An Emptying of Self that One Might Be Filled
By Marie Khouzam 
 

The past three years of receiving a Jesuit education has most taught me that life is a series of data points, that the reality of living is made up of the true, the good, and the beautiful, and that Ignatian spirituality simply offers a language in which to be increasingly attentive to the movements of the heart.

 

Unbeknownst to many is the life of another; here, I offer you a glimpse into the real complexities of my own life that perhaps, and hopefully, will expand your own capacity to extend others the grace you yourself receive.

According to Father William McNamara, contemplation is a long loving look at the real.

Contemplation, if we speak in terms of data points, is the taking note of that first invitation that calls us to enter into conversation with the One who is greater than self.

 

This conversation, often idly labelled as prayer, is simply the surrendering of self in the acknowledgement of one’s own smallness.

It is in the willingness to acknowledge one’s own passing self, and the false promises of the world, and toward the deliberate seeking of the eternal.

Contemplation calls for an intentionality in the way we respond to the invitation and a surrendering of self that often involves real sacrifice.

 

The aim of contemplation is encounter – that relationship with God can and should be tangible rather than a distant Bible story.

I’m a cradle Catholic, and I have had many inklings of a greater Love, but it was not until my freshman year of college that the realities of what it meant to be unloved led me to that greater Love.

That year, I seemingly gave all of myself and now, looking back, all I can seem to pinpoint during that time of my life was a deep unsettling emptiness.

 

Out of some miracle, at the end of my freshman year, I was asked to serve as a missionary on the counseling staff at a Catholic youth summer camp. For three months of my life, I was blessed with a community of people that lived so counter to what I had just lived for the first year of what was supposed to be the best years of my life.

These people exuded real joy, all because their one aim was Christ, and with Him in sight, they ran full sprint pursuing Him with all that they had.

 

I learned a lot that summer, mostly out of trying to shake the feeling that I was out of place, an imposter, and yet the invitation remained. This abundant joy that, I too, found myself invited into was not because it was summer and life was easy; in fact, it was one of the most growing times of my life. Yet God’s Presence and provision reached further than ever before and reframed the language of my heart to go from empty to filled. This was my big reconversion – it was difficult but rewarding, deeply challenging but joyful all the same. It made me reflect on the ways my life before this real encounter was happening without the intentionality of how real and good and hard it all really was.

 

The encounter in Ignatian contemplation is the initial foundation that helps us move toward the difficulties of reality without fear.

“You must not build upon foundations of prayer and contemplation alone, for unless you strive after the virtues and practice them, you will never grow to be more than dwarfs.” St. Teresa of Avila, The Interior Castle

 

Think about the ways you may find it easier to say and really mean, “I believe” over “I love.”

It is often easier to talk than to act but it is just as important to notice the invitation as it is to answer the call.

I have found that no one big thing will make you all that you want to be or, even have the capacity to be, but it is in the little practices that transformation happens. Three years ago, I encountered the person of Christ – in the middle of nowhere Ohio, often under a big red tent, playing paintball, with sixth grade girls who had a love for mud, but most surprisingly, cutting strawberries in a back corner of the kitchen.

 

Now, I could tell you a story with each one of those, but those memories I believe would be best suited for another time.

All this to say, I encountered something so great in a multitude of small moments, that it somehow reoriented my entire being – in the things I did, in the people I surrounded myself with, in the places I removed myself from.

After a wonderful summer, and in returning to school, a place that had brought such sorrow, I was only able to do so with the acknowledgement that it is only through death that comes new life; that the hardship of that first year would lend to newness.

It was hard at first – I knew that whatever Catholic community I would find would never be the same as what I had come to know.

What I had experienced could have easily moved me to disappointment, but what it really did was give me a greater hope for more to come.

 

“I, a prisoner of the Lord, urge you to live in a manner worthy of the calling you have received.” Ephesians 4:13

I found that it was only right to take the encounter I had and make it real, and something worth pursuing. Rather, someone worth pursuing. Since then, I have placed myself into every position possible that gives me the chance to live in a manner that I feel the Lord has called me to.

 

For me, the movements of my heart and the inklings I receive in prayer, have put me on a path to be with people and to give of myself, however small or large way, that others may feel seen, known, and loved.

I believe the love of Christ to be immeasurable, but in order to not only say but really do – it is in my love, my willingness to say I love the One who is greater than me, that it is I who decides our relationship, it is I who must act and allow myself to be called higher.

 

To live in a manner worthy of the calling I have received is the surrendering of self to others.

“This Beloved of ours is merciful and good. Besides, he so deeply longs for our love that he keeps calling us to come closer. This voice of his is so sweet that the poor soul falls apart in the face of her own inability to instantly do whatever he asks of her.” St. Therese of Avila, The Interior Castle. Something my parents instilled in me was to do, to act, to get after it, whatever “it” was.

I did it all growing up – piano, dance, choir, cello, soccer, swim, the list goes on and on. You might ask - Have any of those carried on in a life-defining way?

 

As much as I want to say yes, because of how real they were for me at times of my life, I also know that it was simply the act of doing these things that my approach to life was changed for the better. These past few years of college are simply a culmination of all the things I love put into action. AMDG, CLC, retreats – all good things and yet places that I find myself being self-sufficient.

There are, however, two places, that I have tangibly pinpointed my do-ing being nothing without Him. These places are where I am taken out of the picture, where fruit is born further than I could ever imagine or fathom.

 

First, as a sacristan – I knew this was an active way I could serve the Church, and I just so clearly remember being ecstatic when extended the offer to be one. Growing up, I always heard the saying, “do the things that don’t feel like work.” This is one of those places. Setting up the tray for mass, placing the key into the tabernacle, lighting hundreds of tea candles, even wildly swinging the thurible that has changed my scent from “petal explosion” to “ Laudate incense,” listening to Cardinal Cupich’s homily, or preparing for Sister Jean’s funeral mass – His Presence is clear. His light gentle touch in every moment of serving as a sacristan – that is what I find holy and real and what I so clearly desire for my life.

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Now, it is abundantly clear as to why I find God so Present in this role....one might ponder that this work in the Church – obviously, He would be there. To this I could push back and say it is in when we bring His Presence in that it really matters, but I will offer you a place where He still shows up where one might least expect it.

 

I am in a sorority, and I often find myself noting how, if I were not in leadership, I probably would have dropped the sorority at this point. It has always been a place that feels solely fulfilling because of the work, but this place, where my faith has been outwardly disdained, it has also been the place I know to be the most important to remain.

I can’t say that I am in any means perfect – I know my imperfections all too well.

 

My sorority is the place that it is hard – that living out my faith is hard and so I must persevere all the same.

“Remain in me, as I remain in you” (John 15). From this, there will be fruit.

I have spent two years on the council, putting my head down not expecting much from the girls, and yet I was pleasantly surprised when a group of them decided to support me in participating in the CLC Canned Food Drive.

I was tasked as a driver, so I only saw glimpses of them as I picked up the cans they had collected from the neighborhood – but it was enough for me. I had never seen such joy come from them, just walking around on a cold Saturday morning, simply to support me and do some service.

 

I remember this one moment so vividly – I came to pick up cans from one of the girls I know, in all honesty, to be the party-type, but here she was walking side by side with who I knew as Father Flaherty, I was met with a “Kevin and I are on our last few houses.”

What awe and joy that the Lord brought me in that moment. It is in knowing that I do not need to speak the name of Jesus that I know His Presence remains.

 

Here, it is where I grasp at the hem of His tunic and see that it is in releasing control of my expectations that He is able to work to more than I could ever possibly imagine doing by myself.

It often feels like I am doing too much and nothing at all at the same time.

For a time, I thought that may be because I was doing too many things, I was not able to put my full and total heart into anything.

 

However, I can look back and know that the things I do have been done well all because I do truly love them.

There is a free giving involved and that is why I have received something if not everything.

I hold no fear that I am doing too much, that I am giving too much of myself, because I know there is no fear in perfect love.

This is not to say that I love perfectly, it is more an acknowledgement that there is greater Love present.

“God pays more attention to the amount of love and affection with which a person performs a work than how much he actually does.” Thomas à Kempis, The Imitation of Christ

To look to the depths of human experience is to see the ways one fashions their life to reflect the deepest desires of the heart.

 

I can tell you outright that my desire to be spent comes solely from my love of the One who Loved me first.

That I know that none of what I do really matters if not for Him.

And so, I find myself in this tension – what is it for me to be kind, to do all that I do with love, to even hope to strive to be Christ-like when I know so deeply of my own faults and imperfections?

Ignatian thought brings me to this alone – that in desolation, God consoles, that in my lowest moment, God remains, that in the ways I fail in loving in most everything, He loves me all the same.

 

“Our job is to love others without stopping to inquire whether or not they are worthy. That is not our business, and, in fact, it is nobody’s business. What we are asked to do is to love, and this love itself will render both ourselves and our neighbor’s worthy.” Thomas Merton

 

The woman at the well is my reminder that I receive water from a well that never runs dry.

There was a point in my life that the giving felt like my entire being was demanded of, with no concern of what remained.

Now, I find that an emptying of self is only means for Him to fill.

I cannot say I have been perfect – often I find myself giving without remembering that God can act on my behalf too;

often, I give and think I am loving when in reality I am too wrapped up in my own self to notice that I am not in fact giving or loving;

often, I know too well the ache that has come with the fear of giving too much. Recently, the Lord has reminded me of His steady Presence of His dear friendship–He does remain in me, so much that I remain in Him.

 

Finally, it is in the fear of being vulnerable, that I share with you one of the most intimate parts of my prayer life so as to give you a glimpse into the invitation I must remind my most imperfect self to enter into, each and every day.

 

This prayer is my own –

Lord, I take you into my heart and receive you that there is less of me and more of you; increase in me, that I may decrease, that I may know you more fully and love you more wholly. May I seek you in all that I am and all that You are.

I am called to spend myself and be spent because it is in knowing how small I am, that I might begin to understand His Great Love.