Joan of Nowhere

Lately we've been excited about the prospects of Arsdale. This is a play on the Ars of France, where a priest named John Vianney changed the course of history and the souls of many for all eternity. In the nineteenth century, this farm boy grew in holiness, struggled through seminary, barely made it to ordination, and then was sent to a numbskull type of village named Ars. The Bishop thought he'd not do much harm there, since most of the villagers didn't go to Mass and were poor.

How wrong could that Bishop have been! Who we now know as St. John Vianney, the Cure d'Ars, turned the villagers around, and Ars is a much-visited pilgrimage site with Basilica and many miracles yet. It took the young priest ten years to get some changes made, but it took only a year or so to get people back into the church. His life was one of complete sacrifice: prayer for hours in front of the Blessed Sacrament in the church, fasting, and other austerities. He did it all for the souls entrusted to him and for his own soul which, even at age 70 he'd weep over--saying he so regretted his sinful life.

So it is that a 40-year-old priest in a numbskull type of suberb of a Midwestern city might turn the resistant parishioners around. Thus, the inception of Arsdale is introduced. Yes, some of us dream of a holy Arsdale, just like the Ars they have in France. The priest read the biography of the Cure of Ars. He became inspired to turn his own personal life around and strive for that kind of holiness, to imitate this saint. His preaching has changed, his personal prayer life, mortifications, and focus have all changed from shallow-end existence to deep-end diving.

The devil has not liked this change. Some of the Arsdaliens have sparked into angry flames of indignation and resistance. Some have fled to another parish where they are told they are loved just as they are--complete with their stony little hearts. But others remain and burn and spit and lick at those trying to grow in holiness. Of course, these resistors will not succeed. Visitors to the parish are beginning to arrive, and they are inspired by what they hear and see.

What the devil seems to do, also, however, is to lay me low with attacks both spiritual and physical. Yes, I had offered to take whatever assaults would otherwise go to the priest, as I could see he'd need all the energy possible to keep going with fervor. It seems the stronger and more focused the one, the weaker and more distracted and despairing my poor, pathetic body and soul. It even seems that the devil is allowed to attack through the very one for whom the suffering is offered. It is horrendous.

I've tried creatively balancing the heaviness with quirky spin-offs of writing and podcasting, using the "handle" of "Joan of Arsdale." But now, after too many desolations, it seems that I must be open to leaving Arsdale. It feels as if I cannot take more, that I need something more to do for God, something tangible and earthly, such as a real job. It has to be part-time as my physical body cannot endure more, if even it can endure any regular part-time schedule. I'd like to do parish work--what else? However, I'm not even sure if God wants this of me, and if He does, then where?

Yesterday, another priest helped me struggle from a deep despair in the morning. He said that yes, the devil is allowed any means to cause confusion and upset--even to use one's spiritual direct for this purpose, without the director realizing. I was told that I must focus on the Holy Trinity and know that the Holy Spirit is much stronger and will win out. In the meantime, though, that the process of discernment is necessary, always, and to try to see if God wants me to work some place. Much of it is a process of elimination. God will let me know if I am not to work at a parish by not having any opportunity available--but that I'm not to assume it is a "no" with one or two rejections.

Ah, it will be hard to leave Arsdale, if I am to leave. It is always fun to be in on something that is going to happen and sweep the area! Yet I consider one of my greatest and earliest mentors, St. John the Baptist. He knew when to decrease, when to fall back. I am having to fall back at Arsdale in various, on-going situations. The good of falling back and decreasing is that there will be opportunity for increasing and coming forth in other ways. The soul is not an empty vacuum: it is always filled with some force--hopefully love! The other is not a good prospect.

It does seem as if I am to leave, since I cannot bear any more onslaughts. My body cannot take it, my spirit cannot survive. My mind is not adapted to game-playing, the ups-and-downs of trying to dodge flames. Truly, I bring much upon myself, and even though I could see the latest blow coming by a couple of weeks, I persisted in wanting to squeeze out the last bit of activity and fun. Was it fun? Now I wonder!

The emptiness has not been at all fun. I thought there was a system in place for when I got to this darkness: a plan for help and rescue. But the farther I fall, the more distant grows the spiritual director; then the more distant and removed, the more chilled my essence in this cold, bleak aridity. Seeing the handwriitng on the wall is not a good signal. It means the end of something. Does it mean the end of Arsdale, for me? I don't know. It means the end of one episode of Arsdale, and I am no longer Joan of Arsdale. I am Joan of Nowhere unless God changes the no to a where and when.

Today the physical pain was allowed to reach its peak. The spiritual pain was numbed by the physical. A relief, of sorts, in the soul's survival racing against the body's struggle to maintain. My mind repeats: Jesus meek and humble of heart, make my heart like unto Thine. My heart beats: Jesus, mercy!

I know He will rescue me. He will vindicate me. Someday, even though I am not worthy.