The Courage to Begin Again

There is a struggle within the human spirit that never entirely leaves us—the struggle of uncertainty, of knowing what is right yet finding ourselves drawn toward what we know may diminish us. It is the paradox of human weakness: how can the frailty of the flesh exercise such overwhelming strength over the intentions of the soul?

We know the compelling call to satisfy the flesh, to seek comfort, pleasure, or immediate relief from the burdens of living. We know, too, the quiet voice that invites us toward something greater. And somewhere between these competing voices, we struggle to discover who we truly are and who, by the grace of God, we are becoming.

Paul, was this your thorn?

When Paul speaks of his thorn in the flesh (2 Corinthians 12:7–10), he leaves us wondering about the nature of his affliction. Was it physical suffering, temptation, an enduring personal struggle, or something altogether different? We cannot know. Perhaps its precise nature matters less than what Paul discovered through it: that divine strength may become most evident in human weakness.

In Chapter 29, Benedict addresses the brother who has abandoned the monastery but wishes to return. Remarkably, Benedict opens the door not once, but repeatedly. Yet return requires more than regret. It demands humility, a willingness to acknowledge one's failings, and a genuine commitment to change. Benedict's mercy is generous, but it is not without boundaries.

Is this not the story of our own spiritual lives?

How often do we abandon the commitments we have made to ourselves and to God? Perhaps we never physically depart from our community, yet we wander from the inner sanctuary where we encounter the Creator. We surrender to old habits, allow familiar desires to overwhelm our better intentions, and discover again the distance between what we profess and how we live.

And still, something within calls us home.

The great lesson of Benedict is not that we must become invulnerable to temptation. Rather, we must become humble enough to recognize our vulnerability and courageous enough to begin the work of transformation again.

We must learn that our weaknesses need not define us. Indeed, they may become the very places where grace enters most profoundly. The recognition of our frailty can awaken compassion for ourselves and for those around us who struggle with burdens we may never see.

Our task is neither to surrender to weakness nor to despair because of it. Our task is to awaken, acknowledge, return, and grow.

And perhaps this is the deepest expression of humility: to recognize that we have not yet become what God calls us to be, but to trust that, through grace, we are becoming.

Every day we must start again.

Not because yesterday was without value, but because yesterday's struggles, failures, and small victories have prepared us for today's opportunity to grow.

And every morning, the door of the heart is called to open once more.