I have tried virtually every prayer that I know, from the Our Father, to the prayer to Our Lady of the Miraculous Medal, to novenas to several saints, and I still have this general feeling of being forsaken by God; none of my prayers have been answered, and I feel “hollow”.
I have turned from Agnosticism to Catholicism once again a couple of months ago, due to my conclusion that it is logically necessary for God to exist. But when you read the plethora of testimonies of people getting prayers answered, seeing Jesus in reality as a child (according to one famous poster here) and more, I can only be left to think: "Why them, and not me". I’m going to Confession this week for the first time, as a last resort that maybe - just maybe - things may become slightly better.
Have I been forsaken by God? Is the fact that my prayers are not being answered some indication that I’m damned not only in this world, but in the one that is to follow?
Thank you,
Eugen von Böhm-Bawerk
Michael Novak wrote this in “No One Sees God:”
One Comes To Know His Presence
I came to learn that, while one can come to know that God is present, our minds are unable to form an adequate conception of Him, or to grasp Him with any of our five senses, or to imagine Him. His mode of drawing us into His presence is necessarily by way of absence, silence, nothingness. I remember an image fixed in my mind by the poetry of Saint John of the Cross, mentioned earlier: “The place where he . . . was awaiting me – A place where none appeared.”
It must necessarily be so. The true God is beyond human concepts, senses, imagination, memory. On those frequencies, He is not reachable. Mother Teresa of Calcutta acknowledged her inability to reach God on human wavelengths in a 1979 letter to one of her spiritual directors, the Reverend Michael Van Der Peet:
“Jesus has a very special love for you. [But] as for me – the silence and the emptiness is so great – that I look and do not see – listen and do not hear”
If a Christian has not yet known this darkness and aridity, it is a sign that the Lord is still treating him like a child at the breast, too unformed for the adult darkness in which alone the true God is found. Any who think they can make idols, or images, or pictures, or concepts of God remain underdeveloped in their faith. Darkness is not a sign of unbelief, or even of doubt, but a sign of the true relation between the Creator and the creature. God is not on our frequency; and when we get beyond our usual range, which in prayer we must, we reach only darkness. This is painful. In a way, it does make one doubt; in another way, experience shows us that when one is no longer a child, one leaves childish ways behind.
Our intellects, our will – these can reach out to God, like arrows of inquiry shot up into the infinite night. These are not shot in vain. They mark out a direction. Waiting in silence, in abandonment, even in the dry sands of the desert, one comes to know His presence. Not believe in it. Know it.
In a 1959 interview with the BBC, C. G. Jung once made the same point. Asked whether he believed in God, Jung replied, “I don’t believe – I know.” This is a dark knowledge. One cannot expect anyone else to know it, unless they have also walked the rocky and darkling path – or somehow by God’s grace been brought to it by a different journey, along a different route. Ascent of the Mountain, Plight of the Dove, I called another book of mine.
Some of us labor sweatily, others are borne on eagle’s wings.
I do not mean that this knowledge consists of warm sentiments, feelings of devotion, uplift, and “faith.” I mean a certain quiet emptiness. A dark resonance of wills. Echo to echo.
Mother Teresa wrote of her own emptiness in 1961: “I accept not in my feelings – but with my will, the Will of God – I accept His will.”
This is not a “will” characterized by effort, unrelenting desire, unshakable determination. I mean something almost the opposite: the quiet of abandonment, and trust. This is another mode of will, quite different from the striving will. It is. the willingness to forgo any other reinforcement except the blind and dark love we direct toward that infinite Light, on which we cannot set our eyes.
Nor do I mean a turning away from intellect or rationality On the contrary, I mean taking these with utter seriousness “all the way down” to the very roots of the universe. I mean trusting our own rationality our own intellect. I mean serene confidence in infinite Light, even when our senses go quite dark. Trust the light, the evidence-demanding eros of inquiry, within us. I mean the suffering love in which that Light issues forth among us. Not to, remove us from suffering. But to transfigure us by means of it.
God bless you, Eugen. You have chosen a difficult path in choosing faith, but I think you are well on your way.
dj