She Pointed at Him and Named the Problem

Thanks to my ongoing job search, I have met up with some old friends. It had been twelve years since I talked with a friend I had worked for in my past, and I asked if we could discuss employment options. When we met, it was not at all as if twelve years had expired since our last interaction. It seemed more like twelve hours. We had a lot to share about the things that changed in our lives. He mentioned that he had divorced and then remarried the same person he divorced in the first place. His story of how he came to remarry his ex-wife was pretty amazing. He didn’t like that his kids were starting to exclude him from some of their family activities, so he decided to invite his ex-wife to counseling to see if they could learn how to work better together so that their kids didn’t have to choose between the two of them.

After an initial interview, he and his ex-wife were not quite settled in their seats for their first counseling session when this counselor — a short and small seventy-year-old lady — pointed her finger in his face and told him, “You’re an a-hole.” At first, he thought she was joking. So he laughs. She repeated what she said without smiling. “You’re an a-hole.” Now he’s confused, and he says that he didn’t come there to be mistreated. So she turns to his ex-wife and says, “I’m so sorry you’ve had to deal with this a-hole for so long. He really is an a-hole.” Then she turns to him and says, “I’m not the one here looking for help. You are free to leave anytime.” But instead of leaving, he decides to listen to this counselor, and he learned a lot of things about himself. His selfishness and lack of care for others. After the painful work of realizing that he was indeed an a-hole, he found the humility to ask his ex-wife to take him back. And they got married again.

He experienced his own St. Paul conversion. Paul was being a murderous thug, and Jesus, the ultimate counselor, lets him know. What Jesus does to Paul is done out of love. Jesus is bringing Paul into communion with his Church. In Acts chapter 9, in the story of Saul on the road to Damascus, you might notice this little phrase at the end of the reading: “He was baptized, and after he got something to eat, he regained his strength.” It’s obvious that this is a reference to the sacraments of initiation into the Church. Paul is drawn into communion.

When my friend initiated his counseling plan, he was on his own road to Damascus. He was going to set things straight with his ex-wife and his family. But he was the one knocked down. Hard. The scales that covered his eyes were blasted clean off, and he saw that he wasn’t the good guy after all.

I’ve had plenty of these knock-downs in my life where someone knocks the scales off my own eyes. It’s not fun. I’m guessing many of you can recall a time or two in your life when someone blasts you with a truth about yourself. A truth that you wish was false. You eventually accept that you have to change. In those moments of my own life, I do not recall thinking, “Wow, this is so wonderful. The scales are finally off my eyes.”

In my past, I used to be jealous of Paul’s conversion story. Not so much because Paul became blind, but because he had this overt and powerful spiritual experience. I have since learned that these experiences happen, and what it takes is openness to let God change me. I’ve prayed for humility in the past, and that seems to be a favorite prayer for God to answer. The scales get knocked clean off. I’ve prayed that I learn the truth about myself as God sees it. The scales get knocked clean off. I’ve prayed that my sins be shown to me clearly. The scales get knocked clean off.

Each of these little steps is painful. The result, however, is a deeper and more meaningful connection to God and his Church. The less I think that I’ve got everything figured out, the less that I notice the failures of others. The less I think that I’m avoiding sin all the time, the less that I see the sins of others. The less that I think I’m perfect, the less I notice the imperfections of others. As painful as these steps have been for me, it’s totally worth it. The increasingly strong connections that I make with others become a fantastic Easter experience. No longer do these self-imposed barriers, these scales, remain, because they’ve been torn down by the ultimate counselor, our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

If you came into the room to fix the other person, and someone pointed at you and named the problem, start by staying in the chair long enough to hear the sentence twice. He laughed the first time. She did not smile the second time. You are free to leave. Leaving is not the same as hearing. Write down the sentence you were given, in the words they used, before you rewrite it into a complaint about how they said it.

Then ask one honest question, not of them, of yourself. What part of that sentence is true? Selfishness. Lack of care. The need to be the good guy in the story you brought into the room. You do not have to accept every word. You do have to stop defending the part you already know is yours. That is the scale. It does not feel wonderful when it comes off.

If you are the one who has been living with the a-hole, you do not owe them a reunion because they finally heard it. His ex-wife was not required to take him back. She chose to. The work for you is not to become the counselor who names him. The work is to stop carrying a problem he will not look at. If he stays in the chair, you can decide later. If he leaves, that is also information.

Anger will want the last word. He almost took it. “I didn’t come here to be mistreated.” That sentence can be true and still be the exit. If the naming is cruel for its own sake, you can leave. If the naming is the thing you came to contest, staying is the decision. Ask for the humility to see what God already sees. Then do not spend the week explaining why the person who said it was wrong to say it.

This is a pastoral reflection, not clinical care and not a substitute for it. If you or someone you love is in immediate danger, call 988 or local emergency services.

Drawn from a homily first preached in 2017.