19th Sunday of Ordinary Time: Disordered Desires, Unmet Needs

I’ve long been fascinated with what’s described in our first reading. The great prophet Elijah—after so powerfully demonstrating the strength of the God of Israel on Mt. Carmel, calling down fire from the sky—suddenly cowers in fear and insecurity, after receiving word of Queen Jezebel’s murderous threats.

Fearing for his life, he went into hiding. Soon after, he went to Mt. Horeb (aka Mt. Sinai) and like Moses, he remained for forty days and nights, seeking consolation, but also direction from God. As Elijah waited within the cave, he experienced various natural phenomena and was left to discern if it was God. He first heard wind, then crushing rocks, an earthquake and finally fire. None of it was God, but instead merely an echo of the calamity of the world from which he had fled. But Elijah kept listening.

Last week, in my homily, considering how Jesus withdrew for a time after learning of the death of John the Baptist, seeking time and space to process, and then suddenly seeing the hungry crowd gathering before him, I suggested that likewise, we find our way out of the weight in our hearts by coming out of the quiet space and offering our lives for others.

While I believe it to be true, I also acknowledge the necessary reflection of the turmoil in our hearts. We’ve all got stuff bouncing around in our hearts and it’s important to carefully sort through it, to try and understand it, so that we might ultimately move through it.

As most of you know, I don’t speak often about my personal life in my homilies, primarily because this isn’t meant to be about me, but instead about our encounter with Jesus. I don’t want to get in the way. Having said that, I’m compelled to tell you a little bit about the spiritual retreat I was on this past week. It was a guided retreat, meaning that each day we had talks that developed a larger theme, which was Holy Desire.

Early on, we were reminded of an important and universal human truth: that every disordered desire is born out of an unmet need. In other words, for whatever way we struggle: the ways we seek affirmation, a sense of belonging, security, intimacy and love, yet pursue it in unhealthy ways; or that we’re stuck in feelings of sadness, hopelessness and fear, believing the lies whispered in our consciousness, that we’re not lovable, that we can’t get past any shame from our past; or maybe it’s the compulsion that has us again and again, looking at images on the internet, medicating our hungers—all of it, responses born out of unmet needs that only add to the sense of emptiness and shame. I should also mention that the retreat was specifically designed for priests and seminarians, who share in such struggles within the heart.

All of that, we were reminded, is born out of an unmet need for something good, true and beautiful—something God wants to give, yet we’ve not been able to receive. Some of us try to mask this restlessness and pretend it away, or satisfy it in harmful ways, but it remains unresolved and festers—like trying to run away from one’s self. The fact is, that our hearts won’t be entirely satisfied on this side of heaven.

And one of the things we learned is that while it’s a universal problem to some degree, there are likely events from one’s particular past that serve as a source from where that turmoil came to life. And furthermore, there are things along the way, including our present experience, that tap into that source-wound—the root system, if you will—keeping it alive, and becoming manifest in the unhealthy ways I described. For sure, it’s helpful to spend time, inviting the Holy Spirit to help us understand these source-wounds, to allow God’s grace to enter into our past and to heal them, so that we can move through and past them.

But so much of it is rooted in the lie about our identity. It’s the lie that the serpent told Adam and Eve, and it’s the lie at work in most every way we fall. Recall Jesus’ Baptism, when the Father’s voice declared from the heavens, “You are my beloved Son; with you I am well pleased” (Luke 3:22). I’ve heard it suggested that those words don’t quite capture it right, as though, saying, “You meet my satisfaction”, when in fact, what the Evangelists wanted to convey is something more to the effect of, “I take great delight in you…you are my delight!”

The Father’s joy is not in Jesus alone. St. Paul tells us, “You received a spirit of adoption, through which we [call God’], ‘Abba, Father!’….we are children of God, and if children, then heirs, joint heirs with Christ” (Romans 8:15-17). It’s true, yet still we struggle to believe that God loves us and that we’re lovable. In all the ways he would want to assure us, to be our security, and to reveal it through those with whom we feel a sense of belonging, acceptance and intimacy, our hearts don’t believe it and thus can’t receive it. We must give the Father some time and space, to speak the truth to us, to free us from the lie.

After hearing all the calamitous phenomena, Elijah waited…and waited, until what followed was a tiny whispering sound, like the sound of a soft breeze. In that gentle mysterious experience, Elijah recovered his sense of self and could then understand how to move forward as God’s servant.

To be clear, just because God delights in you doesn’t mean He’s not also a God of justice, of transcendence and mystery: He is. Yes, there are things to work through in our lives, in our past, habits that need to be broken, real soul-killing sin that needs to be left behind. It takes time, work and for sure, help. But the more we can first know His love and experience it, including in the healthy love shared with others, the more we find our security, belonging, and even carefree joy. Your Father delights in you like the uncomplicated things that cause a dog’s tail to wag with joy. Receive His love and the truth He whispers in your heart and let it free you.