When I was a public school teacher, I used to enjoy the stories in the faculty lounge shared by seasoned veterans. My favorite came from a math teacher who told me that a student, who did not want to take an exam, absconded by jumping out of a second-floor window. When the student realized that a teacher and the principal were in hot pursuit, he subsequently opened a grate and attempted to hide in the sewer. The poor administrator had to yank him out and eventually call his parents for discipline. The young pupil responded to his actions by saying that he was not ready for the exam, was not a good student, and did not want others to know about it.

I suppose all of us, at times, have tried to hide failings, shortcomings or inadequacies. We hopefully have never had to dwell in drainage pipes, but we may have indeed felt like it at times. It can especially be difficult when our failures are well known.

I have always loved the story of the woman at the well in John 4:4-42. It is apparent that she has a sinful past, but Jesus skims over this while offering her something more. I came across a commentary on this scene, which has stayed with me, that focused on the woman leaving behind her water jar. “The abandonment of the water jar … symbolizes the newness of life that derives everything from Jesus, a life that no longer needs to carry the same crushing and absurd burdens or repeat the same useless tasks” (Erasmo Leiva-Merikakis, “The Way of the Disciple,” Ignatius Press, $16.95).

I saw this in action during a diaper drive at the parish. A little girl about 3 years old came in carrying a pack of Huggies with a big grin on her face. “These are for you, Father,” she proudly declared, “I’m dry now.”

For a priest retreat, I went on a silent retreat once that focused on the examen. Part of the retreat was naturally rooted in facing our mortality and the sins of our lives. As St. Francis de Sales wrote, “Then what you thought to be little sins will look like huge mountains, and your devotion will seem but a very little thing.” (“Introduction to the Devout Life,” Fifth Meditation). It was not the easiest thing to think about, and it caused more than a little disquiet in the soul. However, the retreat master did not allow us to stay in this state for too long. We finished by focusing on the need to grow in a more perfect love for the Lord despite our hardships and difficulties.

St. Catherine of Siena, in “The Dialogue,” knows quite a bit about spiritual purifications and growing in love. She writes: “Do you know how you can tell when your spiritual love is not perfect? If you are distressed when it seems that those you love are not returning your love or not loving you as much as you think you love them. … All this comes of the failure to dig out every bit of spiritual selfishness.”

This selfishness involves a daily death to self. As a man once told me when I was out to breakfast: “Today has been a good day, I have not lied, sworn, judged, gossiped or criticized. However, I have only been up for 20 minutes!” It does indeed take a great deal of effort to overcome those major flaws, as well as smaller foibles that arise.

Inevitably, we must face our own fears and the parts of ourselves that we do not desire, but with God’s help, they do not have to be daunting. We can hide who we are or even try to escape, but God ultimately wants to heal us in profound ways by surrendering all that we are to him. He certainly can and will heal us if we allow ourselves to be found, even when we do our best to stay hidden and underground.

FATHER MICHAEL ACKERMAN is the pastor at Resurrection Parish, Bethel Park, Pennsylvania, and chaplain at Seton LaSalle Catholic High School in Pittsburgh.