When Assumptions Become Suffering

Much of our suffering does not come only from what happened. It comes from what we assume happened.

Don Miguel Ruiz warns that the mind quickly fills in what it does not know. We assume that someone is angry with us, does not value us, or intentionally ignores us. We may also expect people who love us to automatically know what we need. Then, when they fail to meet expectations we never clearly expressed, we feel hurt, rejected, or resentful.

The deeper problem is that we often treat our assumptions as facts.

Psychiatrist Aaron Beck, one of the founders of cognitive therapy, described a similar pattern. He identified “mind reading” as a cognitive distortion—the tendency to believe that we know what another person is thinking without enough evidence. A delayed reply becomes “They do not care.” A tired expression becomes, “They are upset with me.” A disagreement becomes “They do not respect me.”

Once the assumption takes hold, our emotions begin responding to the story as though it were true. We may become anxious, angry, defensive, or distant—not because of what the other person actually intended, but because of the meaning we assigned to the situation.

Jesus offers a corrective when he says, “Do not judge by appearances, but judge with right judgment” (John 7:24). Right judgment requires more than a first impression. It asks us to pause, listen, seek clarity, and remain open to the possibility that our interpretation may be incomplete.

This is both a spiritual and psychological discipline. Before reacting, we can ask: What do I actually know? What am I only assuming? Is there another possible explanation? Have I spoken honestly with the person involved?

Assumptions close the heart around a story. Truth opens the heart to reality.

Wisdom begins when we replace assumption with curiosity, accusation with conversation, and appearance with truth.

Notes

Beck, A. T. (1976). Cognitive therapy and the emotional disorders. International Universities Press.

Ruiz, D. M. (1997). The four agreements: A practical guide to personal freedom. Amber-Allen Publishing.

 

Prayer of the Whole Person

We often think of prayer as something we do mainly with words. We speak to God, recite familiar prayers, or sit silently. Yet prayer involves far more than the lips. It gathers the whole person—mind, body, emotions, attention, and desire—into the presence of God.

Neuroscientist Andrew Newberg studied experienced Franciscan nuns while they engaged in contemplative prayer through the inward repetition of a sacred phrase. Brain imaging showed changes in blood flow in areas involved in focused attention and language (Newberg et al., 2003). The study was small and preliminary, so it does not explain every experience of prayer. Still, it offers an important insight: prayer is not merely passive. The brain participates as we concentrate, remember sacred words, and direct our attention toward God.

Centuries earlier, John Cassian taught something similar from spiritual experience. Drawing upon the wisdom of the Desert Fathers, he understood prayer as more than a brief religious exercise. Our whole way of living prepares us to pray. What fills our minds, shapes our habits, and moves our hearts eventually enters our prayer.

Prayer, then, is not an escape from our humanity. It is the offering of our humanity. We bring our distracted thoughts, tired bodies, fears, gratitude, longings, and love.

Thomas of Celano said of St. Francis of Assisi that he was “not so much praying as becoming totally prayer.” Prayer had moved beyond particular words and moments. It had shaped the person he was becoming.

This is the deeper invitation: not only to say prayers, but to let prayer transform how we think, speak, work, suffer, love, and live. God invites the whole person—until, little by little, our life itself becomes prayer.

 

Notes

Cassian, J. (1997). The conferences (B. Ramsey, Trans.). Paulist Press.

Newberg, A., Pourdehnad, M., Alavi, A., & d’Aquili, E. (2003). Cerebral blood flow during meditative prayer: Preliminary findings and methodological issues. Perceptual and Motor Skills, 97(2), 625–630. https://doi.org/10.2466/pms.2003.97.2.625

Thomas of Celano. (2000). The remembrance of the desire of a soul. In R. J. Armstrong, J. A. W. Hellmann, & W. J. Short (Eds.), Francis of Assisi: Early documents: Vol. 2. The founder (pp. 233–393). New City Press.

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Prayer of the Whole Person

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Perfection Redefined: Holy, Not Flawless

What does it mean to be perfect?

Ronald Rolheiser contrasts two understandings of perfection. In the Greek ideal, perfection means having no faults, weaknesses, or deficiencies. A perfect person measures up to an ideal standard. In the Hebrew understanding, however, perfection means continuing to walk faithfully with God despite our flaws (Rolheiser, 2014).

This distinction matters because the desire to be flawless can become a heavy burden.

Psychologists Paul Hewitt and Gordon Flett describe three forms of perfectionism. Self-oriented perfectionism demands flawlessness from oneself. Other-oriented perfectionism expects others to meet unrealistic standards. Socially prescribed perfectionism is the belief that others will value or accept us only when we are perfect (Hewitt & Flett, 1991).

These pressures can quietly enter our spiritual lives. We may believe that God will love us only when we stop struggling. We may judge others harshly because they fail to meet our expectations. Or we may hide our weaknesses, fearing that people will reject us if they see who we truly are.

But holiness is not the same as flawlessness.

Christian maturity is not the construction of a perfect image. It is the willingness to remain honest, open, and faithful before God. A holy person is not someone who never falls, but someone who keeps allowing grace to lift, correct, and transform them.

This does not excuse harmful behavior or remove our responsibility to grow. Instead, it gives growth a healthier foundation. We can face our failures without deciding that we ourselves are failures.

Perhaps perfection is not a spotless life. Perhaps it is a heart that stays open—to truth, mercy, correction, and love. God does not wait for us at the end of perfection. God walks with us through the unfinished journey.

To be holy is not to be flawless. It is to keep walking with God.

Notes

Hewitt, P. L., & Flett, G. L. (1991). Perfectionism in the self and social contexts: Conceptualization, assessment, and association with psychopathology. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 60(3), 456–470. https://doi.org/10.1037/0022-3514.60.3.456

Rolheiser, R. (2014). Sacred fire: A vision for a deeper human and Christian maturity. Image.

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Perfection Redefined: Holy, Not Flawless

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I Shall Go to Him: Grieving With Hope

One of the most painful stories in the Bible is David grieving the death of his infant son. When the child became ill, David fasted, wept, and spent the night lying on the ground. He pleaded with God for the child’s life. But when the child died, David rose, washed himself, worshiped, and ate. His servants were confused. David then said, “I shall go to him, but he will not return to me” (2 Samuel 12:23).

This is not an easy story. It does not explain the mystery surrounding a child’s death or a loved one’s. It does not offer quick comfort or simple answers. But it does reveal something deeply human and spiritual: love does not end when death comes.

Psychologists Dennis Klass, Phyllis Silverman, and Steven Nickman speak of “continuing bonds” in grief. In earlier understandings, people often thought healing meant letting go and moving on. But grief research has shown that many people heal by finding a new way to remain connected with the one they have lost. The relationship changes, but love remains.

David’s words carry this quiet hope. He knows his child will not return to him in this life. Yet he also believes that the bond is not completely broken. “I shall go to him.” These words do not erase his sorrow, but they give his sorrow a direction.

For parents grieving a child, this can be a tender truth. You do not have to remove your child from your heart in order to heal. You do not have to “move on” as if love has ended. You can carry your child in prayer, memory, gratitude, tears, and hope.

Faith does not ask us to deny grief. It invites us to grieve with love. In God, no love is wasted, no tear is unseen, and no child is forgotten.

Death changes the relationship, but it does not destroy love.

Notes

Klass, D., Silverman, P. R., & Nickman, S. L. (Eds.). (1996). Continuing bonds: New understandings of grief. Taylor & Francis.

 

The Trinity: Connected to the Ocean of God

A beautiful legend attributed to St. Augustine tells of a day when he was reflecting on the mystery of the Holy Trinity. As he walked along the seashore, he saw a child trying to pour the ocean into a small hole in the sand. Augustine said, “That is impossible. The ocean is too vast, and the hole is too small.” The child replied that it would be even more impossible for Augustine to fully grasp the mystery of the Triune God with his limited mind.

The story reminds us that the Trinity is not a puzzle to be solved but a mystery to be entered. God cannot be reduced to our small categories. The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit are not an idea we master, but a communion of love into which we are invited.

Yet, perhaps we can extend the image. We cannot pour the ocean into the hole. But we can connect the hole to the ocean by making a small canal. The hole still does not contain the ocean, but it is no longer separated from it. Fresh water flows in and out. It remains alive because it remains connected.

This is a beautiful image for the spiritual life. We may never fully understand God, but we can remain connected to God. Every prayer, every act of love, every moment of silence, every experience of forgiveness becomes a small inflow from the ocean of divine life.

Psychologists Dacher Keltner and Jonathan Haidt describe awe as the experience of standing before something vast that stretches our understanding. Awe humbles us, but it also opens us. It teaches us that reality is larger than our control.

The Trinity invites this kind of awe. We do not need to empty the ocean of God into our minds. We need to keep the canal open. And as we remain connected, the ocean of God keeps refreshing the small shore of our lives.

We cannot contain the ocean of God, but we can stay connected to its life-giving flow.

Notes

Boodts, S. (2019, February 6). The child by the seaside: A medieval story about Saint Augustine. Medievalists.net. https://www.medievalists.net/2019/02/the-child-by-the-seaside-a-medieval-story-about-saint-augustine/

Keltner, D., & Haidt, J. (2003). Approaching awe, a moral, spiritual, and aesthetic emotion. Cognition and Emotion, 17(2), 297–314. https://doi.org/10.1080/02699930302297

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Hi,

I hope this email finds you in good health of mind, body, and soul. This week's theme is “The Trinity: Connected to the Ocean of God.”

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Pentecost: The Gift of Vulnerability

At Pentecost, the Holy Spirit did not make the disciples powerful in the worldly sense. The Spirit did something deeper: the Spirit gave them the courage to come out of hiding. These were the same disciples who had locked themselves behind closed doors, afraid and uncertain. Yet, when the Spirit came upon them, they stepped into the open and began to speak—not with perfect control, but with honest witness (Acts 2:1–11).

This is where Pentecost can be beautifully contrasted with the Tower of Babel (Genesis 11:1–9). Ronald Rolheiser reflects on Babel not merely as human beings trying to defy God, but as people trying to hide behind a great achievement. The tower becomes a facade, a spectacular structure meant to draw attention away from their ordinary, fragile, and imperfect lives. In that sense, Babel is the refusal of vulnerability. It is humanity saying, “Look at what we can build,” while quietly hiding the truth of who we are.

Pentecost reverses this movement. The disciples do not build a tower to impress others. They reveal themselves. They speak from their lived experience of Christ—his death, resurrection, mercy, and promise. Their vulnerability becomes the place where connection happens. People from different nations, languages, and cultures hear them and understand. The miracle is not only that many languages are spoken, but that hearts are opened.

Psychologically, this is deeply meaningful. Real connection rarely happens through perfection or image-making. It happens when people are honest enough to be seen. Vulnerability is not weakness; it is the doorway to trust, empathy, and belonging. When we hide behind masks, we may impress others, but we remain unknown. When we allow ourselves to be seen with humility, others can meet us more truthfully.

Pentecost reminds us that the Holy Spirit does not simply give us words. The Spirit gives us the courage to show ourselves, to share our story, and to let love create communion across every difference.

 

Notes

Rolheiser, R. (2024, November 18). The Tower of Babel. https://ronrolheiser.com/the-tower-of-babel/

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Pentecost: The Gift of Vulnerability

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Healing the Self-Abuse Within

Don Miguel Ruiz writes, “Nobody has ever abused you more than you have abused yourself.” He also adds, “The limit of your self-abuse is exactly the limit that you will tolerate from someone else.” These words may sound strong, but many of us know their truth. There is often an inner voice that is more cruel than any person outside us.

For example, imagine someone making a small mistake at work. Maybe she forgot to reply to an email or said something awkward in a meeting. The mistake itself may be small, but the inner Judge begins: You are careless. You always mess things up. People must think you are foolish. Long after others have forgotten the incident, she continues to punish herself in her mind. This is what Ruiz calls self-abuse.

Psychologist Kristin Neff gives us a healing way to understand this. She describes self-compassion as treating ourselves with kindness when we fail and remembering that imperfection is part of being human. Self-compassion does not mean excusing everything we do. It means refusing to destroy ourselves while learning from our mistakes.

Ruiz names the wound: we often abuse ourselves through blame, shame, and repeated inner punishment. Neff shows the path of healing: we can learn to speak to ourselves with the same mercy we would offer a friend.

The next time the inner Judge begins to speak, pause and ask: Would I say this to someone I love? If not, perhaps it is not truth but cruelty. Healing begins when we stop standing before ourselves as harsh judges and begin sitting with ourselves as compassionate friends.

Notes

Neff, K. D. (2011). Self-compassion: The proven power of being kind to yourself. William Morrow.

Ruiz, D. M. (1997). The four agreements: A practical guide to personal freedom. Amber-Allen Publishing.