The Battle Within: Overcoming the False Self and Living in the Grace of God
By +Jerome OSJV, Primus of the Old Roman Apostolate

Introduction: The Need for Interior Combat

My dear faithful, as we move deeper into this sacred season of Lent, we find that the journey is not simply one of exterior observance, but of interior transformation. In the first week, we reflected on self-knowledge—the necessity of seeing ourselves as we truly are before God. But today, we must address the next and even more difficult stage of Lent: the battle to overcome ourselves.

For once we begin to see our faults and weaknesses, we are faced with a choice—either to accept them as inevitable, resigning ourselves to mediocrity, or to engage in spiritual combat, striving with the grace of God to overcome the false self that clings to us so persistently.

Make no mistake: Lent is not merely a season of reflection; it is a season of warfare. We do not pass through these forty days unchallenged. The world, the flesh, and the devil all conspire to keep us as we are, to lull us into complacency, or to convince us that real change is impossible. But Holy Mother Church, in her wisdom, calls us to arms, providing us with the weapons of prayer, fasting, and almsgiving, guiding us through the sacred liturgy, and urging us onward to the foot of the Cross.

We must understand, therefore, that Lent is not primarily about external penances, but about who we are becoming. If we do not emerge from Lent changed, then we have wasted the season. If we do not strive to put to death the old man within us, then Easter will come, and we will remain as we were—unmoved, untransformed, and unprepared to rejoice in the Resurrection.

Let us, then, take up this second stage of our journey with seriousness. If we have seen ourselves for what we are, we must now fight to become what God calls us to be.

I. The False Self: The Greatest Obstacle to Holiness

The greatest obstacle to holiness is not external persecution, nor even the devil’s direct temptations, but the subtle resistance of the false self—that part of us which stubbornly resists grace, clings to pride, and refuses to submit fully to God.

The false self is not merely our sinful tendencies; it is a distorted way of seeing ourselves. It is the illusion of self-sufficiency, the belief that we can define ourselves, that we can follow Christ while still holding on to our own will, our own plans, and our own attachments. It is the self that whispers, “I will obey God, but only on my terms.”

This false self takes many forms, and if we are not vigilant, we will fail to recognize it in ourselves. 

Many souls spend their lives saying, “I know I need to change,” yet they never take up the battle. They make peace with their weaknesses, rather than striving to overcome them.

But to tolerate the false self is to reject the call to sanctity. Our Lord does not ask us for half-measures. He tells us plainly: “Whosoever will save his life shall lose it: and whosoever shall lose his life for My sake shall find it” (Matt. 16:25).

To become who we truly are, we must die to who we think we are.

The false self does not always manifest in obvious rebellion against God. More often, it is subtle, appearing under the disguise of virtues or common sense, deceiving us into complacency. It convinces us that we are justified in resisting grace, that our hesitations are reasonable, even necessary. This deception allows us to remain attached to our weaknesses while persuading ourselves that we are not rejecting God outright.

Three of the most insidious disguises of the false self are pride masked as independence, laziness disguised as prudence, and fear masquerading as humility.

1. Pride Disguised as Independence

A refusal to surrender completely to God, excusing it as “just the way I am.”

Pride is the original sin—the sin of Lucifer, the sin of Adam and Eve, the sin that lies at the root of every other vice. But most souls do not fall into pride by openly declaring themselves independent of God. Instead, pride worms its way into the spiritual life under the appearance of self-reliance, personal autonomy, or simply “being realistic.”

This false self says:

• “This is just who I am—I can’t change.”
• “God wouldn’t ask me to do something that isn’t natural to me.”
• “I know myself better than anyone else, so I will decide what works best for me spiritually.”

Here, pride does not outright reject God’s authority; it simply resists transformation. It acknowledges the call to holiness but insists on dictating the terms. It tells God, “I will follow You, but on my own terms.”

This disguised pride leads many souls to settle for a lower spiritual life than the one to which they are called. Instead of striving for perfection, they excuse their faults, insisting that certain weaknesses are simply “part of their personality.” Instead of asking for grace to change, they say:

“God made me this way.”

But this is not humility; it is pride refusing correction. God did make us, but sin has wounded us. He calls us not to remain as we are, but to be transformed. True humility does not resist grace—it welcomes it.

If we excuse our weaknesses as “just the way I am,” we close ourselves off to the work of God. But holiness is not found in self-reliance. It is found in surrender.

2. Laziness Disguised as Prudence

A reluctance to commit to a serious spiritual life, claiming that one must not “overdo it.”

The false self is not always arrogant; sometimes it is slothful. But even spiritual laziness does not usually present itself as laziness. It often comes disguised as prudence, balance, or moderation.

This false self says:

• “I don’t want to be too extreme in my spiritual life.”
• “I need to be reasonable—I can’t spend too much time on prayer.”
• “God does not expect so much effort from me.”

Here, the soul deceives itself into thinking that it is avoiding spiritual excess, when in fact, it is avoiding spiritual discipline. The world has conditioned us to believe that holiness should be comfortable, that one can advance in virtue without real sacrifice, that a moderate commitment is all God requires.

But Our Lord did not preach moderation in love. He said:

• “Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy strength, and with all thy mind.” (Luke 10:27)
• “If any man will come after Me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily, and follow Me.” (Luke 9:23)

Where, in these words, do we find half-measures?

The saints understood this. St. Francis of Assisi, St. Teresa of Avila, and St. John Vianney were not “moderate” in their pursuit of holiness—they were radical in their love for God. This did not mean they were imprudent, but they understood that lukewarmness is the greatest danger to the soul.

If we hesitate to fully commit, we must ask ourselves: Is this prudence, or is it fear? Am I being careful to avoid error, or am I simply avoiding effort? The false self resists discipline, but the path of sanctity requires effort and sacrifice.

3. Fear Disguised as Humility

A shrinking back from holiness, not out of true humility, but out of cowardice, fearing the cost of full surrender to God.

Some souls do not resist holiness out of pride or laziness, but out of fear. They recognize their unworthiness and their limitations. They see the saints and think:

• “I am too weak to be a saint.”
• “Holiness is for priests and nuns, not for someone like me.”
• “God cannot expect so much from an ordinary soul.”

At first, this seems like humility. But true humility never refuses God’s invitation. False humility is merely fear dressed up in pious language.

This fear is often rooted in a misunderstanding of holiness. Some believe that becoming a saint requires extraordinary abilities—visions, miracles, heroic deeds. But sanctity is not about doing great things; it is about doing small things with great love. St. Thérèse of Lisieux, the Little Flower, taught that holiness is not reserved for the strong, but is open to every soul who trusts completely in God’s mercy.

What is truly behind this fear? Often, it is fear of suffering—fear that holiness will require sacrifices we do not want to make, that God will ask too much of us.

We see this in the rich young man of the Gospel. He approached Jesus sincerely, asking:

“Good Master, what shall I do that I may receive life everlasting?” (Mark 10:17) Jesus responded: “Go, sell whatsoever thou hast, and give to the poor… and come, follow Me.” But what happened? “He went away sad.” Why? Because he feared the cost of full surrender. He wanted holiness without sacrifice. And so, he lost the greatest invitation of his life.

How many souls today are like him? How many receive the invitation to a deeper spiritual life, but hesitate, calculating the cost? They tell themselves, “I am too weak,” but what they really mean is, “I am too afraid.”

But Christ does not ask us to be strong—He asks us to be willing.

• St. Peter was weak, yet Christ made him the rock of the Church.
• St. Paul was once a persecutor, yet Christ turned him into the greatest missionary.
• St. Augustine was a slave to sin, yet Christ made him a doctor of grace.

God does not choose the strong—He strengthens those He chooses.

If we shrink back from holiness, we must ask ourselves: Is this humility, or is it fear? If it is fear, then we must remember the words of Christ:

“Fear not, for I am with thee.” (Isaiah 41:10)

Conclusion: The False Self Must Die

These are the disguises of the false self:

• Pride, which refuses to change.
• Laziness, which resists effort.
• Fear, which shrinks back from God’s call.

If we are to rise with Christ at Easter, we must first die with Him. This means rejecting every excuse, every attachment, every hesitation that keeps us from full surrender to God.

Holiness is not for the few—it is for all who are willing. If we let go of our false selves, if we surrender in trust, then grace will do what we could never do alone.

II. The Enemy Within: The Flesh in Rebellion

Many souls labor under the misconception that the greatest threats to their spiritual life come from the world or from the devil. They imagine that if they could only remove external temptations—secular influences, occasions of sin, or even the direct attacks of Satan himself—they would be secure on the path to holiness.

But this is an illusion. The most dangerous enemy is not outside of us; it is within. It is our own fallen nature—the rebellion of the flesh against the spirit.

The world and the devil indeed pose real dangers, but they would hold little sway over us if not for the traitor within. The world entices us with vanities, but it is our own fallen appetites that crave them. The devil tempts, but it is our weakened will that consents. Sin is not something merely imposed upon us; it is something that arises from within. This is why St. Paul speaks not of an external enemy, but of an interior war:

“For I do not that good which I will; but the evil which I hate, that I do.” (Rom. 7:19)

This is the struggle of every Christian—the knowledge of what is right, the desire to do it, yet the resistance from within, the constant pull toward self-indulgence, distraction, or compromise. It is a battle that must be fought daily, for as long as we live.

This battle manifests in three ways: in the mind, in the senses, and in the will.

1. The Battle of the Mind: The War for Clarity and Focus

The mind is the gateway to the soul. If it is not disciplined, it becomes a breeding ground for doubt, distraction, and disorder. The devil knows this well, which is why he wages war against the clarity of our intellect and the firmness of our convictions.

Distraction in prayer

How often do we attempt to pray, only to find ourselves bombarded by wandering thoughts? The moment we kneel before God, countless trivial concerns flood our minds—duties left undone, conversations to be remembered, fears about the future. The world has conditioned us to seek constant stimulation, so when we attempt to quiet the soul before God, the mind resists.

But distraction is not always involuntary. Many avoid true interior prayer because they fear what they will find. Silence forces us to confront our sins, our weaknesses, and our need for God. It is easier to fill our minds with noise than to face the reality of our spiritual condition.

Temptation to doubt

The mind is also the battleground where the devil plants the seeds of doubt:

• “Does God really hear my prayers?”
• “Have I truly been forgiven?”
• “What if this is all for nothing?”

Even faithful souls experience these temptations. Doubt is not the same as disbelief, but if entertained, it weakens our trust in God and saps the strength of our faith.

Unwillingness to meditate on spiritual truths

Many souls avoid serious meditation on the things of God, preferring instead to dwell on worldly concerns. They do not ponder the Four Last Things—Death, Judgment, Heaven, and Hell—because such meditations disturb their comfortable lives. They do not dwell on the Passion of Christ, because it calls them to sacrifice. Instead of confronting the truth, they remain in a fog of vague piety, where God is distant enough not to disrupt their way of life.

But a soul that does not master its own thoughts will remain enslaved to confusion and distraction, incapable of the focused love that God desires.

2. The Battle of the Senses: The War Against Comfort and Indulgence

The second battle is the battle of the body—the rebellion of the flesh against the spirit. The body is not evil, but because of original sin, it no longer submits naturally to the soul. It seeks pleasure, ease, gratification. It resists discipline, avoids suffering, and recoils from anything that demands effort.

Resistance to fasting and mortification

The simplest denial of food or comfort becomes a great trial. How many excuses do we make for breaking our Lenten fasts? The Church prescribes so little, yet we convince ourselves that even small sacrifices are unreasonable.

Why is fasting so difficult? Because it directly confronts our attachment to the material. It reminds us that we are not sustained by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God. If we cannot deny ourselves in little things, how will we deny ourselves in great trials?

Seeking constant pleasure and entertainment

The modern world is built upon distraction. Everywhere, people seek entertainment—endless scrolling on screens, background noise at all times, a constant hunger for new experiences. This addiction to distraction makes spiritual depth nearly impossible.

But the greatest souls have always sought silence. St. John of the Cross wrote: “The Father spoke one Word, which was His Son, and this Word He speaks always in eternal silence, and in silence must It be heard by the soul.”

If we cannot detach ourselves from sensory indulgence, we will never hear the voice of God.

Avoidance of penance and discipline

Any inconvenience, any hardship, any deprivation is seen as an evil to be removed rather than an opportunity for purification. The modern world tells us that suffering is meaningless, that comfort is the highest good. But Christ tells us:

“If any man will come after Me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily, and follow Me.” (Luke 9:23)

Discipline is not an optional part of the Christian life—it is essential. Without it, the flesh remains untamed, and the soul remains enslaved to the body’s demands.

3. The Battle of the Will: The War for Total Surrender

Even when we have mastered our thoughts and disciplined our bodies, there remains the deepest and most painful struggle—the struggle to yield fully to the will of God.

Many souls resist this battle, preferring instead to bargain with God. They will serve Him, but only on their terms. They will give up serious sin, but they will not embrace heroic virtue. They will obey His commandments, but they will not surrender their entire lives. This manifests in three ways:

Clinging to personal attachments

A soul may have given up mortal sin, but still clings to something: a comfort, a habit, a relationship, a hidden pride. These attachments, however small, keep the soul from full union with God.

Constant bargaining with God

Instead of saying, “Lord, let Thy will be done,” the soul says, “Lord, I will follow Thee, but first let me…” This is the rich young man in the Gospel, who wanted to follow Christ but was unwilling to part with his wealth. He went away sad—not because Christ rejected him, but because he was not willing to let go.

Fear of abandonment to Divine Providence

A reluctance to trust that if one surrenders everything to God, He will provide. This fear keeps many souls in a state of half-hearted devotion. They want to trust God, but they hesitate, clinging to their own plans and securities.

But Christ tells us plainly:

“Seek ye therefore first the kingdom of God, and His justice, and all these things shall be added unto you.” (Matt. 6:33)

Conclusion: Master Yourself, or Be Mastered

This is why Our Lord, at the very outset of His public ministry, withdrew into the desert and fasted for forty days. He did not need purification, but He willed to show us that victory begins with the subjugation of the flesh.

If we do not master ourselves, we will be ruled by our lower nature. If we do not discipline our bodies and minds, they will dictate our lives.

The man who cannot say no to himself will not be able to say yes to God.

“Since happiness is nothing else than the enjoyment of the supreme good, and the supreme good is above us, no one can enjoy happiness unless he rises above himself.”—Saint Bonaventure’s profound statement encapsulates the entire challenge of the spiritual life.

Modern man searches for happiness in himself, in self-fulfillment, in the satisfaction of personal desires, and in worldly achievements. Yet true happiness is not found in the self; it is found above the self. The supreme good—God Himself—dwells beyond the limitations of human nature, beyond earthly pleasures, beyond the fleeting joys of material success.

Thus, to attain happiness, man must rise above himself. He must transcend his lower nature, his selfish inclinations, his pride, and his attachment to passing things. This is the essence of the spiritual life: the soul must die to itself in order to live in God.

This is why self-mastery, self-denial, and self-abandonment are necessary. Happiness does not come through self-indulgence but through self-surrender. As Our Lord Himself teaches, “He that shall lose his life for My sake shall find it” (Matt. 16:25).

Lent, then, is the school of true happiness, for it is the season in which we learn to rise above ourselves. We fast, not merely to deny the body, but to free the soul from the tyranny of the flesh. We pray, not as an intellectual exercise, but to lift the heart beyond earthly distractions. We give alms, not merely to help others, but to loosen the grip of selfishness that chains us to this world.

If we remain bound to ourselves, we remain bound to misery. But if we rise above ourselves, if we detach from the false self and seek God alone, we will begin to taste the joy of the supreme good, even in this life.

This is why the saints, who suffered most in this world, were the most truly happy. They no longer sought happiness in themselves, but in God. They had risen above themselves—and in doing so, they had already begun to enjoy eternal happiness.

May we, through this Lenten journey, rise above ourselves and seek the supreme good, that we too may know the happiness for which we were created.

III. The Role of Grace: We Do Not Fight Alone

At this point, we must remember: we do not conquer ourselves by sheer willpower.

A. Two Errors in the Spiritual Battle

1. The Error of Despair: “I cannot be holy.”
2. The Error of Self-Reliance: “I must make myself holy.”

Both are wrong. We do not win by effort alone, nor do we remain in sin out of weakness. Instead, we rely on grace.

B. How to Rely on Grace

1. Prayer – Without daily prayer, the battle is already lost.
2. The Sacraments – Confession cleanses; the Eucharist strengthens.
3. Devotion to Our Lady – She who was never conquered by sin is the surest refuge in battle.

C. The Key to Victory: Surrender, Not Self-Sufficiency

There is a paradox at the heart of the Christian life: strength is found in surrender.

The saints did not achieve holiness through sheer determination. They achieved it through complete surrender to God’s grace.

• St. Augustine did not overcome his sins by effort alone—he surrendered to the love of Christ.
• St. Francis of Assisi did not become holy by his own will—he abandoned everything for God.
• St. Thérèse of Lisieux did not attain sanctity through great works—she entrusted herself entirely to divine mercy.

If we try to make ourselves saints, we will fail.

But if we let God do it—if we surrender completely, trusting in His grace, allowing Him to strip away everything that is not of Him—then sanctity will come, not by our own doing, but by His.

Through prayer, fasting, and self-denial, may we ascend beyond our fallen nature and seek our happiness in the Supreme Good—God Himself. For only when we abandon ourselves do we truly find ourselves; only when we lose our lives for Christ do we truly live.

Per Mariam ad Jesum!
May the Blessed Virgin Mary, the model of perfect surrender, guide us on this path to holiness, so that we may rise with Christ at Easter, ready to glorify God in all things.

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Lent Conferences 2025

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