Offering up joy.

(note: links and formatting will be updated later)

Blogger Betty Duffy and I have been lazily exchanging posts in a sort of open conversation about our Marian consecrations, which we each completed independently in the fall. I have been chewing on this post of hers for a few weeks, namely, the notion of "offering up" little joys, pleasant experiences. Catholics are accustomed to the idea of offering up our sorrows and sufferings and sacrifices; it makes sense to us, because we understand that suffering has meaning and worth, and therefore God can use ours somehow. In the Marian consecration, the benefits derived from any such sacrifices and sufferings belong to Mary to distribute; but both B.D. and I discovered early on that along with consecration came a surprising inclination to offer joys as well. Here is Betty:

My friend Irene consecrated on the same day I did, and she was laughing about how one night, she was having a glass of wine and a bath before bed, and it occurred to her to offer it, "All for!" She felt weird about it at first, but why not offer up our rest, our comfort, our blessings as well as our suffering?

I think one source of the anxiety I've felt in the past is some sense of shame about the goodness of my life. Am I undeserving of Heaven because my life hasn't led me to any significant suffering? The pleasures of having a good marriage, good kids, good friends, reading good books, eating good foods, seem to offer little in the way of salvific value. So rather than offering up those good things, I would discount them completely, choosing to focus my emotional and spiritual energy on the minute discomforts of a relatively privileged life. If nailing oneself to the Cross is the only way to Salvation--I had no idea what to do with my blessings--blessings that God, in his goodness, made it impossible for me to escape.

Offering ALL of it, the good and the bad, has redeemed the mostly good things that constitute my life. And without seeking suffering, looking for it, wallowing in it, I'm free to administer to those who really do suffer.

I should add that at this season in my life, there are far more happy moments, far more joys large and small, than sad moments and suffering. I feel a need to offer these up, if only because there is so much more to offer from that reservoir. I would have to look pretty hard to find a suffering to off that is larger than getting cut off in traffic, or maybe having a migraine. If I look for joys to offer, well, there is one every moment. And all the moments are there for the offering. So it makes sense to say, "All for you -- Totus tuus!"

But I still wonder -- what does it mean to offer up joy? Possibly the problem is that I am not actually very clear on how to offer up suffering either.

I asked myself the other day in the pool -- I was enjoying the swim, and thought to offer it, and in the same moment thought, "But what does that mean to offer this enjoyment?" and one answer came back immediately: it means to receive it with true gratitude, understanding that this joy is a gift. To be pleased with the pleasure and to refrain from being pleased with myself; to acknowledge that even the powers I have to obtain and to choose and to accept such good things are powers gifted to me.

I asked myself again when I was on the treadmill this afternoon (yes, there is a pattern there, it hasn't escaped me) and another answer came back immediately: the obvious example to look to, the perfect example of offering up a joy, is the mystery of the Presentation. Because after all, Mary and Joseph did not offer the baby boy in sacrifice, Isaac-style, nor leave the weaned child behind in the temple like Samuel; they got to take him home at the end of the day. The Presentation was an acknowledgment that the child belonged to God.

Remember that when Mary and Joseph brought Jesus to the temple, they did not expect it, but they ran into two different people who prophesied concerning their gift. The news was not devoid of foreboding.

And so I think there is an implied willingness to relinquish the gift in such offering. If you offer something to God, there is always a risk that you will be forced to admit that the pleasure isn't rightfully yours. If I take a moment to thank God for this pleasurable cup of cappuccino, I risk that it may become obvious that I ought to finish it up and go home and help my husband with the housework instead of finishing up a blog post here in this quiet café.

Finally, another part of offering up a joy is a resolution to use the joy, somehow, according to God's wishes rather than our own. If I am rested and refreshed after (say) a good hot shower, maybe I need to take that happiness and energy back and use it for others, rather than keep it selfishly to myself. We all know that various pleasures are good for the soul, but the degree of good largely depends on what we do with the joy and its aftereffects.

Can these insights suggest others that can help us understand more deeply how to offer up sufferings and sacrifices? What they all have in common is that to get in the habit is to remain ready to offer each moment as it arrives, whatever it may bring.

Comments

[MelanieB]

I've been thinking of Betty's post too. I like the image if the Presentation.

[JMB]

I think the problem I had before suffering entered into my life in a big way was that I didn't appreciate my joyful, easy breezy life until it crashed and burned. So the concept of "offering up joy" would have been lost on me, until I lived through the dark days. Now I am so much more appreciative of the little things in my life that bring me joy.

[bearing]

JMB,

Sometimes I think that my turn must be coming -- I've had so many great things that I can't claim credit for. I try to save up happiness and peace in my heart now, so it strengthens me for some unknown time in the future where I may need it.

[MrsDarwin]

Bearing, that thought haunts me constantly, that there's some karmic turn coming in which I will pay for all my current happiness. That's as close as I've ever come to a temptation to despair, but it's close enough to keep me from always living in the present moment. I've had to confess it recently, as a form of stealing from my family, to dwell almost obsessively on what would happen if I lost it all suddenly.

[bearing]

Oh yes, MrsD, I am with you on that one. I don't know if I could call it "obsessive" or "haunting" -- more just plain pessimism. :-)