for someone else, what is best for someone else, and what should happen for someone else, whether it is a loved one or an entire group of unknown strangers (Republicans vs Democrats, Protestants vs Catholics, Masks vs No Masks). We are all, to some degree, plagued by the individualism of our relativistic society, which breeds self-importance and self-exaltation, and which has built in every one of us, to some degree, a hardness of heart.
So what do we do?
I think, first, we need to remember how God works: as a parent. The incident with the tree and the incident with the puzzle piece happened within maybe three hours of each other. That is to say, as a mother, I was capable of being simultaneously harsh and merciful, severe and loving. I can and do and need to provide my children both tough love and tender care, depending on which child and which situation. With God, I'd contend that all of the tragedies happening right now in the world are not God's punishment for mankind, but God's permissive will, allowing us to feel the consequences of our own actions in hopes we will turn back towards Him. It is like He is standing back, watching us get ourselves untangled from the tree, eager to see us plant our feet on the solid Rock once more, and find our confidence and purpose once again in Him. Next, I think we need to remember that God is the Father, and we are not. My children often like to "parent" one another, telling each other what they should or shouldn't be doing, and parroting myself or my husband on what the rules are. But I often remind my children that discipline is not their job, and I don't want them intervening unless there is someone in danger of getting hurt. It also tends to be that I look to my older children to intervene for the younger ones - the more advanced caring for the less developed. For example, it would have been ridiculous and frankly dangerous if I had sent my three year old to help my five year old out of the tree. God may need us to intervene for our brothers and sisters in Christ, but we need to be very humble and careful in discerning these delicate moments. It's easy to tell which of my children is more developmentally advanced; you can just look at them. It's not so obvious in the spiritual life, and without prayer and humility, we can easily think we are spiritually better off than someone when we are not. Ultimately, Father Michael Gaitley points to the best solution - mercy. He also teaches us how to exercise mercy. When you catch yourself judging something, someone, or some situation in negative terms, stop and ask God to reveal to you a good that comes from it - where God exists within that moment. Ask God to reveal to you the context in which the thing, person, or situation exists. Imagine if we all did this in politics, in religion, in our work places, in our social media lives, in our churches, and in our families.
Let me be clear, there is a definitive Truth, a God-given right and wrong that exists. I am not saying that's not the case. But what I am saying is that, if we exercise humility and mercy in imitation of the Christ and the Church, then God will work through us to allow that Truth to prevail. Let's entrust the parenting and discipline to God. The more we think we know better than everyone else, the more we approach each other from our high towers, and the more divided we will all become, as we try to convince each other of our rightness and their wrongness.
God came down. He humbled Himself to dwell among His people - to speak their vernacular, to meet them in their error, and even walk with them for a time, as on the road to Emmaus, in the wrong direction. May we imitate Christ in our interactions with each other. May we trust that God, as a good, good Father, knows His children far better than we do. And may we have faith that He will work a miracle of unity through our efforts to humble ourselves in mercy towards our fellow man.