The Chair

I take no joy in admitting I’ve sinned. In my mind, sin is a failure. Anyone that knows me will tell you I generally have a difficult time forgiving myself at times.  I had an opportunity to do the right thing, think the right thing, or resist the temptation to place myself at the center of a story that was never really about me, but at this writing, I still have not arrived at a place that Jesus would be proud.

Far be it from me to think I can escape sin. After all, as a Catholic, I know better. Or at least I thought I did.

The Envy

I lived through some hurt this week after experiencing a healthy dose of envy for another. I don’t know about you, but I tend to confuse jealousy and envy. This wasn’t jealousy. This was envy. The real thing.

For several days, I focused on the person who had received a blessing I wanted for myself. I prayed. I wrestled with the disappointment, the anger, the sadness, and more tears than I care to admit. I kept asking myself whether my envy was justified.

But, of course, it wasn’t.  But sin has a funny way of convincing us that our particular circumstances are somehow different.

What also didn’t help, was the surprise….. that I didn’t see it coming like a punch to the gut.  And I should have.  I even reached out for help from a friend. What I received wasn't wrong. I suppose I needed more. 

The Discovery

The more I prayed, however, the more I began to suspect, and now realize, that envy wasn't the whole story.  The truth is that long before I was envious, I was hopeful.  I had imagined a future.

I could see myself in a particular place, serving in a particular way, contributing something meaningful. No promises had been made. Yet, somewhere along the way, I had quietly pulled up a chair and taken a seat in my imagination.

Then, last week, I discovered that seat belonged to someone else.

The envy was real, but it had rooted itself in soil that was already occupied by disappointment. I wasn't simply mourning what someone else had gained. I was mourning something I thought might someday be mine.  But likely knew better.

I now realize I wasn’t surprised that I didn't get the seat…..I was surprised by how much it hurt to discover that someone else was sitting in it.

People are not generally envious of strangers. We tend to envy those whose lives intersect with ours. Those we know. Those we care about. Those whose blessings force us to confront our own unmet hopes.  That realization has not magically fixed me.

The Work that Remains

Shedding the envy, the grief, the lost future I imagined—that's the work that still awaits me, and one that I pray I can eventually accept.

I still don't know exactly how to move from envy to gratitude for what I do have, rather than a fixation on what I don't. I still find myself replaying events of the past, and wishing things had unfolded differently. I still catch myself imagining the future I wanted.

The envy was never just about another person's blessing.  It was also about a future I had begun to picture for myself.  And as a result, sin has now entered the picture, and I want Jesus’ forgiveness.  Perhaps the grief I feel will lessen with time and acceptance.

So, this evening I went to church and talked to Him about it….just the two of us in that big, wonderful, empty church.  I was hoping for a bright light, a clear answer, maybe even a little divine intervention. Instead, I was left with something less dramatic but perhaps more useful: the realization that God understood my disappointment long before I did.

The seat I want may never be mine.  And I am not free from envy yet; but I am curious enough to ask: “What am I really longing for?"

But as long as the Holy Spirit is on my side, I still have a chance to learn from the longing that made me want it in the first place.  For now, I still possess no victory over my envy.  But at least now I understand the battle a little better.

And I continue to carry the cross.