Wax and Mud

We are all born as wax, and throughout our lives, our inner-most being remains wax. But through life, through our thoughts, through our actions, through our sins, we build mud around that wax. When we stop praying, when we stop feeling, when we stop hoping, we build mud around that wax.

 

“The same sun shines upon mud that shines upon wax. It hardens the mud but softens the wax. The difference is not in the sun, but in that upon which it shines.”

-Venerable Fulton Sheen

 

I remember as a young child, being the wax. I remember the awe and wonder of life around me. I remember my child-like faith, innocently talking to my Creator, never lost for hope of Everlasting Life. I was wax, I was softened by His Light, and I relished in it.

 

Then as I got older… middle school, junior high, high school… I started building mud around my wax. My prayer life suffered. The world was no longer a magical place that was full of life and hope. My defiant teenage ways led me to sin. The more I sinned, the more mud I built, the harder I became. My relationship with Him was no longer the same. There were holes in the mud, and from time-to-time, I would feel the warmth of the melting of my wax, but the mud grew.

 

I felt choked by the mud. I could barely see through the window of my soul because it was so dirty and hard. I couldn’t see clearly. The world was dark and frightening. Despair was easy. Love (agape) was hard to find. Christ was distant.

 

But perhaps through the prayers of others, through the prayers of the saints and angels, perhaps through the somewhat frequent reception of His most precious Body and Blood, those precious holes remained in my thick mud. Through grace, His Light shined through these small holes, and He made me love it. I couldn’t deny the warmth and the bliss. Slowly, I wanted more. Slowly, the Light shined brighter through the mud, and I wanted to know Him as I never have before. I wanted to be wax again. I could not get rid of the mud on my own, despite my attempts; I could only get rid of it through the Sacrament of Reconciliation. I told the priest, though I was truly speaking to Jesus, about all of the mud. I told him how that pile of mud got there, and how I threw that chunk of mud on top, and so on and so on. And with each confession, Jesus removed that mud. With His grace conferred through the Sacrament, I became wax again. I remember the moment that I felt like wax, and the joy brought me to tears.

 

 

Now I bask in His Light. The sun (Son) shines on me brightly, and I melt under His Love. My wax is thick, so I regularly remove the mud and keep His Light on me so that it penetrates deeper and deeper with time. I feel it, and I know it to be true. It’s as if I’m looking through a new pair of glasses and I’m seeing the world anew. I see the beauty, the love, the hope, the purpose. I see God’s work in creation and I see Christ’s Spirit in others. The deeper His Light penetrates my wax, the more I can see this, and the easier it becomes. I see, understand, the purpose and beauty in suffering; and this, too, becomes clearer and more manageable with time.

 

I will no longer listen to the voice of the hardened world, telling me not to be so “naïve” and to get back to “reality.” That is the way of the world, of the mud-covered, of the hardened. That is not the way of child-like faith. There is wonder and beauty in everything. There is no need to fear when God is in control and when you place your trust in Him. There is only pure love, pure joy, and pure hope when you uncover your wax and embrace the Light.

 

 

The sound of my lover! here he comes

springing across the mountains,

leaping across the hills.

 

My lover is like a gazelle or a young stag.

See! He is standing behind our wall,

gazing through the windows,

peering through the lattices.

 

My lover speaks and says to me,

“Arise, my friend, my beautiful one, and come!

 

For see, the winter is past,

the rains are over and gone.

 

The flowers appear on the earth,

the time of pruning the vines has come,

and the song of the turtledove is heard in our land.

 

The fig tree puts forth its figs,

and the vines, in bloom, give forth fragrance.

Arise, my friend, my beautiful one, and come!

 

My dove in the clefts of the rock,

in the secret recesses of the cliff,

Let me see your face,

let me hear your voice,

For your voice is sweet,

and your face is lovely.”

 

Catch us the foxes, the little foxes

that damage the vineyards; for our vineyards are in bloom!

 

My lover belongs to me and I to him;

he feeds among the lilies.

 

Until the day grows cool and the shadows flee,

roam, my lover,

Like a gazelle or a young stag

upon the rugged mountains.

 

Song of Songs 2:8-17