he who falls

I read a book called "Esperanza Rising" wherein I found this quote: "Aquel que hoy se cae, se levantara manana" (He who falls today may rise tomorrow).

The other night I had the humbling experience of (again) finding myself grateful for the miracle and mercy of human and divine compassion, and the healing that comes from such. I read somewhere: "most of us look for a cure, when what we really need is healing". Many people think, when I talk about grace and mercy, that I'm talking about a cure -- requiring little effort, little pain -- just say you're sorry and everything's better. God erasing your mistakes. I don't believe that's possible. That's cheap grace. There's a world of difference between grace that we cannot "earn" (in the way that we do not have the power to do what God will do -- for it goes beyond the price that we can pay), and "cheap grace" -- grace that is easy, without cost, without effort. True healing is different. It may take an instant or a lifetime -- it seems to transcend time, for it is not "quick"; nor is it easy. It is both simple/pure and deep beyond comprehension. It is incredibly costly (the price that God and Christ paid, and also what it requires of us), and yet it is incomprehensibly free.

I've been telling Dan that he needs to see "The Mission", which contains one of the most heart-wrenching scenes of someone trying to scratch out the mistakes of the past in a raw and desperate attempt to find redemption. I can't completely agree with the way redemption is portrayed in the film, but I identify deeply with the emotions at play in those haunting moments as DeNiro's character seeks to find release from something that he cannot take back.

There is danger in trying to "earn" redemption by punishing ourselves (as Robert DeNiro's character seems to be attempting), though it does take effort -- and this effort is portrayed clearly, I feel. Sometimes the spiritual effort it takes to believe, risk, trust, be vulnerable, humbly acknowledge guilt (without excuse/justification or the opposite, being unnecessarily masochistic and/or guilt-ridden) is immense.

If anyone has ever exercised faith in another person to the point where you lay yourself open before them, trusting that person with your heart, your failings -- with all you want to be and fail to be -- feeling that you can't possibly deserve to be loved and yet asking for it anyway...in these moments, when you find compassion...you have felt a little of what it feels like to find redemption. You have found a moment of holiness, a moment wherein man becomes like God. The love you feel for that person is almost holy. Full of humility, gratitude, light. Grace.

There's an added element in my pleadings with God for forgiveness, though; more than mercy or grace, more than love/acceptance, I'm asking for change. I'm asking for a power beyond my own. A power that exceeds all my best intentions, all my strenghth, all my reasoning, all my effort up to now, a power that I keep feeling that I should possess, but in these moments I know deep in me that I don't. (As much as I want to...as much as I think I ought to, logically...I don't even know that I can't -- I only know that I don't.) In my heart, I feel, like Peter when he basically said: To whom else can I go? John 6:68

Finding compassion in another person is divine. It's what we are meant to be for one another. I guess I'm just so humbled when I find that in someone, or when I'm able to be that for someone else. I'm even more humbled when I find an experience of profound pain, of shame and weakness one day evolve (through the mercy and example of God), into a well of understanding, compassion, knowledge, and faith that can be used as a tool for something profoundly good.