Blessed with the Cross

 

“Twelve years ago I was blessed with cancer.”

I heard this powerful statement from a speaker during an online conference I recently attended. I am still struck by her choice of words. Blessed with cancer? It seems almost like an oxymoron.

Yet, during this season of Lent, I feel particularly close to Christ’s cross. Our nine-year-old son has been sick for six weeks. As any mother knows, it’s so painful to watch your child suffer. But how can I suffer well? How can I help my children to suffer well?

Meaning in Suffering

This time has challenged me to embrace, not run, from suffering. What if I can find peace, joy, contentment, and meaning—not only on days that go well, plans fulfilled, restful nights, and relaxation—but also on days where all my plans unravel, nights repeatedly interrupted by a sick child, new and unexpected responsibilities, and no free time?

I remember a story someone once shared with me. Christ appeared before a man and offered him a cross. The man looked at it and said, “Oh no! I could never carry that! It’s much too heavy for me. Send me another cross.” So Christ brought the man into a large room, filled with other crosses, all of which were much larger and heavier. “What cross would you like now?” Christ asked. The man glanced back at the original cross … suddenly it seemed so much lighter. 

Christ will never give me a cross that I cannot carry. I looked at my son, coughing for probably the millionth time, and reassured him, “Christ will never give you a cross that you cannot carry.” His slender shoulders can bear the weight of this illness. Who am I to say this cross is too heavy for us?

The pathway of pain, properly tread, offers us so much. It is not a punishment from God, but an invitation to unite our suffering with the suffering of Christ on the cross. Christ calls us to pick up our cross every day. A day without the cross is a day without Christ. I explained to my son that we can take this suffering and transform it into something beautiful. We can accept that this is what God wants of us right now and, if it’s God’s Will, it’s what is best for us. 

Simon of Cyrene can inspire us. Perhaps, as the Roman soldiers summoned him forward, Simon thought: Why me? Maybe Simon wanted to run from the cross too. There were so many people lining the street watching Jesus carry His cross. Yet Simon was the one chosen for the job. Maybe that’s how Simon viewed the task at first: a job, an unpleasant suffering. Yet as he carried that cross alongside Jesus, how must have Simon been transformed? He must have walked away a different man, forever changed by that shared suffering. It wasn’t a punishment; it was a gift.

We hear stories of the saints who bear the wounds of Christ: the stigmata. On first impression, it seems like such a magnificent miracle! And it is. But sometimes, in the remarkableness of it, it’s easy to overlook that it’s a miracle of suffering: physical pain. Jesus blesses those He loves with the cross.

During Lent, our family has a sacrifice jar on our dining room table. Whenever someone has to do something unpleasant or difficult, he or she puts a dry bean into the jar and offers it up as a sacrifice, turning that cross into a prayer. I watched my sick son come downstairs in the morning. I hear the clink of the dry beans as he puts his sacrifices in—sacrifices for coughing throughout the night, for feeling exhausted, for not being able to go into school … He says nothing, but he offers them to God. 

Suffering, well borne, becomes a training ground for the soul. 

Suffering Reveals Who We Are

The cross also reveals. It strips us open and makes us see ourselves better. What kind of wife, mother, and disciple am I when it gets really hard? Am I just a fair-weather friend to our Lord or am I willing to trust in Him even when things become painful? This cross has humbled me in helping me see the virtues that I lack.

As I prayed during this time, I pictured Christ crucified. I embraced Jesus, clinging to His shoulders and wrapping my legs around his waist, like how a young girl would hug her father. I imagined the sticky sweat on His body, the caked and fresh blood, His gasps for air, the pounding of His heart beneath my ear as I rested my head on His crucified body. I was with Him there on the cross. 

But I also felt the soaring energy and power of God Himself emanating from that throne of glory. 

On a recent Sunday I parked the van in our parish church’s parking lot. My son and I planned to pray from our vehicle, watching the liturgy live streamed from my cell phone, his cough still too bad to have him sit with the rest of the family in the pew. I saw other families entering the church, mothers with their sons, laughing and running up the steps of church. I saw my son next to me, circles under his eyes, coughing harshly. 

This is hard and difficult to bear. I felt tempted to complain. Yet, I sensed Christ telling me: you are so blessed. We have a gift. Jesus loves this son of mine even more than I do and He is inviting us to share in His suffering. Christ is so close to us in the cross. He makes our burden light.

How have you been blessed with the cross today?

The Plan for Love

 

There is a most beautiful, perfect, and exquisite plan for love, specifically the life-giving love between a husband and wife. Celebrating St. Valentine’s Day, a day all about love, is a good opportunity for us to reflect on the free, total, fruitful, and faithful love of God—and what it means for us, especially those called to married life.

What is love?

If you had to draw a picture of love, what would you draw? 

Perhaps the best image of love is the crucifix. Afterall, the Bible tells us that God is love. Jesus’s sacrifice on the cross teaches us the four marks of true love. First, love must be free. No one forced Jesus to die for us; He freely lay down His life out of love. Second, love must be total. Jesus didn’t hold anything back, but gave all of Himself. Third, love must be fruitful: it produces life. Jesus’s love on the cross opened the gates of heaven—eternal life—for us. Fourth, love must be faithful. Jesus stayed true to us to the end. His love is constant. 

We can even better understand God’s plan for love by considering the Catholic Mass. Mass is a sacrament of love! Jesus (the Bridegroom) gives Himself totally to His bride (the Church). The book of Genesis describes that a man leaves his father and mother, cleaves to his wife in total commitment, and the two become one flesh. These steps of marriage happen between Jesus and His bride, the Church. Jesus left His heavenly Father and earthly Mother. On the cross, He gives Himself totally to His bride. Then the two become one flesh in the Eucharist. 

There is a good reason why the Bible describes heaven as a wedding feast! Jesus is so madly in love with us that He isn’t content to be with us from afar. He wants to be in us. In the Eucharist Jesus plants the seeds of eternal life within our souls. 

Body Language

God created us body and soul. Our bodies are holy and precious, temples of the Holy Spirit. Pope Saint John Paul II talked about a theology of the body: that our bodies reveal God’s purpose for our lives. It is true that we have body language! Our bodies reflect what is happening inside of us. 

By looking at the body that God gave me, I understand my purpose, which is that I am made for others. I have told a toddler many times, “God didn’t give you hands to hit someone. God gave you hands to help others and to love them.” Our bodies are meant to give, to serve, to love others. A woman’s body, taken on its own, doesn’t make sense without a man’s body—and vice-versa. They are different but complementary. They are for each other.

The Church shows the importance of our bodies. Every sacrament has matter and form: matter is the “stuff” of the sacrament (like water in baptism) while form is the words spoken. In the sacrament of matrimony, what is the matter? The bodies of the bride and groom. The bride and groom are not officially married until they have done what is properly called the “marital act.” They must consummate, or complete, their vows.

Now, the terminology we use is important. For example, consider the difference between the words “relationship” and “courtship.” Many people use the word “relationship” to describe being boyfriend and girlfriend. Yet, when you think about it, relationship is an ambiguous term. Siblings, friends, or coworkers all have a “relationship.” The term “courtship” makes a clearer delineation that this is a commitment between a man and woman who are discerning marriage. 

So when we speak about this sacred action between a husband and wife, the term “marital act” (as opposed to “sex” or “making love”) feels more appropriate. It is a special, sacred, holy, and beautiful act between a husband and wife. It is their bodies saying: I belong completely to you. I give myself totally to you. I love you so much, I want to be one with you.

Through the marital act, the two become one. This is how God designed their bodies. In their wedding vows, a bride and groom expressed their lifelong commitment to love each other. In the marital act, their bodies speak this total gift of self. 

Purposes of Spousal Love

So why did God give husbands and wives this incredible gift? First, the marital act is unitive: it unites the spouses. Every time they express their love through the marital act, a husband and wife are renewing their wedding vows. Their bodies are saying, “I do.” God designed the marital act to be something that physically feels good. It bonds the husband and wife, strengthening their love.

The second purpose is procreative: the marital act produces new life. Every marital act should be open to the blessing of children. God designed it so that a baby is literally conceived during an act of self-giving love. The powerful love between a husband and wife, through the grace of God, produces new life. 

The marital act is for “babies and bonding” and these cannot be separated. A baby needs a mother and father who are in a committed, lifelong marriage: this is best for children. That is why the marital act is only for marriage. 

Some people don’t realize this is God’s design for love. Sometimes people fall into temptation and sin. We must always remember that, no matter what, God’s mercy is always greater than any sins we could commit. This is why, however, it is always important to pray for purity of heart and for chastity, since the devil tempts many people away from God’s loving plan.

If we return to the four marks of true love, we see that the marital act between a husband and wife fulfills every point. Is it free? Yes! One of the questions posed to a couple about to exchange wedding vows is, “Have you come here to enter into marriage without coercion, freely and wholeheartedly?” Is it total? Yes! In the marital act, a husband and wife hold nothing back. They give every part of themselves to each other in an act of total self-gift. Is it fruitful? Yes! The marital act is open to new life in the blessing of children. Is it faithful? Yes! A husband and wife only give of themselves in this way to each other. 

Giving Love

How am I using my body to love others? As we celebrate Valentine’s Day this month, let’s magnify our love by imitating the free, total, fruitful, and faithful love God showers upon us, especially through the Eucharist. God has a perfect plan for love: how do you live it out in your life?

Lessons from The King's Achievement

 The assault was not going to stop at matters of discipline; it was dogma that was aimed at, and, worse even than that, the foundation on which dogma rested. It was not an affair of Religious Houses, or even of morality; there was concerned the very Rock itself on which Christendom based all faith and morals.

To whom are you faithful? 

This was perhaps one of the most critical questions facing the English people in the years of King Henry VIII’s reign—the period of the English Reformation. When remaining faithful to the Catholic Church could cost you your head, should you pledge your allegiance to the King’s new church? 

In 1904 Father Robert Hugh Benson wrote The King’s Achievement, a historical novel that follows the lives of the Torridon family. Two brothers, Ralph and Chris, represent two contrasting paths. Ralph—of the world—works for Lord Cromwell. Meanwhile, Chris—of the spirit—enters a monastery and becomes a priest. As the persecution against the Catholic Church heightens and monasteries are attacked, Ralph becomes the antagonist who leads an attack against Chris’s monastery.

A family grieves the brother whose soul seems lost. Ralph pursues worldly success while courting the lovely Beatrice, who is a fervent Catholic, but will devotion to Lord Cromwell sabotage his burgeoning love? Can Ralph continue to justify his actions, even as he befriends and comes to respect the great Thomas More? Chris’s turbulent emotions toward his wayward brother threaten his own spiritual peace—can he learn to be in the world but not of it? And can he save his brother even while Chris’s resistance to the King’s orders places his own life in danger? 

Benson does a remarkable job of bringing this era of English history to life, especially in illuminating the horrific, completely destructive persecution against the Catholic monasteries. Many monks gave their lives as martyrs. Many monasteries were looted, robbed, and destroyed. Peaceable religious men and women who had quietly carried on valuable spiritual work within the walls of these monasteries and convents suddenly found themselves on the street, nearly penniless and, objectively speaking, vocationless. 

Peterborough Abbey, Benedictine monastery dissolved November 29, 1539

The methodical tearing apart of the Catholic Church in England is concerning in its familiarity to some of the tendencies one could observe in our own world today. The Catholic faithful of the 1530s, many of whom were not fully catechized, did not know what to believe. King Henry and his clergy expressed persuasive arguments that quickly led people astray. Then these same men criticized, condemned, and silenced those who dared defend the truth of the Catholic Church. 

King Henry VIII by Hans Holbein the Younger

There are so many excellent aspects to this historical novel. Benson brings alive the personalities of St. Thomas More, King Henry VIII, and Lord Cromwell. Also, I truly enjoyed the family dynamics of the Torridon family. It’s sobering how two brothers, raised by the same parents in the same household, could veer along such completely opposite paths. At one point in the novel, Benson describes Ralph and Chris walking along with their father, just feet apart from each other, but an impassable gulf exists between them. Anyone who has experienced conflict within one’s familial relationships can relate to that sensation of heartbreaking distance among people of shared blood. 

Chris’s spiritual journey is very fulfilling, especially as he overcomes his inner struggles. Within his monastery, Chris detaches himself from everything and everyone in the outside world. As the plot progresses though, Chris begins to realize that, while leaving the world behind, he still needs to be mystically one with that same world. 

“Neither a life in the world would have done it, nor one in the peace of the cloister; but an alternation of the two. He had been melted by the fire of the inner life, and braced by the external bitterness of adversity.”

I will say that there are a few aspects of the plot that I found disappointing. While Benson does a superb job creating suspenseful scenes, sometimes those moments lose their punch: in two specific instances, when Chris finds himself in particularly dangerous circumstances and the stakes are high, the resolution to the conflict is quite anticlimactic. As for the romantic plot of the book, I questioned why the highly intelligent and deeply faithful Beatrice would be attracted to Ralph. However, I became most concerned by one of the major take-aways of the novel, namely that one should practice loyalty for loyalty’s sake. Faithfulness to something—or someone—bad is not a virtue and I cannot understand why it was lauded as such. 

Where does your loyalty lie? Are you a faithful son or daughter to the King of Kings? The King’s Achievement reminds us that sometimes faithfulness carries a steep price. Yet, Benson depicts Saint Thomas More reminding the other characters—and us—that we are all God’s prisoners. May we serve Him loyally every day of our lives.

Resolutions: A Family Tradition

In the top drawer of my desk, which is located in our dining room, sits a couple of sheets. They are worn and crumbled from much use. One reads at the top: RESOLUTIONS 2021. The next: RESOLUTIONS 2022. And we have just added a new sheet with the words—I’m sure you’ve guessed it—RESOLUTIONS 2023. 

It’s become a tradition in our family at the end of every year, certainly not an uncommon practice. Many people make New Year’s resolutions … in a way, so did Our Lord! 

We read in the Gospel of Luke,

When the days for His being taken up were fulfilled, He resolutely determined to journey to Jerusalem. (Luke 9:51)

Our Lord made a resolution, which is a word the American Heritage Dictionary defines as “a firm decision to do something.” It contains a sense of urgency, purpose, and intention. A goal, in contrast, is an end, which one may or may not feel a strong desire to reach. 

To make a resolution for 2023 means more than just hoping to accomplish something; it means you will set out with a firm purpose to do it!

In our family, each person makes one or more resolutions. My husband and I try to encourage the children (as much as ourselves!) to focus on three different areas: physical, mental, and spiritual. Physical resolutions span the gamut from learning to walk (our 1-year-old) to learning to ride a bike without training wheels to running a 5K in 25 minutes. Mental resolutions involve things such as setting a goal for how many books one will read or learning a new language or achieving a certain grade in school.

As for the spiritual resolutions, we try to focus on the areas where we each struggle the most: for me, it’s patience, so I’m resolving not to lose my temper around the kids (wish me luck!). Our oldest daughter is resolving to read the Bible each day, setting aside quality time for prayer. 

We also make a “family resolution,” which is something everyone contributes to and benefits from. Last year this was quite practical: get the kids to bed on time! This year, we made it more enjoyable: have quarterly “family days” where we spend the majority of the day together doing something fun, whether it’s something simple like taking a walk and playing board games or going on a day trip. 

We keep the list of our resolutions nearby because we review them as a family at least quarterly. As the summer rolls around, we pull out the resolutions and check in with each person: “We’re halfway through the year! How are we doing on our resolutions? Have we made progress?”

There is something in human nature that appreciates a new beginning and a fresh start. Similarly, setting one’s sight on a certain objective brings purpose and intention to what we are doing. For the competitive among us, it gives incentive to “keep the streak alive” by accomplishing the resolutions of each year—or to improve upon last year’s efforts. Dr. Kevin Majeres of OptimalWork refers to the “deadline benefit:” by the end of the year, I resolve to X (for example, forgive my friend, spend more time with my spouse, publish my book, and so on). By setting a deadline, we have a parameter to work within; the goal becomes specific and, indeed, moves from a goal to a resolution. Some positive pressure is helpful! 

When we look at the Gospels, we find a model of intentionality within the spiritual life. The shepherds went to look for the newborn Infant with haste. This doesn’t mean they were chaotically running hither and thither. It means they acted with resolution! How will you seek the Lord in 2023? Will you do so with haste? Is there something you can do or sacrifice that will help you set your sight resolutely upon the Lord as we move through the year? 

Of course, sometimes we don’t reach our resolutions. That’s why, however, our family holds onto the resolutions of prior years. Maybe we didn’t achieve what we set out to do … yet. We have one family member who has carried over the same resolutions for the past three years, albeit with some modifications. And that’s okay! The point is that we are moving forward, improving and continually striving upward. As Blessed Pier Giorgio Frassati said, “We must never exist but live.”

A New Year’s resolution affords us a whole year to move forward, improving ourselves in every area. Will New Year’s Eve 2023 find you and your family closer to Our Lord? Let’s resolve to make it so! 

A Perfectly Imperfect Christmas

 As a wife, mother, and hostess, there is so much to do this Advent in order to prepare for Christmas. I want everything to be just perfect at Christmas time. Christmas lights, Christmas cookies, Christmas cards, Christmas tree, Christmas clothes for the kids, Christmas presents—I feel this pressure sometimes to make everything the best that it can be, to create a “magical” kind of Christmas day.

Much of this comes from my own struggle with pride, but our surrounding culture plays its own role too. After all, aren’t we told that this is supposed to be the “most wonderful time of the year?” There are a lot of expectations to meet!

There have been a number of Christmas days in the past, filled with all kinds of festivities, when, at the end of the day, I faced a strange realization: amidst all the celebrating, I didn’t really pray. The busyness of my Christmas day consumed my normal times of prayer.

I think the devil can take many of our good intentions and twist them into snares for us. Wanting to celebrate Christ’s birth is a wonderful desire. But celebrating in such a way that distracts us from what we are actually celebrating is to our own detriment. 

The first Christmas was—by many standards—far from perfect. Our beautiful Nativity scenes may, in some ways, disguise for us the severe reality of that night. It must have been down-right harrowing as St. Joseph desperately sought a place for Mary to give birth. Our Lord’s crib was a rough feeding trough for animals. Meanwhile a tyrant loomed in the background, making preparations to kill the newborn child. None of this was comfortable or convenient. 

Yet, God designed the way He wanted to enter our world. He could have done it in any number of ways. This is the way He chose. And if God chose it, it is perfect.

 

Maybe Christmas cookies with burnt bottoms, Christmas cards with children who aren’t all smiling, Christmas clothes that are wrinkled, Christmas lights that flicker because one bulb burnt out, a Christmas tree that is too skinny—maybe all these imperfections that I’ve worked so hard to eliminate, actually in a strange way contribute to the perfection of Christmas. The imperfections remind us that we aren’t perfect. We’re not going to get it all right. We need a Savior. 

I once had a conversation with my mother that has remained with me. My mom was reminiscing about Christmas a few years ago. My brother had been sick in the hospital in the days leading up to Christmas day. We weren’t sure if he would be home with us for Christmas or not. Then, at the last possible moment on Christmas Eve, the hospital discharged him. My mom described, “I was driving to CVS that Christmas Eve night, going to pick up a prescription the hospital ordered. And I thought to myself, ‘This is one of my favorite Christmases.’” It had nothing to do with the perfect gift, the perfectly cooked meal, the perfect home decor. My brother coming home to us was the perfect gift. 

Since then my dear brother passed away. I wondered, after his death, how Christmas would feel. How could it ever feel “perfect?” Well, it wasn’t. Something was missing that Christmas; something is always missing without him. Bing Crosby sang, “I’ll be home for Christmas, if only in my dream.” Through the grace of God, my brother is home for Christmas. Christ didn’t come to make this Earth His homeland; neither is it ours. That longing I now have in my heart, when I miss my brother’s stocking on the mantle, reminds me that there is a heavenly celebration that far exceeds anything I can do here. The perfect Christmas celebration is in heaven.

So if I can let go of some of my controlling desire to make things “perfect” this coming Christmas, I will probably have more time to focus on Christ who is Perfection.

Interestingly, my favorite part of Christmas day (aside from Christmas Mass, of course) is something incredibly simple. On Christmas morning, before we gather around to open presents, we place the infant Jesus in the manger. Then we all sing “Happy Birthday” to Him. Each year it never fails to make me feel a little teary-eyed. When we strip aside all the festivities, that’s what it all comes down to: the birthday of Our Lord. We are celebrating Him.

I pray that the imperfections of your Christmas celebrations will draw you closer to the Perfect Infant, whose birth we celebrate.

Detachment Parenthood

On October 4 we celebrate the Feast Day of St. Francis of Assisi, who is well-known for his love of poverty. Many of us associate poverty with those of meager possession, such as the homeless. Yet, a homeless man may still cling to his few “riches.” In contrast, a rich man—though very affluent—may not place his trust in his possessions and, if he lost that great wealth, he, like Job, would not become despondent.

So, to live the spirit of poverty, it’s not just about how little someone owns. It’s more about living a spirit of detachment. I have found that being a mother has afforded me many opportunities to grow in this important Christian virtue.

Physical Detachment

When I was pregnant with our first baby, I realized for the first time that my body is not really my own. As a pregnant mother, that literally meant physically sharing my body with another body: nourishing, growing, and supporting a whole new life, even if it meant feeling nauseous, achy, and exhausted. Then, after birth, physical detachment meant something else: breastfeeding that hungry newborn, morning and night, on demand. 

Sometimes physical detachment has meant making more space in my crowded bed for the toddler who needs some extra cuddles or offering a peacemaking hug to a child who is having a disagreement with me. It entails cleaning up messy diapers, mud-caked jeans, or the aftermath of a stomach bug. 

Physical detachment can look like letting go of always having a perfectly clean home or pristine furniture. I still try to keep an orderly home, but I’ve made peace with the fact that I will likely find crumbs under the couch or a pile of dishes next to the sink. Similarly, sometimes (often) in the morning I run out of time to do my hair and makeup in the mad rush to get kids to school on time. And that’s okay.

God gave me my body so I could use it for others. 

Emotional Detachment

Before motherhood, I considered myself entitled to certain things—personal space, yes, but also personal time and dreams. I don’t suggest that, now as a mother, I should have no free time or aspirations. Instead, these other things that bring me happiness are subservient to the happiness of my family. It’s not primarily about me and my enjoyment. “Me time” is not some inalienable right or good for its own sake, but a gift. It’s an opportunity for me to rest and recharge, in order that I can better serve my family.

Emotional detachment means that it’s not about what I feel like doing or what makes me happy. Some days, I have to sacrifice my free time to help a child study for a spelling test or read a book to a sick toddler. It’s a sacrifice, but one that frequently brings joy. I find a different kind of happiness in knowing that I’ve put clean sheets on their beds, laundered their clothing, and prepared them wholesome food to eat. 

My children bring me deep joy, but they cannot be my ultimate source of joy; I cannot become emotionally dependent on them. In that sense, while loving them with a fierce and ardent love, I have to lovingly detach.

My children are not my all. I find my joy first and foremost in God. With my love centered on Him, I can love my children better: I can be fully present, anchored in my faith, when my children experience turbulent emotions. That’s the goal at least … It's not always easy.

Spiritual Detachment

Every mom has hopes and dreams for her children—maybe to find their special someone or take over the family business. Ultimately though, my children are not really my children; they belong to God. God has a plan for my children … wondrous plans, better than any I could ever design or fashion. So spiritual detachment means stepping back and allowing God to show them His Will. I don’t want to block the path God wishes them to take, the path, therefore, that will lead them toward salvation.

Maybe this means my children will end up moving away or choosing a celibate vocation or marrying someone I didn’t envision for him or her. Am I willing to support my child, even if it’s not the personal plan I wished or desired?

Let Go, Let God

This desire to foster a spirit of detachment has grown within me as our family has grown. With each successive child I sense more and more that so much is outside of my control. I can’t determine if the stomach bug will spread to every child. I can’t control if my kids wake up in a good mood or bad. I can’t arrange a marriage for them with a spouse I pre-selected. 

But there is still much I can do. I can center my soul on God, the anchor that holds me still through the whirlwind that sometimes is life. I can trust that God will take care of and shepherd my children: He loves them even more than I. I can remember that I am also a child of the Father, bumbling around sometimes and making mistakes … I can offer forgiveness and mercy because I need those in return too. 

Most of all, I can detach because detachment is about faith. It’s detaching in a sense from everything so I can be attached ultimately to only one thing: God. With detachment, the storm can rage around me, but I can sleep beside Jesus on that boat in the middle of the sea. Jesus will be the one to rebuke the wind and waves; all I need to do is close my eyes and feel Him right here beside me. He will bring our boat, our little domestic church, to shore.

Lessons from East of Eden

 “Two stories have haunted us and followed us from our beginning,” Samuel said. “We carry them along with us like invisible tails—the story of original sin and the story of Cain and Abel. And I don’t understand either of them. I don’t understand them at all but I feel them.”

Recently I’ve been thinking about the decisions my husband and I make as parents. Then I reflect back on my own childhood and the various choices my parents made. I love my parents, I am grateful for everything they have done for me, and I admire their many virtues. At the same time, however, when I take a broad view of my childhood, I see the times they’ve made choices that had negative effects on me or my siblings. I think, given the opportunity to go back in time, my parents would have chosen quite differently. I don’t hold a grudge against them for these choices; they are, after all, only trying to do their best. I have made mistakes in my parenting. We’re not perfect. We’re only human, right?

There’s the statement that begs consideration: “we’re only human.” What does that mean … we’re only human. As humans, are we destined to fall? Despite my awareness of my parents’ shortcomings, regardless of my efforts not to make the same mistakes … will I repeat those same bad decisions anyway? Are we destined to repeat the sins of the past?

In a way, that’s what has happened since the beginning of creation. It’s part of our family history to fall: it’s written in our nature. Original sin very quickly manifested itself in actual sin: the fratricide of Abel, man’s first purposeful shedding of another man’s blood. The first sin of Adam and Eve and the fallen nature that came as consequence led to the first murder. And ever since, we’ve repeated these sins of our first parents. 

Even those who aren’t familiar with the actual story of Cain and Abel still understand and feel its message. Even the holiest and most devout of us is capable of great evil. Is there any way out? Are we destined to repeat the sins of our parents?

That is one of the main themes explored in John Steinbeck’s East of Eden, which he published in 1952. He considered it his greatest work, describing it to a friend as, “ … the longest and surely the most difficult work I have ever done... I have put all the things I have wanted to write all my life. This is 'the book.' … Always I had this book waiting to be written."

East of Eden follows three generations of the Trask family. That history demonstrates the generational sins of the family members, starting with lies. The devil was the first liar and it’s only fitting that, in a book loosely following the opening chapters of Genesis, lying should feature prominently. The father of the Trask family is named Cyrus and he builds his entire life on a life. Though he only fought in the Civil War for less than thirty minutes—receiving an injury shortly after his first battle began—Cyrus fabricates an entire other war history, spinning a tale that becomes true even in his own mind. Cyrus receives recognition, a position of power, and financial gain through the lies he creates about his war experiences. 

No one could call him a liar. And this was mainly because the lie was in his head, and any truth coming from his mouth carried the color of the lie.

Cyrus has two sons, Charles and Adam (the first set of brothers who represent Cain and Abel—notice, for example, how their names both start with the letters C and A). Adam, though quite different from his father due to his kind-hearted, gentle demeanor, struggles with truth as well. His wife abandons him and their newborn twin boys (the second set of brothers, Cal and Aron). Adam struggles with what he should tell his sons about their mother. His wise servant, Lee, encourages him to tell the twins the truth:

“It’s the lie I’m thinking of. It might infect everything. If they ever found out you’d lied to them about this, the true things would suffer. They wouldn’t believe anything then.”

Despite Lee’s advice, Adam decides to tell his sons that their mother died in childbirth … a falsehood that later has disastrous consequences. Adam’s son, Aron, can’t conceive of a world where his father would lie to him, and the idea that his mother may be alive threatens the stability of his existence.

Aron felt that something had to die—his mother or his world.

 

Another parental error that continues through the generations is the tendency to create and pursue an idealized version of reality. Adam fell in love with Cathy when she appeared on his porch step, brutally injured and barely alive. Adam created a vision in his mind of who Cathy was, a vision so far from the truth of her character: he saw an angel where there was only a devil. Adam married Cathy and then traveled to the Salinas Valley in northern California, determined to build himself an Eden. He wanted to create a perfect family in a perfect home: an idealized reality. Adam couldn’t see the great danger of this ambition, even when his neighbor—-prophetic Samuel Hamilton—tried to make it clear to him.

“I’m going to make a garden so good, so beautiful, that it will be a proper place for her to live and a fitting place for her light to shine on.”

Samuel said satirically, “It’s my duty to take this thing of yours and kick it in the face, then raise it up and spread slime on it thick enough to blot out its dangerous light.”

Adam’s son, Aron, falls into the same error. As a young boy, he meets Abra and immediately falls in love with her, determined to make her his wife one day. When Aron becomes a teenager he yearns for purity and goodness, virtues he pours on Abra, desiring them in her so much that he begins to lose sight of her true nature–her fallen nature. He is more in love with an idea than with a person. Abra, who is keenly aware of her own transgressions, can’t reciprocate a love based on such an unreality.

“He doesn’t know me. He doesn’t even want to know me. He wants that—white—ghost.”

The fathers in East of Eden also fail in forcing their children to fit a certain mold. Cyrus, a veteran, insists on Adam enlisting in the army despite Adam’s repulsion of violence.

He tested me and hurt me and punished me and finally he sent me out like a sacrifice, maybe to make up for something.

Even after his own negative experience of needing to follow his father’s career aspirations for him, Adam repeats the same dynamic with his own son, Aron. Adam wants his son to attend college. Aron gives college a try, but is disappointed and finds the experience not what he expected. Aron would like to quit and return to working on the family farm, but Adam won’t hear of it.

He felt let down and helpless, packed like a bird’s egg in the cotton of his father’s ambition for him.

Part of the reason these fathers insist on a certain path for their sons is due to the fact that they don’t truly know their sons: their hopes, dreams, and personalities. As a boy, Adam yearned for warmth, affection, attention, and understanding—things he never received from his stearn, imposing father. Yet, as a father, Adam repeats this style of parenting. For a long period of time he barely looks at his twin boys or even names them. As they grow, he wonders to himself that he barely knows them. His son, Cal, hungers for his father’s love, which feels distant and unretrievable:

When he was quite small Cal had discovered a secret. If he moved very quietly to where his father was sitting and if he leaned very lightly against his father’s knee, Adam’s hand would rise automatically and his fingers would caress Cal’s shoulder. It is probable that Adam did not even know he did it, but the caress brought such a raging flood of emotion to the boy that he saved this special joy and used it only when he needed it. 

Mirroring the book of Genesis most closely is the way these fathers seem to favor one child over another. It is Adam who Cyrus chooses for military life, not Adam’s brother Charles. Charles seethes with jealousy, desperate for the crumbs of Cyrus’s affection. Then, as a father, Adam boasts of Aron’s ambition and academic success in going to college–never acknowledging Cal’s ingenuity and hardwork. 

There are parallel gift-giving scenes too. Adam gave his father a puppy for his birthday, which he had found in the woods. Meanwhile Charles labored hard to earn enough money to buy Cyrus a new knife. Cyrus loved the puppy, training him and allowing him to sleep in the bedroom. The knife from Charles, however, remained discarded in a dresser drawer. In the next generation, Cal works to earn money for his father, a gift that is similarly unappreciated:

“I don’t want the money, Cal. … I would have been so happy if you could have given me—well, what your brother has—pride in the thing he’s doing, gladness in his progress. Money, even clean money, doesn’t stack up with that.”

Adam doesn’t seem to learn from the experiences of his childhood, but instead repeats the same mistakes his father made while raising him. Adam’s son, Cal, struggles with doing the right thing, praying to be good but feeling an inner battle to choose evil. 

“Dear Lord,” he said, “let me be like Aron. Don’t make me mean. I don’t want to be. If you will let everybody like me, why, I’ll give you anything in the world, and if I haven’t got it, why, I’ll go for to get it. I don’t want to be mean. I don’t want to be lonely. For Jesus’ sake, Amen.”

Is Cal, like Cain before him, always going to choose what is evil? Can he—and we—ever become good or will we repeat the sins of before?

Cain slaying Abel, by Peter Paul Rubens, c. 1600

Steinbeck seems to offer his readers hope. He suggests that those who are aware of their evil—precisely because of that awareness—can try to become good. Those who only see their goodness are blind to their fallen nature and, therefore, can never actually work at overcoming their shortcomings. True, we are all capable of great evil … yet, the other side of that coin is that we are also all capable of great good. We have a fallen nature; we are also free .. free to choose the good. 

Humans are caught—in their lives, in their thoughts, in their hungers and ambitions, in their avarice and cruelty, and in their kindness and generosity too—in a net of good and evil.

In one critical scene, Adam, his servant Lee, and Samuel talk about the story of Cain and Abel. Lee points to something God says to Cain: “Why are you angry? Why are you dejected? If you act rightly, you will be accepted; but if not, sin lies in wait at the door: its urge is for you, yet you can rule over it” (Genesis 4:6-7). Lee explains that the Hebrew translation of the verse uses the word timshel, which means “thou mayest.” It means God gives Cain a choice, the way is open for Cain to choose what is good. 

But “Thou mayest’! Why, that makes a man great, that gives him stature with the gods, for in his weakness and his filth and his murder of his brother he has still the great choice. He can choose his course and fight it through and win.

So will I repeat the mistakes of my parents as I raise my children? I have a fallen nature. I am going to make bad choices—maybe the same as my parents, but perhaps other ones. I will fail at times. But those errors don’t have to stand as the prominent moments of my parenthood. Through God’s grace, I can choose to keep trying. Then maybe my children will remember me most for my love, not my faults … as I remember my parents.