Hardness of Heart: Trying to figure this one out

I thought that if I began this post with "The mass readings lately..." a few of you might press the 'next blog' button and blow this pop-stand; so, I decided to start my second sentence that way.

The mass readings lately have been talking a lot about hardness of heart: as in, "Do not harden your hearts as at Meribah" and the like. Our priest delivered an excellent homily on hardness of heart at Saturday morning mass. He spoke about the apostles and their hardness of heart. The apostles had spent three years in the intimate company of Jesus, the Lord of Lords and the King of Kings. They had seen him give sight to the blind, health to the sick, speech to the mute, forgiveness to the sinner.

And they still didn't get it when he rose from the dead. This "not getting it" was a hardness of heart.

Mary, upon arriving at the tomb, is actually unmoved by the sight of two angels and a 'gardener' asking her whom she was looking for. She refuses to abandon her pessimistic expectations (He Is Dead and Ain't Coming Back) to which she clings. She can not recognise heaven standing in front of her until Jesus calls her by name and she responds: "Rabbouni!"
Yet, even then, she still clings. She falls at Jesus's feet and clings to him. She can't let go and an aspect of that inability to let go is not to be emulated. (I once heard Mother Angelica call Mary Magdalene a clinger. She was only quoting Jesus: "Woman, let go of me.")

Of course all of this made me think about the things to which I cling. Especially the fears to which I cling. Fears that are so familiar that they have become routine and somewhat comfortable. Fears about sleeping at night, about the kids' safety, about health, about more children: can I trust these things to the Lord? Can I stop clinging and leave them with him? Can I get up out of my clinginess and go as he told Mary Magdalene to do? After all, He has proved himself countless times in my life - in both the little and the big things.

So, this Easter season I am trying to stop clinging to my fears. Fears that have become so familiar that I had forgotten that they were fears and not just old friends with whom I had a lot in common. A lifetime's work.

But, I started this whole thing by talking about hardness of heart. So, back to Saturday morning mass. As Father preached his homily he spoke about Peter after the Resurrection. Peter had witnessed the Risen Lord and he really had no idea what to do with this new reality. So, he went back to fishing; and not just as an afternoon diversion, but as an occupation. Why did he go back? Because of his hardness of heart. Because he didn't have a heart of flesh.

Up until this point I had always thought of hardness of heart as a refusal to repent, a denial of one's own sin, the inability to listen to what the Lord is saying. But, as Father spoke, I also saw hardness of heart for what it also is: the tough shield that we build around our hearts in order to protect ourselves from hurt that also prevents us from feeling the pain and the suffering of others. It's an inadvertent desensitization. It's the water running off the duck's back that allows us to get on with things and not hurt so much.

But, in the process of not hurting, we build a wall around us that lessens our care for others. We can no longer feel their pain because our hearts are hard. Along with the apathy that comes with hardness of heart comes a sort of cloudiness of vision. We can no longer see things as they really are. We can no longer recognise the heart of the matter - the spiritual reality that surrounds us. We can't grasp the Resurrection. And so we go back to fishing.

Now, I'm not trying to advocate that we all become a bunch of bleeding hearts that forever wallow in life's hurts and pains. No, a certain amount of 'toughness' is required. But, how do we do this and still maintain a softness of heart? How does the Resurrected One make any difference in our lives? How do we hear the Easter story and not just smile at the happy ending? How does it change our lives?

What was it that eventually changed things for Peter, the Apostles and millions of others who have lived and died for their faith? It was the Holy Spirit. It is the descent of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost that changed the fear into boldness and replaced the hearts of stone with hearts of flesh.

This season of Easter in which we find ourselves ends at Pentecost. And, much like Lent, it must be lived - as a time of growth, new understanding and personal reform and renewal. (What are you going to give up for Easter?)

And all of this made me think about my children and their hearts. Because at their tender ages they still seem to have hearts that are pretty fleshy. They are still moved to tears easily by tragedy - big and little. They immediately grasp injustice and demand that it be righted. Some might say that their world is simplistic or too black and white. (As in Jacob's remarks that if the NDP formed the government, it would be 'curtains' for unborn babies - show's over, folks.)

Sure, our older two are just beginning to see the shades of grey that are ever present. However, I think that their child-likeness, their fleshy hearts are something to be desired. I don't want them to become jaded, to casually turn a blind eye to disaster on the television screen or to the tears of their younger brothers. I want their hearts to be fleshy and real and capable of feeling.

So, I kept thinking, and that thinking turned to prayer, and I began to see the relationship between the discipline of our children and their hearts. It is so easy as a parent to turn to sarcasm or let rip some mean quip as we reprimand a son or daughter. Especially when there are sooo many kids and sooo many feelings and sooo much behaviour and we are sooo tired.

But what does that sarcasm, that comment, that meanness produce? I think that it produces a hardness of heart. That hardness is foremostly a method of defense. The child is hurt by the remark, or by being belittled, and so they cry. But then they begin to learn that they can toughen up so that they don't hurt so much. And so the heart begins to harden. And the learned process continues in the schoolyard, amongst friends and within the family.

And as I sat in mass on Saturday morning I saw how guilty I am of the hardening of my children's hearts. So easily I let fly a mean comment out of frustration. And so many times I have seen the look of betrayal in my children's eyes as they experience their own mother being mean. And, before my very eyes, a little bit of that precious and fleshy heart becomes hard. Ow.

So, along with becoming a little less clingy this Easter season, I'm also going to try to be a heck of a lot kinder to those in my care because hearts are at stake. And where hearts are at stake, so are souls.