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In every one of us, there is an empty place in our hearts. Sometimes it’s just a small hole, but sometimes it’s very deep and very empty—seemingly a great chasm. It’s that place where we are isolated and alone.

Though sometimes it is bearable, at other times, it is excruciatingly painful—almost more than we can bear. That is when we are tempted to do anything to get away from the pain. So we use things or people to try to distract ourselves and escape it.

This is precisely the place where Christ, in his great tenderness, wants to meet us. He goes to that place and says to us over and over, “You are not alone. You do not have to feel isolated. I am here. The Father and I are here. The whole reason I came to earth was to show you that the Father and I are here.’’

One of the gifts we have received here at Madonna House is a particular emphasis on the tenderness of God. This emphasis, quite strong in the Russian Christian tradition, was communicated to us by Catherine. Over and over, she connected it to two images—the Infant and the cross.

Look at one of the icons of Our Lady of Tenderness. It shows her holding the Infant Jesus to her cheek. See the beautiful exchange of love and trust and tenderness between Mother and Child.

Now consider for a moment that this tiny, helpless Infant is the God who created the uni­verse, the God who is all-powerful and far beyond all human comprehension. In order to show us how much he identifies with us, this God chose to come to us as a tiny, helpless baby.

Though Catherine has written a great deal about the cross, I would like here to refer to a line I heard a few years ago from a very holy Scripture scholar: “When you look at a crucifix, you see the fullest expression of the Father’s love for the Son.’’

Yes, the Father’s love for the Son, not the Father’s love for us—though that is surely there as well—but the Father’s love for the Son. Because the Son’s deepest desire was to bring us to the realization that the Father loves us.

Why is it so hard for us to believe, and even harder to experience, the tenderness of God? The reason is the profound break—what we call original sin—in the relationship between the Father and each of us.

So, to go against the lie that we are alone is a lifelong struggle. What to do when faced with it? Here are a few simple suggestions.

As soon as you realize that you are starting to enter that place where you feel isolated and alone—”no one loves me; no one cares’’—renounce the lie and place it on the altar. And pray the name of Jesus.

Spend time with Scripture. Nothing goes against a lie as powerfully as the truth, espe­cially the truth as expressed in the New Testament. Soak in the Word of God, and let it slowly wash away that lie.

Reach out in love. Christ came to reveal to us that we are called to love, and at every moment, I have in front of me a specific call to love. This is the duty of the moment, this moment, right now. It is not, “What will I do tomorrow?’’ “How do I transform society?’’, “What can I do to heal my brother or sister?’’

No, I only have this moment. Love will slowly break down the separation that I am experiencing.

Possibly the most difficult thing to do is to just stand still in our pain. We want to escape it. We want to assuage it with people or things. But if we can come to that point where we can be quiet, stand still, and go into our own hearts, we will eventually experience the tenderness of God. For God is in our hearts.

We are made for unity. We are made for love. And our God longs for us to come to him and to know him precisely in those places where we are most afraid and in pain.

From Restoration, November 2001