“Through these trials in which God places the spirit and the senses, the soul in bitterness acquires virtues, strength, and perfection, for virtue is made perfect in weakness [2 Cor. 12:9] and refined through the endurance of suffering.” ~ St. John of the Cross
In the strangest twists of God’s plan for me, less than a year after making my last appearance in porn, I found myself hidden away from the world behind the massive stone walls of a French Benedictine Monastery: Fontgombault in the tiny Loire Valley town of Fontgombault. For, after being vomited forth from the filth and deprivation of gay San Francisco, I went on a trip of exile – to anywhere Holy; anywhere I would feel protected. But, before I left, I was increasingly lethargic, constantly dizzy, and nauseous. For a while, I thought perhaps I had picked up a flu, but it wouldn’t go away. In the back of my head, I started thinking: AIDS! Since getting out of San Francisco, I hadn’t taken an HIV test, and the previous one had now been about two years in the past. I didn’t want to know. I thought I could just fade away. Only, I was feeling increasingly unsafe, even at the religious community I was staying with in Pennsylvania: I thought that the demons from California had followed me. On a sort of whim, I got the HIV test, and tried to forget about it. Feeling trapped, one night, I got onto a plane and flew to France. By the time I got to the secluded Abbey, many miles away from Paris, it was dark and the monks were locking up; I begged them to let me stay – somewhat annoyed, but incredibly patient, they let me in.
During the next few weeks, I spent a lot of time in my small cell, the only piece of furnishing being a single bed – made of wood and stretched rope; I slept beautifully in the seemingly uncomfortable conditions – being sheltered by an impenetrable shield of Faith generated by the constantly praying monks. Despite the rest, my health continued to deteriorate. In meditation, I wrestled with God, I was grateful to Him for saving me, only to simultaneously blame Him for making me sick – or, even worse, condemning me to death. In the midst of all this half-hearted thanksgiving and incessant whining, I heard nothing back. Everything was silent. In the morning, I heard the massive church bells ringing to wake the monks, but, I believed that they did not ring for me. I sat bewildered in the pews, watching the shadowy black-robed figures kneel and pray before an ancient statue of the Madonna: their radiantly peaceful faces illuminated by the light of glowing candles. I thought, why did God love them, and not me?
When I got back to the US, my planned life of seclusion began to spin out of control: old friends and acquaintances from the West Coast had tracked me down, someone very special to me had died, and a person I respected made unexpected and unappreciated sexual advance towards me. I was HIV-, but I had a sexually transmitted yeast infection that had spread throughout my body. Now, I really thought God had completely abandoned me; or, I was being punished for all I had done; this was God’s payback time. To get my revenge on God, I refused to pray for a while, I ignored Him – I was a petulant child holding my breath till I got noticed. But, still needing someone and something – out of desperation, for some reason, I turned to St. Joseph. I thought, he is a loving, gentle, and kind father, I like him; as for his foster-son, and God the Father, they were mean to me. Yet, oddly enough, the more I became devoted to St. Joseph, the more I turned back to Christ and to the Father. For, as I experienced the loving embrace of Joseph, I saw myself growing up next to Jesus; becoming friends with Him, understanding that He cared for me, and knowing that He had never abandoned me. He knew that I was struggling, but, He also knew that I had spent my life as a scared little boy, never really maturing. Now, He saw the developing masculinity within me, and He deemed for that to grow so I could finally take my place as a man next to His side; to finally become realized in the image of the Father.
Times of trouble are dark and scary, but from these moments do Saints arise and true Christians in Love with Our Lord Jesus Christ. Nowadays, we run from anything difficult – we want life to be all simple and easy. As a result, as adults, we remain babyish – boastful and demanding, unable to commit ourselves, giving up when things get tough (hence the horrendous failure of so many marriages,) or we rely solely on worldly and material comforts to give us solace – we want that toy in the window. Hence, the Lord knew I was a troubled and stubborn child: I needed to discover things on my own; I was the kid who liked to always stick his hand in the fire. My road to Christ had to be bumpy – If it had been smooth, I would have become complacent and quickly lost interest. I had been brought low, and I knew where my own self-will and determination would get me – nowhere. God knew that, and He brought me up – as the boy who could now finally become a man.