There is a scene in the emotional movie, “Good Will Hunting”, where Will is laid back against a wooden desk and his therapist looks at him lovingly after hearing something that happened in his past. The therapist says, “It’s not your fault”. Will, still laid against the desk, scoffs, shrugs it off and says, “I know that”. The therapist gingerly steps forward and says again, “It’s not your fault”. Will blinks, looking confused with a slight, crooked smile, “I know”? Then again, the therapist says, “it’s not your fault”. Slowly, we see Will’s face start to change. We may even see his eyes start to well with tears. The therapist keeps saying and keeps coming physically and emotionally closer, “It’s not your fault, it’s not your fault”. At the end, we see Will and the therapist embrace. Will’s sobs are the sound of a real cathartic release.
Speaking as a counsellor, this scene is such a powerful picture of something moving from the head to the heart — from knowing to believing. Will knew in his mind that it wasn’t his fault; but until that moment, his heart did not.
Practicing our faith can sometimes be like Will’s experience. We know the Bible verses. We know to attend Mass. We know novenas and prayers ‘work’ but we struggle to believe that God will intervene within our families struggling with addictions, turmoil, grief, sicknesses etc…Like Will, “We know”. Yet sometimes, it feels like our heart is still catching up to what our head knows. Why does this happen?
In counselling school, I learned the phrase: “staying in the cognitive”, which is deciphering when a client tends to stay ‘‘in the brain’’, speaking in a matter-of-a-fact way; ultimately deciding not to feel things in the heart for whatever good and protective reason. This was a way to live safely as sometimes the heart is too unsafe, fragile and vulnerable. To “stay in the cognitive” feels safer than entering life fully with gusto and zeal.
When someone stays in the cognitive, the counselling belief is that we get to know about their story, but not how they truly felt in that lived experience. For example, if a client tells me about a breakup and recounts how it happened, without the details of how they felt about the breakup, I am not getting the full story. Did they feel that it was unfair? Or needed? Both elements of the story – the facts and the feelings – are needed because both can be used for God’s glory. Like most things of God and His character, there is no either/or, but a both/and.
Faith and believing in general can be a lot like this. We tend to stay in the knowing part of faith but we do not allow ourselves to feel the experience of faith. Let me explain: I believe when we are able to access the facts as well as the feelings of a situation, we are living in both objective and subjective realities. We understand there are guiding principles, God’s law that is divinely inspired, but we are also realizing our subjective human nature, including our limitations, beliefs, wounds, and narratives.
A person living with both their heart and mind may be described as magnanimous. In Latin, the translation is “great soul”. Fr. Mike Schmitz describes the virtue of magnanimity as a stretching “forth of myself, of my heart”. To speak plainly, how can we engage with others with this 'great soul’, if we are not also opening our hearts to the Lord?
In my experience, I know I am to surrender my plans to God. I know I am to surrender into this new season of motherhood, but Lord, I feel I'm going to lose myself completely and all who I believe I am to be if I do. By allowing my heart to catch up to my mind, I can begin to notice the deeper layers of my heart where my greatest questions about God lie. I ask questions like, “If I surrender, will He actually show up for me?” and, “This surrendering feels a lot like letting go of something; am I sure I am ready to do that?”. I knew surrender was necessary, but when I paused to feel – there it is: a question about my identity.
Let us be honest: the heart might not feel as safe of a place as the brain. Sometimes, it just feels easier to stay in the mind so we can stay in control, even if that means we are coasting through a lukewarm life with God. I have kept walls inside my heart because I’ve been hurt – I’ve done this with people and with God too. But the thing about walls is that it keeps the bad and good things out.
When I am disappointed about an unanswered prayer, I do not know how to direct my grief, anger or sadness (name the feeling) towards God so I choose to retreat to my mind where it feels safer, not allowing my heart to feel because experience has taught me that letting my heart feel things can lead to a whole lot of hurt. This is still a work in progress. But God takes care of my heart so well that not only is He beginning to feel ‘safe’ to open up to, now I thirst for it.
By allowing our heart to feel our faith, we can experience our deeper layers and our emotions toward God. We can notice our anger, our sadness, or our delight. By doing so, we deepen our relationship with God. We can begin to have a personal relationship with our Lord. Think about your best earthly relationships. Were these not relationships where we have witnessed to each other, shared our deepest sorrows, our greatest joys? Are these relationships not more vulnerable than others? Does the person in these relationships see us in ways others often don’t?
By making our relationship with God more personal, rather than staying in the cognitive, we can engage with platitudes we’ve heard and known for years such as: “Offer it up!” or “Patience is a virtue”. We can experience the freedom of not white-knuckling our heart to believe something our head already knows.
If this is something that your heart is desiring, pray for the virtue of magnanimity. Ask the Lord how in small ways, you can be more open to Him. For the person who created our hearts will always be the best person to take care of them. God knows your inner workings inside and out: we may as well be honest with where we are.
Start small. Start now. He is a good Father, and He longs to be close with you.