Surprised by Anger

My Spiritual Father gave me a prized possession, a relic of St. Charbel Maklouf, mystic and hermit of Lebanon.

The Irish Da said, "You'd better take it. If something would happen to me, who knows what would happen to this...."

He is over 87 years old, but he can't leave yet. I'm not detached from him. But my attachment won't change the course of destiny. I might be more detached than I realize, for he wouldn't direct my soul for over four years, and I didn't collapse.

Last night in reading into Infused Contemplation in the writings of A. Tanquerey, and as a result of some recognized self-faults, I decided to ask St. Charbel (also spelled Sharbel) to please help me learn SILENCE. It is noted in writings about this saint that he was known for his silence. I need silence, silence within for the chattering of my mind, and silence without for the chattering of my tongue. Tanquerey mentions silence as a preparation, a necessity, for the prayer of simplicity and especially for the prayer of quiet. One must be needfully prepared.

I prayed and asked St. Charbel to please help me learn SILENCE. I have no reason to doubt that I will not learn SILENCE. I added another request to St. Pio who many years ago appeared and told me soundly: SILENCE and PENANCE. I have this message scripted on an old window transom that hangs above the sofa, but I admit I have not done well on the SILENCE side.

Through my mind, following these prayers, were imaginings and hopes of a visit from St. Charbel, from St. Pio--even from the Beloved. Maybe they would grab me and infuse into me a natural proneness to SILENCE!

I awoke in the middle of the night, I know not the hour. I was surprised by anger filling my thoughts, my body, my soul.

The rattling of the air vent in this new hermitage roused anger against the builder. The pain in my body, the burning pain, roused anger that I had purchased a new mattress with some padding on it rather than the one without padding. The mind seethed with how I could get these human problems solved, and when, and dipped into the past mistakes that were sources of other anger.

Then I considered the pain, and how good it is to be united with Jesus in pain. I considered Tanquerey and his explanation (quoting St. John of the Cross in bulk and much of St. Teresa) that a soul at a certain stage loses desire for discursive prayer. I reached under the pillow and grasped the rosary, for I have not done well in praying the words, and grasping it in the silence of the night, save the rattling air vent, seemed to stay some of the unbidden anger.

I reflected on this anger, however, and thought of many things which cause anger which causes words to be spoken or words to be thought. I considered that anger will be laid bare for what it is in my upcoming confession, there to be absolved from my life, from my soul. Thank God!

I considered death and how I so want to die. But why? To be rid of the entanglements of the earth, was a response. To be with Jesus and the hope of bliss in eternity entered the thoughts. To not have a body riddled constantly with pain certainly had a berth in the desire to be dead.

But I am dead. I am already IN Christ. Through yet other reading of Tanquerey and his explanation of the unitive way, through examination of the writings of St. John of the Cross and St. Teresa, I know that these sensations of dislike for the material possessions is to be expected at a certain stage of soul development, many required in order to be in the middle of our culture. This is part of the cross, of managing the material goods we are given, that keep us going day by day: car, food, clothing, housing, and the maintenance that goes with living on earth.

I fell back asleep and into a demonic dream filled with ugly scenes of people who I know in this life despise Catholics and who argued with me in the dream. It contained ugly scenes of elderly people, including my parents, unlikely and untrue. It was a dream of the devil, and thankfully I awoke to shimmering light, rosary lying on my stomach, pain slightly subsided, and my mind marveling at the clarity of evil over good. Now I could see in light that the Lord chose to allow the devil to surprise me with anger instead of a vision of saints infusing silence.

Why? Anger evidently lurks within and is a hindrance to infused contemplation. Anger is a hindrance to silence--silence of thought and silence of word, of silence of emotion and of soul.

Today I return to gazing upon the loving patience of Jesus. He is silently patient with me. I love Him for this and all of Him.