“My feet were on the point of stumbling
a little more and I had slipped…
Even so, I stayed in your presence,
you grasped me by the right hand;
you will guide me with advice.” (Psalms 73:23-24)
“Lord, that is all very well, but I feel so fragile!”
What is strange about feeling fragile when one wants to become a child? The great, the wise and the knowledgeable are sure of themselves. Their artificial solidity makes them vulnerable: they do not see their own weakness. Their pride brings them down: they seek to save themselves by their own powers, as foolishly as someone who is shipwrecked and pulls out his hair so as not to sink.
A child is fragile. It is weak in abilities, but strong in confidence. Being fragile, it has the solidity of its faith. It is the child that is the strongest one.
The one who has no need of another person is inevitably brought up against his own powerlessness, and can see no one else, apart from himself, who can get him out of his closed world, which inexorably becomes a vicious circle. For him, God is beyond his reach because of a lack of hands stretched out.
A child knows very well that he cannot survive without the other. His strength lies in confidence, and in the humility of hands stretched out to indicate his need, to take hold and to be taken hold of.
God allows himself to be taken hold of, and he takes hold. The child is saved! He has had the simplicity to cry out, without asking himself how that cry is to come forth.
“Lord, that is all very well, but I feel so fragile!” It is true, Lord! But you are my Father, and my prayer would still better express the confidence of the child if I were to say: “Everything is fine, BECAUSE I feel so fragile!”
The one who is wise according to the World denies and tries to hide his fragility. This denial of an essential aspect of his being ends by bringing about his destruction. The one who is wise in God’s way finds in his fragility the strength which will allow him to grow and overcome his limitations, by leaving room for the action of God himself: “It is when I am weak that I am strong” (2 Corinthians 12:10).
In the concrete circumstances of my life, do I see my fragility as a brake or rather as a springboard? If I look only at myself, with my limitations and my sad and ambiguous experiences, I will try to hide within my fragility. I will allow myself no more risks, I will be resigned to my own littleness without really recognising it. Centred on myself, I will remain forever small in the most negative sense of the word, on both the human and the spiritual plane. “No-one is an island.” As long as I try to live while hiding my fragility, or as if I were delivered from it, I am finished, forever seated in the departure lounge, and with no future.
What is the solution? It is the other option: to recognise my fragility as a part of myself, and own it; to turn my gaze outside of myself to recognise out there the one who can walk with me, who can make me grow, who can help me to take risks in circumstances where I would never dare to do so by myself.
Whether it be on the human plane or the spiritual plane, this turning my gaze outside of myself is a grace. A friend or another person to whom I dare to entrust myself, can help me. If it is to God that I admit my fragility, if it is to Him that I abandon myself, that will be the greatest grace of my life. Recognition of my own fragility will have brought about confidence, that essential virtue for getting me to go beyond my limitations and, letting myself be taken by the hand, I will be able to make progress in the realisation of my own being.
For Montfort, God charged Mary, the “worker of his wonders” (TD 28), with taking our hands to guide us towards liberty.
Recognising myself as small and fragile: that is foolishness in the eyes of the World, which prefers to go it alone and get nowhere.
Recognising myself as small and fragile, and choosing in all humility and simplicity the way of dependence as the way to liberty: that is the Wisdom of the Son of God, who chose to depend in all things on Mary when he came among us (cf. TD 18). Who on earth could be greater than the Lord himself (cf. Mt 10,24) and bypass a Mother? A Mother who is so happy to see us accepting our condition as brothers and sisters of Jesus, that it is “out of gratitude” that she adopts us and moulds us in his image.
“This devotion makes the soul truly free by imbuing it with the liberty of the children of God. Since we lower ourselves willingly to a state of slavery out of love for Mary, our dear Mother, she out of gratitude opens wide our hearts enabling us to walk with giant strides in the way of God’s commandments” (SM 41).
POINTS FOR REFLECTION
Jean-Louis Courchesne, s.m.m.
a little more and I had slipped…
Even so, I stayed in your presence,
you grasped me by the right hand;
you will guide me with advice.” (Psalms 73:23-24)
“Lord, that is all very well, but I feel so fragile!”
What is strange about feeling fragile when one wants to become a child? The great, the wise and the knowledgeable are sure of themselves. Their artificial solidity makes them vulnerable: they do not see their own weakness. Their pride brings them down: they seek to save themselves by their own powers, as foolishly as someone who is shipwrecked and pulls out his hair so as not to sink.
A child is fragile. It is weak in abilities, but strong in confidence. Being fragile, it has the solidity of its faith. It is the child that is the strongest one.
The one who has no need of another person is inevitably brought up against his own powerlessness, and can see no one else, apart from himself, who can get him out of his closed world, which inexorably becomes a vicious circle. For him, God is beyond his reach because of a lack of hands stretched out.
A child knows very well that he cannot survive without the other. His strength lies in confidence, and in the humility of hands stretched out to indicate his need, to take hold and to be taken hold of.
God allows himself to be taken hold of, and he takes hold. The child is saved! He has had the simplicity to cry out, without asking himself how that cry is to come forth.
“Lord, that is all very well, but I feel so fragile!” It is true, Lord! But you are my Father, and my prayer would still better express the confidence of the child if I were to say: “Everything is fine, BECAUSE I feel so fragile!”
The one who is wise according to the World denies and tries to hide his fragility. This denial of an essential aspect of his being ends by bringing about his destruction. The one who is wise in God’s way finds in his fragility the strength which will allow him to grow and overcome his limitations, by leaving room for the action of God himself: “It is when I am weak that I am strong” (2 Corinthians 12:10).
In the concrete circumstances of my life, do I see my fragility as a brake or rather as a springboard? If I look only at myself, with my limitations and my sad and ambiguous experiences, I will try to hide within my fragility. I will allow myself no more risks, I will be resigned to my own littleness without really recognising it. Centred on myself, I will remain forever small in the most negative sense of the word, on both the human and the spiritual plane. “No-one is an island.” As long as I try to live while hiding my fragility, or as if I were delivered from it, I am finished, forever seated in the departure lounge, and with no future.
What is the solution? It is the other option: to recognise my fragility as a part of myself, and own it; to turn my gaze outside of myself to recognise out there the one who can walk with me, who can make me grow, who can help me to take risks in circumstances where I would never dare to do so by myself.
Whether it be on the human plane or the spiritual plane, this turning my gaze outside of myself is a grace. A friend or another person to whom I dare to entrust myself, can help me. If it is to God that I admit my fragility, if it is to Him that I abandon myself, that will be the greatest grace of my life. Recognition of my own fragility will have brought about confidence, that essential virtue for getting me to go beyond my limitations and, letting myself be taken by the hand, I will be able to make progress in the realisation of my own being.
For Montfort, God charged Mary, the “worker of his wonders” (TD 28), with taking our hands to guide us towards liberty.
Recognising myself as small and fragile: that is foolishness in the eyes of the World, which prefers to go it alone and get nowhere.
Recognising myself as small and fragile, and choosing in all humility and simplicity the way of dependence as the way to liberty: that is the Wisdom of the Son of God, who chose to depend in all things on Mary when he came among us (cf. TD 18). Who on earth could be greater than the Lord himself (cf. Mt 10,24) and bypass a Mother? A Mother who is so happy to see us accepting our condition as brothers and sisters of Jesus, that it is “out of gratitude” that she adopts us and moulds us in his image.
“This devotion makes the soul truly free by imbuing it with the liberty of the children of God. Since we lower ourselves willingly to a state of slavery out of love for Mary, our dear Mother, she out of gratitude opens wide our hearts enabling us to walk with giant strides in the way of God’s commandments” (SM 41).
POINTS FOR REFLECTION
- In the concrete circumstances of my life, do I see my fragility as a brake or rather as a springboard?
- Do I find within myself weaknesses that I prefer to ignore? Weak points that I believe I can cure by my own powers? What does my own experience teach me regarding my fragility and my weaknesses?
- Am I really convinced that I am called to spiritual childlikeness?
- When I speak of confidence and abandonment, do I feel a call to take greater risks in this way?
Jean-Louis Courchesne, s.m.m.
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