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Chapter 2

Do Fall in Love with Jesus

“YOU MEAN YOU LITERALLY PUT YOUR lips on it and kissed it? A piece of wood?”

Jack nodded and munched on a French fry.

“This isn’t some weird metaphor for what you were thinking,” I asked, “or for what you wanted to do?”

He shook his head.

“You actually walked up to this cross and you kissed it?”

He nodded again. “Yup,” he said. He ate another fry.

I took a sip of coffee and absorbed the story and the image. This was weird. Catholics were weird.

“Why?”

“Well,” he said, “it’s like this. On Good Friday, Catholics always do this. They have a service—I mean, we have this service. I guess I’m one of them again. It’s not a Mass, ’cuz it’s the only day of the year when we don’t have Mass—but it’s this service where we have veneration of the cross. Do you want me to explain veneration?”

“Please.”

“Okay,” he said. “Veneration means showing respect … honor. We’re honoring Jesus’ sacrifice for us by showing honor to the cross, because it was on the cross that he died for us, right? So kissing the cross is kissing the symbol of his sacrifice.”

“Do you have to kiss it? What if you feel weird about kissing a piece of wood?”

Jack smiled. “You don’t have to kiss it. There are other ways to show respect. You can genuflect, or you can bow, or you can just touch it if you want to. But I wanted to kiss it. I couldn’t wait to kiss the cross.”

I shook my head, not fully able to grasp this idea. Kissing an inanimate object. In public. It was too far out of the realm of my experience; it smacked of “cult.” Jack was going through a program at his church to learn, or relearn, about his faith as he made his way back to the Catholic Church he had left behind. Although I found most of what he told me incredibly odd, I was simultaneously intrigued.

In the glowing fluorescent light of a Perkins restaurant, Jack’s story about feeling the power of God by kneeling down and placing his lips on a wooden cross unsettled me. This wasn’t merely a pleasant little ceremony or a way to be politely respectful. He felt something. Deeply. Every time he talked about God these days—every time he talked about Jesus—it was like he was head over heels in love.

Better Than a Top Ten List

Whenever I see people immersed in things they’re passionate about, I’m struck by the joy they radiate. Whether their passion is for art, sports, music, theater, hobbies, job, or family, it’s irresistible and draws me in. Passion is magnetic. And when we encounter a soul who has genuinely fallen in love with Jesus, we encounter the most powerful kind of attraction. We don’t even label what these people do as evangelization—they may not even be conscious of what they’re doing. They’re simply emanating love for God.

It makes sense. Compare deep, true love for Jesus with marriage: If we want the world to know how marvelous the sacrament of marriage is, we hope to show them happy Catholic marriages. If we want the world to know how great Jesus is, we want them to see our love for him. If we want to transmit the idea that faith is life-changing, the world needs to see Jesus changing our lives. That kind of passion and relationship with the Lord is a far better witness than a top ten list about “Why Faith is a Good Thing.”

Feelings, of course, can’t be dictated. “Fall in love with Jesus” is not a prescription that we can run out and fill. But we can open ourselves to him and his love for us. If we’ve never felt that way before, we can start in a simple place. Take a look at people who radiate love for God. What are they doing that we’re not? What’s different about their prayer lives, their reading habits, their relationships? What can we, using their habits and practices as a starting point, begin doing that will ignite the flame?

Smitten by His Love

Pope Francis has said: “When one finds themselves with Jesus, they live the wondrous awe of that encounter and feel the need to look for him in prayer, in the reading of the Gospels. They feel the need to adore him, to know him and feel the need to announce him.”⁴

The Holy Father also reminds us that Jesus poured out everything for us, that true love is complete self-donation: “The cross of Christ invites us also to allow ourselves to be smitten by his love, teaching us always to look upon others with mercy and tenderness.”⁵

There was a time in my life when I couldn’t imagine such things. Falling in love with God and announcing him to everyone? Embracing the cross and allowing suffering to soften my heart? It was inscrutable to me, as impenetrable as Jack’s kissing of the cross sounded before I was a believer. When I genuinely began searching for faith, however, it was people who fervently loved God who attracted me. I can only hope and pray to become like my role models, people who have discovered, as Pope Francis said, the need to adore and announce Jesus, and share the reality of his love.

Differently Happy

My friend Liz, who converted to Catholicism after years of knowing vibrant, joyful Catholics, told me one day that her friend Sister Marie Therese “loves Jesus so much that it just pops out when you’re around her. It’s the way she talks, the way she acts—it’s who she is. I became an oblate of the Benedictines before I ever became a Catholic, due to her example.”

Like Liz, long before I was a Catholic, I noticed that some people seemed to have deeper pockets of joy than others. They were not lecturers, scolders, sermonizers, or judges. They had something I couldn’t put my finger on, something down to earth but otherworldly. They emanated a sweet fragrance that I eventually found myself wanting to breathe in.

“There is a woman in my Spirit of Motherhood group,” my friend Renee told me, “and I just love her. She is very faithful and happy, and that shows itself in joy every time I see her. She makes everyone around her feel loved. It’s something you cannot fake.”

My friend Holly told me about a similar woman who had a profound effect on her. Holly was raised in the Presbyterian Church and didn’t embrace Catholicism until several years after she married Jack. Sometime in the first few years of her marriage, Holly met Pat. “She was first a stranger, then became a friend, and now we call her our godmother,” Holly said. “Pat spoke to the youth group we helped with, and she shared story after story about miraculous things God had done in her life. I was amazed at her faith through all of those stressful, scary situations.” Pat’s life was far from perfect, had, in fact, never been easy, but she possessed a light that shone brightly on my friend.

Jen, another friend, grew up with such light. “My mom’s faith is very much her walk with her friend, Jesus. She speaks to him, and about him, in a very informal, personal way. She’s spent a lot of time listening for God…. I’ve always been attracted to the way she leans on the Lord.”

Another friend, Karl, who grew up in a non-Catholic home, said his parents always surrounded their family with passionate Christians. As an adult, Karl converted to Catholicism, but he’s always been grateful for a childhood that was populated with genuine disciples of Jesus who had a powerful impact on his faith.

These were the kinds of people I found myself returning to again and again when the sand was shifting beneath my feet. I craved a taste of what was on their plate, because they seemed so differently happy. Their joy didn’t originate in material goods, or careers, or in worldly possessions. What they possessed was something above and beyond. One day, I finally had to admit that I wanted it, too.

Stir Us Up

Years ago, after I was received into the Catholic Church, a friend babysat my daughters while I attended RCIA team meetings at my new parish. Melinda was a devout evangelical Christian. When the subject of religion had first come up between us, she’d fixed her eyes on me and pursed her lips when I mentioned my recent choice of Catholicism. It didn’t take long though before we were exchanging tales of what Jesus Christ had done in our lives. One day, with a note of skepticism in her voice, she said, “I’ve never heard a Catholic talk about Jesus the way you do.”

“Really?” I said, genuinely surprised. “Well, you just haven’t met enough Catholics!” She looked doubtful, and I laughed. “No, really,” I continued, “I know plenty of Catholics who talk about Jesus this way.”

That was true. The new friends I had made in my parish, and our RCIA leader, were serious Christians who worshiped with eagerness and fervor and sought the Lord’s will in their lives. On the other hand, I knew what Melinda meant. A “typical” evangelical Christian and a “typical” Catholic do not necessarily employ the same vocabulary when they speak about their Lord and Savior. But once we knew each other well enough to share details of our faith lives, we realized we were often saying the same things: I love God … I love my faith … the Mighty One has done great things for me.

I said those words so often to myself: The Mighty One has done great things for me. I remember driving to Mass one weekday evening when I was still a newish Catholic. The sun was just beginning to droop in the sky behind me as I drove into town. The fall weather was crisp and full of the promise of my favorite season. Everything felt peaceful and right and whole: my marriage was in the best shape it had ever been in, my two little girls were healthy and happy, and I loved being a mother. But there was another feeling, too, something that felt even bigger, overarching, and underlying everything I did. As I drew closer to the church, to my new parish—my new home, I thought—I was overcome with a feeling of anticipation, a quivering kind of bliss. I couldn’t wait to get to the church, could hardly contain myself as I thought of the Eucharist. I couldn’t wait to be with the Lord.

The ability to go to Mass whenever I wanted was an enormous privilege. I was going to be with Jesus again, to receive his Body and Blood, and spend time with him in prayer. I felt like a kid at Christmas. The words of St. Augustine were fitting and right:

Stir us up, and call us back; inflame us, and draw us to Thee; stir us up, and grow sweet unto us; let us now love Thee, let us run after Thee.⁶

My life seemed too good to be true. The ugliness and pain of my past was erased every time I received Jesus. In the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass, in my encounters with him in the confessional, or immersed in prayer at home, I was lavished with undeserved gifts. Was this what Jack had felt when he was falling in love with God?

Practicing What They Preach

Priests are only human. Like the rest of us they are imperfect, but the priests I have known are overwhelmingly open, generous, faithful men who love Jesus and fervently desire to serve God. They express their love in a variety of ways, according to their gifts and how the Lord wishes to use them, but some possess such a visible and profound love for the Lord that they are beacons to others.

I had been Catholic for a couple of years when I met newly ordained Fr. Joe. I was on the RCIA team, and he was our team director. I had an appointment with him one day to talk about some RCIA business, but first I stopped in at the church to pray. I then headed next door to the parish offices. Fr. Joe must have seen me coming from the direction of the church, because he said, “Have you been visiting him?”

Visiting him? I’d never really heard it put that way. I was “praying before the Blessed Sacrament.” I was “at adoration.” I was … well, what was I? I was a Christian, for Pete’s sake, and I was even a Catholic now—why did Father’s phrasing sound funny?

It took me a moment, and then I realized what it was. Fr. Joe’s description of my time with Jesus didn’t sound like most Catholics’ description of adoration. His way sounded so much more personal. That resonated and was what I loved about it. I did feel that personal connection, too, but I’d rarely heard a Catholic, apart from Jack, express it that way. Fr. Joe’s easy manner gave me permission to talk about falling in love with Jesus. Such vocabulary was freeing. And it was just as Catholic, just as appropriate and accurate, I realized with relief, as more formal ways of expressing our love for him.

I remember many occasions, after that day in Fr. Joe’s office, when I stopped in at the church to visit Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament. Fr. Joe was often there, too, spending time with his Beloved, living and practicing what he preached. Fr. Joe became my spiritual director, and to this day, when I see him for confession or to seek counsel, I am always struck by the quiet, holy, and tangible love for Jesus that flows out of him.

Fr. Joe’s love for the Lord had a powerful effect on my friend Danae as well. In high school, Danae was attracted to a non-Catholic, evangelical brand of Christianity and fell away from her Catholic faith. Ironically, it was precisely Danae’s deep love for Jesus that left her susceptible to wandering. Providentially, it was a Catholic, evangelical priest’s deep love for Jesus that helped to bring her back. Danae said:

I just felt like Catholicism was about rules and not about Jesus. I was attracted to my Protestant friends’ intimacy with the Lord. I didn’t see many Catholics who had that (I failed to notice that many of them did—I just wasn’t looking in the right places). The Protestants seemed to have the lingo, and they knew their Bibles so well. I didn’t know any Catholics who read the Bible (again, I failed to notice that we read from it every day at Mass, not to mention the Divine Office). I just wanted a church that emphasized a relationship with Jesus. And whenever I had questions about the teachings of the Catholic Church, there were never answers that satisfied me.

Danae’s faith in Christ was vibrant, but she couldn’t see relevance in her Catholic upbringing. She continued:

Once I left home for college, I stopped attending Mass, except for occasionally playing piano for the student Mass. After my freshman year, I was home for the summer and my best friend and I wanted to start a youth group. My parents suggested we contact a new priest in our parish. I had no interest in a Catholic youth group, but for some reason I gave that priest a call. He was so excited about our idea because he’d been praying to the Holy Spirit to start a young adult group. I explained that we weren’t keen on the Catholic faith. He said that was okay, he would just meet with us and talk. That began a summer of meetings where I encountered the Catholic faith in a way that I never had before. Fr. Joe talked in that “evangelical style” but also answered every single one of our questions with facts and information that could not be disputed.

Danae and her friend ran head-on into the reality that Catholicism is vibrant and alive. Fr. Joe offered comprehensive, intelligent responses to all of Danae’s questions, demonstrating that faith and reason work seamlessly together in the Catholic Church. He made a tangible difference in Danae’s life:

… he showed me what it meant to have a relationship with the Lord in the Catholic Church. It’s hard to argue against the beauty and awesomeness of the truth that is found there. Hard to argue that you can best have a relationship with the Lord through the life-giving sacraments, especially the Eucharist. Basically, God used a holy priest (and other great witnesses) to open my eyes to what was always right in front of me. He helped my head and my heart understand that the Catholic Church is all about Jesus and that the greatest intimacy we can have is receiving his precious Body and Blood.

Danae would later make a similar difference in the faith of her future husband. She marks her friendship with Fr. Joe as a turning point.

Walking the Walk

Simply by living the faith that they love, holy priests attract our attention. As Pope Francis said:

We know well that with Jesus life becomes richer, and that with him it is easier to find meaning in everything. This is why we evangelize. A true missionary, who never ceases to be a disciple, knows that Jesus walks with him, speaks to him, breathes with him, works with him. He senses Jesus alive with him in the midst of the missionary enterprise. Unless we see him present at the heart of our missionary commitment, our enthusiasm soon wanes and we are no longer sure of what it is that we are handing on; we lack vigor and passion. A person who is not convinced, enthusiastic, certain and in love, will convince nobody.⁷

Fr. Scott, another priest who became a friend, is a humble, holy man who is convinced, enthusiastic, certain, and in love. From the moment my family and I met him, we knew we were in the presence of someone who loves Jesus with his whole heart, mind, soul, and strength. That love is seen in the little things.

Over one of the first dinners at our house (and he became a regular guest), Fr. Scott and I talked about writing and blogging. Though he had once maintained a blog, by the time we met he had deleted his blog from cyberspace. It was clear he loved writing, so I was perplexed as to why he’d given up a harmless writing outlet.

But it wasn’t always harmless, he countered. The blog world, even among religious, can degenerate into pettiness and competition. Who is funniest in the blogosphere? The smartest? Who’s snarkier, the most clever? Who is quickest with wise and holy assessments of what’s happening in the Catholic world?

Fr. Scott is the first to say that it’s possible to blog without succumbing to such temptations, but he felt that when he wrote online about the issues he was passionate about, it was too easy to be personally tempted to descend into a lack of charity. So he decided to bow out. Though his blog had gathered a robust following, the popularity and kudos weren’t worth the dangers to his soul. He hit the “Delete” button. Blog gone. Peace of mind returned. It was my first encounter with his witness of detachment.

Fr. Scott doesn’t deliberately witness about simplicity and humility, but his life speaks volumes. He drives a simple car and prefers a simple home. At one point, he was even embarrassed by his kitchen. The hundred-year-old rectory in which he lived needed renovation. His parishioners knew Fr. Scott loved to cook. Donations were raised and the tiny, old kitchen was demolished and replaced with a shiny new one featuring state of the art appliances, marble countertops, and ample storage space. It was a chef’s dream but Fr. Scott was a bit abashed, even though he knew it would benefit many priests who would come after him.

Although he loves to read and loves books—he once owned twenty-three copies of his favorite book, Pride and Prejudice—he no longer owns more possessions than he can pack into his car. His priority is his love for God and God’s people and for spreading the Gospel of Jesus Christ. Living in a materially simple way helps him do that.

A Thing Like a Love Affair

To say, “Fall in love with Jesus!” as if it were just another piece of advice sounds facile. But the reality stands: Love is the most powerful witness. Of St. Francis of Assisi, G. K. Chesterton said, “To this great mystic his religion was not a thing like a theory but a thing like a love affair.”⁸

A love affair with God may sound odd. I once saw an article in which the writer objected to “love affair language” because, he said, “Jesus is not my boyfriend!” And while it’s true that we don’t want to diminish the nature of our relationship with God in any way, there is nothing juvenile or belittling about the imagery of God as our Beloved. Such imagery is as old as the Song of Solomon. Both ancient Jewish and Christian traditions have likened the marriage relationship to our relationship with Our Lord. St. Bernard of Clairvaux said:

To love so ardently then is to share the marriage bond; she cannot love so much and not be totally loved, and it is in the perfect union of two hearts that complete and total marriage consists. Or are we to doubt that the soul is loved by the Word first and with a greater love?⁹

There is nothing small or pedestrian about the breadth and depth of love God wants from us. It’s true that this love affair doesn’t mean we’ll wander around in a giddy stupor. Just as in marriage, authentic love is more than the infatuation we feel when we first fall in love. Love is sustained and grows deeper through repeated acts of the will and through lifelong commitment. The same is true of our faith in and love for Jesus Christ.

We fall in love, commit, and promise to live that commitment for the rest of our lives. Love is the anchor—in both marriage and faith—that will hold us in place when dryness, boredom, suffering, and hard times set in. The initial consolations of both earthly and divine love steel us for the future. In both cases, we know that the puppy love phase will pass, but its consolations will ripen our souls for the richness to come.

At its core, our connection to Jesus Christ is a relationship of love. “We, the women and men of the Church,” said Pope Francis, “we are in the middle of a love story: each of us is a link in this chain of love. And if we do not understand this, we have understood nothing of what the Church is.”¹⁰

I don’t know about you, but I know what I want: I want to be a link in that chain. I want to love Jesus with the urgency of one who can’t wait to kiss the cross on Good Friday. I want to be like Renee’s friend, who can’t fake the joy that buoys her into every room. I want the passion for Christ that Karl grew up with and the irresistible faith of Sister Marie Therese. I want to talk to my friend Jesus every morning as Jen’s mom does, and share stories like Pat’s, stories of miracles that change lives. I want to hold fast to the witness of holy men like Fr. Scott and Fr. Joe. I want to recall, fan, and keep alive the flame that made me so eager to get to Mass that I couldn’t drive fast enough.

What do I want? I want a thing like a love affair.

“When I am completely united to you, there will be no more sorrow or trials; entirely full of you, my life will be complete.”

—St. Augustine¹¹