As a child I can remember my mother saying on occasion, “It’s my cross to carry.” Whether she was taking care of a dying friend or handling the challenges of raising four kids, those words always felt heavy. I’d let them pass over me without so much as a second thought.
It was her cross to carry, not mine.
It wasn’t until decades later after I returned to the Catholic Church and experienced the Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius, that I understood what it meant to “carry the cross.” In the Third Week of the Exercises, as I walked compassionately with Jesus to the cross, I discovered how much he sacrificed for me out of love. It was being with Jesus in his suffering that I realized he’d always been with me in my struggles, and yes, even in my pain. His merciful compassion opened my eyes to see, my ears to listen, and my heart to love.
Just like Mom did for me so many times out of love.
My conversion story can be summarized in the Gospel passage about the woman at the well (John 4:1-42). Jesus came to me asking, “Give me a drink.” I made all kinds of excuses about why I wasn’t worthy, why I wasn’t enough just like the Samaritan woman. But Jesus was persistent and waited for me in the depths of my well of doubts and fears.
I felt lost in a sea of nothingness when I resigned from my dream college coaching job after 19 years, and then five years later, both my parents died. Dad died first in 2010, and Mom a year later. My world was dark yet something was calling me back to the Church. I’d never been confirmed as a teenager. I was missing the Sacrament of Confirmation.
After the nine-month process of the Order of Christian Initiation for Adults and taking the name of Ignatius as my Saint’s name, I was confirmed on Pentecost Sunday, the celebration of the birth of the Church. Being confirmed was the light in the darkness that gave me a new beginning and put me on a path to embrace God’s love through the life, death, and resurrection of his son, Jesus Christ.
God met me exactly where I was and he was waiting for me, his prodigal daughter, to return to him. God never abandoned me. I was the one who wandered off. He’d always been with me and loved me through everything. Going back to the Church brought me home.
My encounter with Jesus at the well prepared me to meet him at the cross. It was at the well that I recognized I’d been there a very long time, drawing water for a life that was too busy seeking and striving, but still leaving me thirsty for something more.
Four years ago, my pastor asked me to write a reflection on one of Jesus’ Last Seven Words, “I thirst,” to be shared with our church community before the Good Friday service. I chose Ignatius’ imaginative prayer method to illustrate my thoughts that I share with you now.
I imagine sitting at the foot of the cross and gazing up at Jesus who is suffering for my sins. I can faintly hear Jesus say, “Mary, I thirst for you. Come to me just as you are.”
I’m utterly amazed. Can this be true? Jesus, in his dying, is longing for me. He’s asking me to come to him with everything—my desires, my sins, all of me—just as I am. In the eyes of Jesus, I am worthy, I am enough, and I am free to choose him now, in this moment.
My thirst had never been quenched until I met Jesus gazing down upon me from the cross, offering his life-giving water of love and forgiveness.
As I continue to look up at Jesus, to my surprise, I hear Jesus say, “Mary, from this cross, receive my love and freedom.”
“I see you, I hear you, and I love you. Thank you, Lord.”
It’s different now when I carry my cross. I know I’m not carrying it alone. Jesus is with me sharing the weight of it, even in all my woundedness. He came to heal me, but I needed to be open to receive the love and freedom he was offering. Having the freedom to choose Christ has made all the difference in how I carry the cross for myself and others.
I hope my mom knew Jesus was always there, and he was the one giving her the strength to say, “It’s my cross to carry.”
I invite you to consider this:
As you sit with the woman at the well, what are you dipping into the well that is leaving you dry? Let the woman at the well be your companion.
As you gaze up at Jesus, what cross are you carrying at this moment? How are you carrying it and can you let Jesus carry it with you or for you for a while?
What is the cross teaching you about God’s love and freedom?
Can you help someone in need carry their cross?
Going Deeper
-
Using Imaginative Prayer to reflect on John 4:1-42 (The Woman at the Well), place yourself in the scene. Where are you? Who are you? Use all of your senses to imagine the scene and bring it to your life right now.
-
Pray with the poem, Footprints in the Sand, a favorite of Mary’s mother and for many others. How does this poem speak to you today?
-
As you contemplate the cross in your own life, and explore God’s love and freedom found there, spend time with this prayer by St. Francis de Sales.
Thank you!
The “Into the Deep” weekly blog is a free offering to live our mission of accompaniment. If someone forwarded this to you, please be sure to sign up at the bottom of this website page so that you receive an email each week with the new blog.
Comment!
If something our writers shared resonates with you, please feel free to write a positive and uplifting comment by scrolling down to the bottom of the page.
Support Us!
You can help support this free offering with a small monthly donation! Your recurring generosity enables us to continue building our home of accompaniment. If you would like to donate, please do so here.
Mary Hile-Nepfel
Mary Hile-Nepfel is an Ignatian-trained spiritual director of the Spiritual Exercises. She is currently writing her memoir, A Loving God is My Coach, which details her life as an athlete and a basketball coach through the lens of the Spiritual Exercises. In telling her story she hopes to reveal a loving God who shows us how to win in the spiritual life with the freedom to choose Jesus Christ.
Mary lives in San Bruno, California with her husband Bill and their four-legged son Samuel.
Comments
Loading comments...
Leave a comment