“You have to Let him love you.”
My Aunt died when she was just 41. Cancer. She was one of the youngest of our Italian side, the beloved of the family. I seem to remember, however, that she found it difficult at times to receive that love, because I recall seeing underneath her smile a sadness.
What is this sadness we see in others and sometimes in ourselves?
It may be something similar for both the child and the adult. The child is sad when he doesn’t get what he wants, while the adult is sad when his plans fail. But on the other hand, the deeper sadness of a grown man may be caused by something other than the frustration of his will. In fact, I think it is.
If the experience of maturation from childhood to adulthood can be understood as the experience of moving from the worship of my parents to the worship of God, then my happiness as an adult is contingent upon how well I make that transition. If I fail to cling to the Church now as I clung to my mother’s breast then, or I fail to allow God to provide that for which I once looked to my earthly father, then I will experience sadness.
When Jesus enjoins us, therefore, to remain in His love just as He remains in the Father’s love, you can just see how he is inviting us to spiritual maturity. He calls us to leave father and mother and to live now with God as Father, and the Church as Mother. And in that invitation to spiritual maturity is the invitation to joy. “I have told you this so that my joy may be in you and your joy might be complete.”
Not long after my Aunt died I saw her in a dream while visiting my parents; I was a Seminarian at the time, preparing for the priesthood. I was overjoyed to see her and wanted to run to her. I wanted to speak to her, “We miss you!” But I couldn’t move and I couldn’t speak. She looked at me. She was radiant; you might have thought she was the Blessed Mother. And then she spoke to me, “You have to let Him love you.” I nodded. And then she said it again, “You have to let Him love you.”
And what I remember most about the encounter was her smile. I had never seen her smile like that while on earth. To be sure, she was great company, hilariously funny, and very generous. But the smile she wears now is entirely free from any sadness. She is letting Him love her.
Did God allow my Aunt to come to me in order to save me from the sadness that plagues those priests who think they must earn God’s love by their labor, who still think as children trying desperately to deserve their parents’ love? In any case, it was one of the last dreams I remember having in my parents’ house and it prepared me to let God be my Father and the Church be my Mother. It prepared me for joy.