Buddhist Catholic Contemplative Evangelical General Christian Hindu Jewish Latter-day Saint Muslim New Visions Progressive Christian

Beliefs

Topics

Columnists

Resource Library

Research Tools

Video

Podcasts

Thought Readers

Faith In Media Tracker

Newsletters

Ad-Free & Subscriber Log-In Subscription Support

Follow Patheos

Home
Catholic
Sicut Cervus, like the Hart

Sicut Cervus, like the Hart

Last updated on: February 10, 2023 at 6:17 pm by Mary Pezzulo

0 Comments

Sicut Cervus, like the Hart 2023-02-10T18:17:04-04:00 Mary Pezzulo

LOGO Patheos Explore the world's faith through different perspectives on religion and spirituality! Patheos has the views of the prevalent religions and spiritualities of the world.

Sicut cervus desiderat ad fontes aquarum,ita desiderat anima mea ad te, Deus.

Like the hart longs for the flowing streams, so my heart longs for you, O God.

I haven’t been saying my prayers very much lately, but I want to be.

The other night I tried to picture God so I could talk to Him, and all I could imagine was a dying hart.

Prayer hurts so badly.

I don’t even know why the religious trauma is coming to a head just at this time in my life. I thought it would die down as I got further and further from the Charismatic Renewal and the recent events in Steubenville, but it’s worse. I can’t even describe the fierceness of the panic attacks. I don’t like the sound of Catholic prayers recited in person or in a recording. I don’t want to listen to hymns. I think, maybe, I could go to a Mass again, if I were far away from the diocese of Steubenville. Maybe the next time I visit Columbus. But not here. Never here again. I don’t think I will ever go to confession again no matter where I am. I don’t know how I possibly could. I don’t even think I could stand still without cringing if a priest was saying general absolution to a room I was in. I think I’d run away.

People online were joking and bantering about Lent being just about two weeks away, and it’s made the panic worse. No. It can’t be Lent. It can’t be that time of year. I can’t fast and abstain and listen to chants and make jokes about “alleluia.” I’m not ready.

Nothing has ever hurt so badly.

The worst part about deconstruction and religious trauma, for me, is that I keep swirling back to this exact same spot: I really do believe that God is real. I really do believe that Christ is God. I’ve decided the frenzied excitement I had during Praise and Worship was emotional contagion, and I think the happy peace I had getting deliverance prayer from that old con artist Father Mike Scanlan was just his manipulation. But the others, the presence of Christ in the Eucharist, the sense of oneness when we help one another, the things I’ve learned in my quiet meditation time and when I’ve studied the Bible, are true. God is really there. He comes when you call. But the places I learned to commune with God are toxic and abusive. I have no home. I have no spiritual family. I don’t even know that I could desire a spiritual family again. And I don’t know what to do with that.

The other night, I just wanted to say something to Jesus, but I didn’t know how.

I started trying to picture a giant red hart.

Not a heart but a hart.

I had a dream a few years ago– and I don’t think this dream was some kind of vision from God, I think it was my brain telling me what at some level I already knew to be true. Because I am Catholic, my brain speaks in Catholic imagery and my dreams sometimes look religious. In the dream I was standing in the foyer of Christ the King Chapel. In the corner where there’s actually a statue of Saint Francis, there was a scraggly-looking bearded hippie in a jean jacket who kept whispering to me that this wasn’t a safe place and I had to get out. I kept whispering back to the hippie Saint Francis that I didn’t know what he was talking about. This was a beautiful place with a great reputation. But Saint Francis was adamant. After our argument, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a giant hart, a red deer, a great big majestic antlered cervus taller than a moose, walking off into the slice of hallway that Christ the King Chapel uses for a cloakroom. I followed the hart. I followed him down a maze of darker and darker hallways that don’t actually exist in Christ the King Chapel. I followed him down what looked like the hall of an old parochial school basement, past the school library and the boiler room and the cafeteria. Finally, he turned the corner and disappeared into a door.

When I got to the door, it was barred with a prison gate.

Inside the prison gate was what looked like a public bathroom, in hideous disrepair. The toilets had been pulled out and there was nothing in each stall but a drain hole filled with murky water. The floors and walls were a collage of dust and filth. The light overhead was fluorescent, harsh, too bright.

I looked at the hart straight on in the bright light for the first time, and he didn’t look like a gigantic beast anymore. He looked like a human child in a prison uniform, with a deer’s head. And the deer’s eyes were full of tears. That was when I woke up.

After thinking about it for awhile, I decided that the hart was Christ.

Christ chose to come to be present with us in our humanity and won’t go back on that choice, and Christ is abused when the Church abuses.

Christ is held prisoner in every church where they dangle the sacraments over people and then make them submit to spiritual abuse and far worse to gain access to the sacraments.

He suffers with us in the darkest, dirtiest, most offensive places, at the heart of a Church that looks so pretty on the outside.

I couldn’t pray last night. I couldn’t say a Rosary or the Divine Office. They hurt too much.

I didn’t know what to do, but I thought of my dream, and I tried to imagine myself at that prison gate again.

I wanted to talk to the hart.

I couldn’t keep picturing him as a human child in a uniform with a giant hart’s head. The closest I could get was imagining that great big red deer, a dear as big as an elephant, curled up sick and suffering on the floor of that disgusting prison. I walked up to the door and somehow squeezed through the bars. I went to the dirty bathroom sinks to get Him some water, but when I turned the taps there was nothing there, so I just went and sat with Him. I leaned on Him and patted His velvet back. It felt feverishly warm.

I cried– not tears of pious shame like a Magdalene but tears of anger and outrage and hurt. I suppose they felt the same to the hart as He died of thirst in that prison.

After awhile I finally dozed off.

When I woke up, life was much the same: a cloudy, miserable, never-ending February with anxiety that was so bad it was hard to breathe.

Sicut cervus desiderat ad fontes aquarum,ita desiderat anima mea ad te, Deus.

Like the hart longs for the flowing streams, so my heart longs for you, O God.

And if my heart thirsts, God thirsts.

That’s where I am this week.

Mary Pezzulo is the author of Meditations on the Way of the Cross, The Sorrows and Joys of Mary, and Stumbling into Grace: How We Meet God in Tiny Works of Mercy.

Steel Magnificat operates almost entirely on tips. To tip the author, visit our donate page.

Christ

Previous Post

February 9, 2023

A False Spring

Next Post

February 11, 2023 When Sunday is a Problem

Recent Comments

0 | Leave a Comment

"You're talking about supercessionism, the idea that Christians "replace" the covenant that the Jewish people ..."

Alex

Yes, the Old Testament is About ..."

"Oh I'm sure it did."

Mary

A Televised Execution is a Moral, ..."

"For what its worth, it seems like the whole thing originated from Pete Hegsith speaking ..."

Evil-Striker

A Televised Execution is a Moral, ..."

"You may be right. A war and its aftermath are different than day-to-day governance. Still, ..."

Mary

On Traditionalist Bullies, and the Death ..."

Browse Our Archives

Select a Category abortion Abuse Advent America American Christianity angel angels Annunciation Appalachia apparition apparition chaser apparition chasers apparition culture art art review babies baby baby Jesus Bad Lip Reading bad statue contest bath beauty Bible story blog blogkeeping blood book review Brandon Sanderson breastfeeding bus Catholic catholic conspiracy alarmism Catholic Oppositional Disorder Charismatic Renewal Charlie the Cat chastity Christ Christian idenitity Christianity and Judaism Chronic Illness clean clothing COD piece comedy compassion conscience conspiracy theory conversion cop-on-black violence Crucifixion cry of the poor culture Daesh Daily Saints death death penalty devotional diaconate diaper diapers dirty disability Donald Trump Dorothy Day dream drugs Eastern Catholicism Eastern Christianity education election election update Elsewhere on Patheos empathy environment Fear feminism film review fish flashback fluffy buns food Franciscan University of Steubenville Friendship Room fun Gabriel gardening gospel hair-splitting Heaven hell heresy Hillary Clinton history Holly the Witch Holy Spirit holy war Homeschooling homosexuality horror human dignity humor Icon idol immigrants infection inter-religious dialogue Interpretation of Scripture Islam Jesus Jihad Joseph joy laity and lay vocations lamb dinner laundry lent lgbtq literature love manners Mary Medicine and Science Meditation mercy mess milk misogyny Missouri monasticism monster motherhood mourn with those mourn movies movis music mystery nature neurodiversity New Pro-Life Movement news nonsense nostalgia O antiphons obituary objectification Ohio Valley Ordinary Time ordination Ordo Amoris parable paradox Passover peanut butter personal beliefs pets philosophy Planet Charismatic poetry politics polls poop Pope Francis Pope Leo power in the Church prayer prayer request prayers preferential option for non-violence president presidential election priest primary private revelation pro-life prophecy Public face of Catholicism Pure Flix Q and A race racism random rape rape. sexuality reader's request Reckoners refugee religious trauma ressurrection Right to life Saints saints and celebrations same-sex same-sex marriage satire scandal secular feasts seder Seven Joys Seven Last Words sex sexual ethics sexuality silencing six months skid row slavery social justice Speculative fiction spiritual abuse spoon stain story suffering suffrage suffragette Sunday Gospel temple Tenebrae Responsories Terror the exorcist The Friendship Room The New Pro-Life Movement Things I Learned on the Internet tin cup traffic true story tv review Uncategorized USCCB vice and temptation violence Virtue virtue and vice war Way of the Cross whimsy whole life women's ordination work of mercy Year A

Select a Month October 2026 September 2026 August 2026 July 2026 June 2026 May 2026 April 2026 March 2026 February 2026 January 2026 December 2025 November 2025 October 2025 September 2025 August 2025 July 2025 June 2025 May 2025 April 2025 March 2025 February 2025 January 2025 December 2024 November 2024 October 2024 September 2024 August 2024 July 2024 June 2024 May 2024 April 2024 March 2024 February 2024 January 2024 December 2023 November 2023 October 2023 September 2023 August 2023 July 2023 June 2023 May 2023 April 2023 March 2023 February 2023 January 2023 December 2022 November 2022 October 2022 September 2022 August 2022 July 2022 June 2022 May 2022 April 2022 March 2022 February 2022 January 2022 December 2021 November 2021 October 2021 September 2021 August 2021 July 2021 June 2021 May 2021 April 2021 March 2021 February 2021 January 2021 December 2020 November 2020 October 2020 September 2020 August 2020 July 2020 June 2020 May 2020 April 2020 March 2020 February 2020 January 2020 December 2019 November 2019 October 2019 September 2019 August 2019 July 2019 June 2019 May 2019 April 2019 March 2019 February 2019 January 2019 December 2018 November 2018 October 2018 September 2018 August 2018 July 2018 June 2018 May 2018 April 2018 March 2018 February 2018 January 2018 December 2017 November 2017 October 2017 September 2017 August 2017 July 2017 June 2017 May 2017 April 2017 March 2017 February 2017 January 2017 December 2016 November 2016 October 2016 September 2016 August 2016 July 2016 June 2016 May 2016 April 2016 March 2016

TAKE THE

Religious Wisdom Quiz

What does "Rabboni" mean, as Mary Magdalene called Jesus after the resurrection?

Select your answer to see how you score.

Savior Messenger Shepherd Teacher