A Meek Appearance; or a Prophet Meets God

As I have mentioned before, I read a chapter out of the Bible every morning. I think I started this sometime around 2000….I’m not exactly sure. But seeing as that’s the year I entered the Roman Catholic Church, it would make sense if that’s also when my daily Scripture began. I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve been through the Bible; I start at the beginning, go to the end, and then repeat. I would be lying to you, though, if I said I read EVERYTHING. There’s that part after the Israelites escape from Egypt, where it bogs down into the building schematics for the Tabernacle. I’m not a huge fan of the Psalms. And call me a bad Catholic, but St. Paul’s Letters/Epistles (whatever you want to call them) somewhat loses my attention. Give me the parts of the Bible where there’s a narrative, characters, people doing things and action happening. Even the part that don’t read well today, like all the slaughter in the conquest of Canaan. At least there’s a story to follow.

I’ve always been an avid reader, and for me, one of the signs of great literature is that, when you return to it, you take away something different. Two books, widely divergent, that I frequently re-read: The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald, and Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame. I couldn’t tell you how many times I’ve read either of them; I just know that whenever I return to them, I come away with something new. It may not be anything profound; I’ve never come to the conclusion of Jay Gatsby as a Christ figure, or Mr. Toad a symbol of the moral decay of the English aristocracy. More often than not, it’s finding something I missed, a detail I overlooked, a character I had forgotten about. The point is, these two works (and I’m sure there are many like them) qualify as great to me, because I they always have something new to say. They’re eternally relevant.

The Bible functions the same way. The text hasn’t changed, there’s no new edition. The stories are still the ones from my childhood. But each time I read it, I glean something different. Much of this has to do with me. If we accept that around 2000 was when I first started reading the Bible cover to cover, then, we have to consider who I was in 2000: under 30 years old; music teacher in a small town in Iowa; single. Today, I’m 47; married; and a college professor in New England. I don’t say this to sound boastful but I mention it to make a point: 2020 me is kind of at where 2000 me dreamed of being. Not that everything is now perfect; far from it. But in terms of where I am professionally….it’s kind of what I had dreamt of. So naturally, 47 year old me brings an entirely new perspective and a wider range of experiences when reading the Bible. I’m still the same person as I was in 2000, but my experience have so changed.

But even something as simple as the time of year can change my perspective. Which brings me to the point of today’s blog. I’m currently writing this on December 23rd. In other words, two days before Christmas. But when you read the Bible cover to cover, moving sequentially, it’s pretty rare that my journey lines up to the Church calendar. In other words…I’m nowhere near the beginnings of Luke or Matthew. Heck, I’m not even to those passages in Isaiah, which predict the Messiah. No, I’m in the First Book of King. You know, the parts where we are told King So-and-So did evil and turned away from the Lord. You lose track of the names, they all seemed such a bad lot. However, late in 1 Kings, that monotony is broken by the stories of the Prophet Elijah. And that’s where I am currently.

In the past, I wasn’t the biggest fan of Elijah. I wouldn’t say I disliked him; there was just never anything that I identified with. I knew him as a miracle worker and a bringer of justice and condemnation for Israel’s ruling couple: Ahab and Jezebel. I think (mind you, I’m no Biblical scholar) he’s one of, if not the most important, prophets of the Old Testament. The listing of bad monarchs stops, in order for us to hear of his deeds. Must be pretty important then, eh?

Elijah has two pretty unique characteristics: the first is, he never dies. He’s taken up to Heaven in a chariot of fire. The second is that he appears in the New Testament. It’s he and Moses that visit Jesus during the Transfiguration. Also, let’s not forget when Jesus asks His Disciples, “Who do people say that I am?”, a common response is….you guessed it….Elijah. So obviously, Elijah is a figure of no small significance. If you had to list the major figures in the Old Testament: Adam and Eve, Noah, Jospeh, Moses, David, Solomon (maybe), Elijah, Elisha….and that may be it. I’m sure you can make the case for others, like Joshua, Aaron, Ezra, Daniel and more. The point is, though, not many Old Testament figures carry over into the New Testament. And Elijah is one of them. As Ron Burgundy might have put it, he’s kind of a big deal.

Perhaps Elijah’s most famous scene comes in 1 Kings Chapter 18, where he takes on the prophets of Baal. They both erect altars and make a sacrifice. The challenge is, which god will light a fire upon the altar? This sequence is a bit amusing, in that it gives us Biblical smack talk. When Baal does not respond to the prophets, Elijah taunts them, by suggesting that perhaps their god is sleeping and they need to yell louder. Or that their god is on vacation and can’t be reached. Then, when it’s Elijah’s turn, he calls upon the Lord, and lo and behold, fire comes down from Heaven and consumes his sacrifice. The people are amazed, and in typical Old Testament retribution, the prophets of Baal are executed.

As I mentioned, Elijah was not a favorite of mine. He’s outspoken, full of swagger, braggadocio; a “pay attention to me” type. I get that an Israel that had forsaken its God needed someone to call them to accountability. But I also get the impression that Elijah wouldn’t be too much fun to be around; it would be an awful lot of everything being about him…or at least him at the center of every story. “Woe to you, Israel, you have forsaken the Lord. And let me tell you what’s going to happen next because I’m Elijah and I’m righteous, unlike you!” That kind of thing. But that’s where a Bible re-reading can change your mind. I knew the story of the showdown with the Baal prophets from Sunday school. I remembered the next sequence, where he outran King Ahab’s chariots. But the Elijah in the following chapter (1 King 19, for those of you scoring at home) is different than what I previously thought. And so we arrive at my most recent re-reading.

The story begins with Queen Jezebel sending a message to Elijah that she will have him killed. So how does the arrogant, confident Elijah respond? You know, the same guy who was talking smack to the Baal prophets? Well, according to Verse 3, “Elijah was afraid and fled for his life.” Not only was he scared, he becomes depressed and even suicidal! We have him in verse 4 pleading to God: “This is enough, O Lord! Take my life, for I am no better than my fathers.” What is going on?! How did this proud vessel of God’s might become so down? A few verses later, we find out the reason. Verse 10: “I have been most zealous for the Lord, the God of hosts, but the Israelites have forsaken your covenant, torn down your altars, and put your prophets to the sword. I alone am left, and they seek to take my life.”

This is just me speculating, but I wonder if there are some details missing to the story. Chapter 18 ends with the triumph over the Baal prophets and Elijah correctly predicting the end of the 3 year drought in Israel. He seems triumphant….and most likely pretty smug about it, in his zeal. Yet the next chapter, Elijah is completely despondent. What happened? My guess is, Elijah was expecting Israel to come back to God en masse after his tour de force at the ol’ prophet showdown. The crowd followed his instructions to seize the Baal prophets and it was Elijah himself who slit their throats (lovely, right? Ahh, the Old Testament). My guess is, Elijah was expecting all Israel to have his back. So imagine his surprise when Jezebel pronounced his doom, to find himself all alone. Elijah’s prediction of Israel returning to the Lord might have been a wee bit premature, especially in the wake of royal fury. And so, confident, proud, boastful Elijah found his aspirations broken. He went from his greatest triumph to now wanting it all to end. The Super Bowl winning quarterback getting cut at training camp. The platinum selling artist being dropped by their label. Hopefully you get the picture, because I’m plum out of analogies!

As much as I had been through the Bible, I don’t think the depressed, distraught Elijah had ever caught my attention before. It’s absolutely critical. What it does is, it humanizes him. We had the confident, swaggering, maybe even arrogant, Elijah putting on a show. This was the man who could, by his own command, demonstrate the mighty power of God. Not only did he defeat the opposition, he executed them! But instead of wearing the victor’s laurels, he’s a man on the run. Perhaps Elijah was being punished for his hubris. Was God not pleased with his smack-talk? I wouldn’t go so far as to postulate that God was punishing Elijah for his swagger; after all, He did come through and send fire down, making Elijah the winner. But here’s the thing….a prophet who can summon fire from Heaven isn’t very relatable. But you know what is? Someone who is depressed, someone who finds everything going against him and just can’t do it anymore. Someone who just wants to give up. Elijah in Chapter 19 is no fire and brimstone prophet; instead, he’s one of us.

There are many times in reading the Bible that I find myself asking, “Why is that in there?” This is VERY common in the Old Testament; be it the violence, such as in the wiping out of the Benjamites at the end of the Book of Judges, or the bizarre tales, like the story of Lot’s daughter (ewww). I don’t have answers for that. But I do think Chapter 19 of 1 Kings is there to give us an example of God comforting His people. Elijah wants to end it all, but God won’t let him alone. God reveals himself to Elijah, described in colorful detail in verses 11 – 13. It’s a theophany, a physical manifestation of God. This happened before in the Old Testament a couple times, but the theophany to Elijah is different in a most important way. This theophany is one that prepares the way for the New Testament and Jesus. But before I get to that, let’s look back the theophany in Exodus 19…..hmm, is it a rule that a theophany has to happen in the 19th chapter?

The Israelites have camped at the base of Mount Sinai, where Moses will receive the Ten Commandments…along with all the other instructions for building the Ark of the Covenant, the Tabernacle, the Priestly Garments, etc. Anyway, God’s arrival on Mount Sinai is described as peals of thunder and lightning, with trumpet blasts. The top of the mountain is surrounded with smoke and it appears as if its on fire. Later on, God tells Moses that he will only be able to see Him pass by from the back, for to look upon God’s Face means death. By the time Moses’ conversation was done, his face had become radiant, to such a degree that he was asked to wear a veil, to keep from blinding the Israelites!

Now, back to our guy, Elijah. When we left him in 1 Kings 19, he’s hiding in a cave on Mount Horeb, which is described as the mountain of God. Queen Jezebel has promised death. He feels utterly crushed and abandoned. Elijah is in the zone where nothing seems worth it. When God asks him why he is in hiding (verses 9 and 10), Elijah is at wits end. No matter what he has done, the Israelites have not turned away from wickedness, and now his life is at risk. Compare this to Moses, who was filled with righteous indignation at the Israelites worshipping a Golden Calf. No fury here from Elijah, just complete despondency.

At this point, I should point out that the Mount Horeb Elijah is seeking refuge on is the same location that, according to Deuteronomy 4, God gave Moses the Covenant. Yeah, in Exodus, it’s called Mount Sinai. I didn’t do the writing, so I’m not sure how to answer that. But if you go with Deuteronomy, Elijah is meeting God in the same place Moses did. That cannot be a coincidence. And just like with Moses, God’s arrival in an awesome, earth-shaking theophany…..except for one major difference. Let me start with Verse 11 of 1 Kings 19:

Then the Lord said, “Go outside and stand on the mountain before the

Lord; the Lord will be passing any.” A strong and heavy wind was rending the

mountain and crushing rocks before the Lord – but the Lord was not in the wind.

After the wind there was an earthquake – but the Lord was not in the earthquake.

After the earthquake there was a fire – but the Lord was not in the fire.

After the fire there was tiny whispering sound. When he heard this, Elijah hid his face in his cloak

and went and stood at the entrance of the cave.

We get the same awesome display of divine power as Moses encountered; there’s all kinds of natural phenomena….except for the passing of God Himself. Whereas Moses could only witness God from the back, and in doing so, his face became ablaze, God to Elijah is the meekest of whispers. No voice resounding from the Heavens, as we see at the Baptism of Jesus. No, the Voice of God to Elijah might not have even be perceptible. What are we to make of this? Just a chapter earlier, God responds to Elijah’s exhortations by sending down fire from the skies. You can’t get much more dramatic than that! So why, just one chapter later, is His response so minute?

Well, I think there are a couple things at play here. One goes to my main point of the humanizing of Elijah. Let’s face it; after this episode, Elijah is back to being the voice of authority, the righteous prophet. We see him condemning Ahab and Jezebel for the murder of Naboth. And, obviously, Elijah’s exit in 2 Kings 2 definitely does the OPPOSITE of humanize him…that is, unless you are familiar with any other individuals who have left this Earth riding in a flaming chariot. I know I don’t know any. Yet, for one chapter, we get an Elijah we can relate to; one dealing with the very real feelings of abandonment and hopelessness. And I think God’s response, coming only in the tiny whisper, is a continuation of that humanization. Maybe I’m wrong about this, but I have to think, God typically answers us not unlike He did Elijah; in meek, quiet and quite possibly, imperceptible ways. I’m not going to go so far as to say God (or other aspects of the Divine) never reveal themselves to us in dramatic fashion. You won’t get me on the record denying the appearances of the Virgin Mary, such as Our Lady of Guadalupe or Our Lady of Fatima. But I think it’s safe to say, those kind of supernatural encounters are VERY few and far between. The Divine appearing to us, responding to us, conversing with us….if you believe that happens (and I definitely DO), then it happens in the manner of the theophany to Elijah. It’s not the thunder, lightning and shining radiance of Moses. It’s something so minute, we probably don’t even know it’s there. And in all likelihood, we’re not listening to it. For the overwhelming majority of us, God’s interface with us can’t be perceived. It’s in our everyday existence….something so ordinary you probably would never know it’s God.

I am reminded of perhaps my favorite bit of Catholic literature, Evelyn Waugh’s brilliant novel, Brideshead Revisited. And reflecting on how I started this blog, there’s a book I am WELL overdue to re-read. So much there, from wickedly funny satire of British society, to coming of age, to the passing of the British nobility, to a love that just can’t be. And of course, at the center of the finale, a return to God. Waugh uses the term “A Twitch Upon the Thread”, which he takes from G.K. Chesterton. SPOILER ALERT for those who have never read Brideshead: the patriarch of the family, on his deathbed, accepts the Sacrament and Last Rites. There’s probably not much too that. I’m sure countless of dying individuals have returned to the faith of their youth, even if just in ritual, when facing death. But that’s the twitch. That simple gesture has a profound affect on all the other characters. Julia can’t marry Charles Ryder; she’s divorced and realizes they’ve been living in sin. She instead returns to the Church . And by the very end of the work, Charles Ryder himself, who has seemingly been agnostic his entire life, appears to be a practicing Catholic. There was no extraordinary miracle worked. Nothing happened that was even remotely supernatural. A dying man, perhaps as a way of hedging his bets in the event there is an afterlife, accepts Holy Communion. Nothing abnormal there at all. But, it’s the tiny whisper that Elijah heard. Lord Marchmain’s acceptance of the Sacrament is the catalyst that changes others. It’s a Twitch Upon the Thread. It’s the Tiny Whisper. It’s an incredibly powerful scene, particularly if Catholicism means something to you, like it does to me. Whether Waugh had Elijah in mind when he penned it, I have no idea. He was definitely a practicing Catholic at that point this life. And yes, I know Brideshead Revisited is a work of fiction. But it’s a perfect example of God in the “tiny whisper.”

That’s why we have the the theophany of 1 Kings 19. It’s to prepare us for our own interaction with God. Unless we’re somehow chosen for seem dramatic Divine Encounter, our personal interactions with God is likely inperceptible. We may never know of His Presence in our lives. I’m guessing none of will have to look upon God’s Back, for fear of death from seeing His Face. But the theophany Elijah encountered….that’s the one that IS a part of our daily existence. And think….Elijah only hear that tiny whisper because he was told that the Lord will be passing by. You and I probably don’t get an advance notice. Is our “tiny whisper” speaking to us, and we’re just not listening?

I mentioned earlier that any re-read is influenced by changes in your life. I would also contend that WHEN you re-read can be a factor. With regard to our topic at hand, I must point out that I most recently read 1 Kings 19 on December 21. In other words, right near the end of Advent and the celebration of the Brith of Christ. So with Christmas already on my mind, the tiny whisper takes on another meaning. I’ve spoken about how the example of God in the tiny whisper to Elijah is applicable to our own time. Well, what of the birth of Christ? The Magi come from the East, following a star announcing the birth of a King. Now, we tend to combine the Nativity stories of Matthew and Luke, with the Magi following the shepherds to the stable, with baby Jesus in a manger. The Magi only appear in Matthew, and there’s no mention of Mary and Joseph being turned away from the inn. We are only told that the Holy Family is in Bethlehem. For all we know, the infant Jesus they paid homage to was in a crib….or whatever babies slept in back then. Still, Mary and Joseph were not royalty. Even if not a manger in a stable, one would have to think the Magi were a bit surprised that the star did not lead them to a palace. They were foretold the birth of a king, and instead found what was probably a modest family and an ordinary infant. Yet, Matthew 2 does not tell us the Magi rejected the baby Jesus. Rather, they paid Him homage and gave Him expensive gifts. The ol’ gold, frankincense and myrrh party pack, if you will. Did these Magi hear the tiny whisper? Did they recognize an infant as the tiny whisper of the Divine? And if you really want to continue down this road, Matthew tells us the Magi were warned in a dream to not to return to King Herod but to go home by a different route. Was the dream the tiny whisper, again?

Look throughout the whole story of Jesus. He is rejected speaking in the synagogue in his hometown, because He is the carpenter’s son and a familiar figure in the community. Surely He can’t be someone of importance. His followers are fishermen. He is scorned for associating with tax collectors and other personages of ill repute. He is crucified alongside two criminals. At His trial and crucifixion, Jesus is taunted with jeers about saving Himself, and how He said He would tear down and rebuild the temple. He is questioned by the Roman governor about His Kingdom. Yes, Jesus worked miracles, such as the feeding of the multitudes and the healing of the sick. But there was no awesome display of power like Elijah calling down fire. If we believe that Jesus is God, then there’s no question He could have vaporized His tormentors. Old Testament-type wrath was just a thought away. But that’s not what Jesus was going to do. He was the embodiment of the “tiny whisper” that Elijah heard. A carpenter’s son, executed as a common criminal. There was no overthrowing of Roman rule. No great return of the Kingdom of Israel was established. In Matthew 13:31, Jesus compares the Kingdom of God to a mustard seed. Here’s a picture of one:

Pretty small, isn’t it?

Jesus tells His followers that the mustard seed is the smallest of seeds, and yet from it comes the largest of plants. Something immense grows out of something seemingly insignificant. Sort of like a tiny whisper, don’t you think? You probably don’t ever hear it, yet like that slight twitch on the thread of Evelyn Waugh, something great happens. I today, in December 2020 read 1 Kings 19 and see the tiny whisper as an Old Testament predictor of just what the Christ would be. I have no idea if anyone at the time saw it as such. But I do think it’s worth pointing out, Jesus disappointed many because He and His Kingdom were not what they were expecting. Just like Elijah: the wind, the earthquake and the fire were probably what he was expecting for God’s arrival. After all, it’s what Moses encountered in the same location. But God wasn’t in any of that. As meek as a tiny whisper was to Elijah is how Jesus probably appeared to his contemporaries.

In 1 Kings 19, the tiny whisper gave specific instructions to Elijah: they involved anointing a new king of Israel and commissioning the prophet Elisha. I’m going to guess our encounters with tiny whispers won’t be so detailed. Let’s go back to just when God came to Elijah. It wasn’t Elijah seeking out God, it wasn’t him calling out for vengeance on his enemies; it was an Elijah who was down and seemingly out for the count. One chapter, proudly triumphant over the prophets of the Baal, working wonders for all Israel to see. The next chapter, on the run for his life and utterly depressed. He’s a man without hope. And though he sees natural phenomena, that’s not how he encounters God. Elijah is answered through a tiny whisper. At his weakest moments, when all he wants is to die, God reaches out in a barely perceptible way. Folks, this is Elijah. We’re talking the prophet who stood up to King Ahab and Queen Jezebel, who called down fire from Heaven, who was taken up in a chariot of fire, and who even came back to visit with Jesus. Not too many Old Testament figures got a return engagement, but Elijah did. If someone that major, in his hour of most dire need, encounters God in this most inperceptible of ways, then shouldn’t we be assured of the same? Think how that can apply to your life. Have you ever felt you were done for, that there was no hope, no light at the end of the tunnel? Wondering why you should go on? Well if you have, then you have something in common with one of the Bible’s greatest prophets. It’s the only reason I can come up with for 1 Kings 19 being in the Bible. In every other appearance, Elijah is a giant of man. But not here. Here, at his lowest moment, he is us. And the way Elijah encounters God, so to it us for us.

Elijah knew to listen, and thus heard God in the tiny whisper. The implication then is clear for us; are we listening?

I never thought of the story of Elijah as part of the Christmas tradition, but if God can take on as slight a form as tiny whisper, then why not an infant in a manger? I don’t think 1 Kings 19 will be read at this year’s Christmas Masses, but perhaps it should become part of the Advent readings. God in a form you don’t expect is still God. And hey, Elijah in a flaming chariot does somewhat resemble Santa in a flying sleigh…okay, I’ll stop. As Christmas is upon us and as we prepare to welcome Christ back to the world, let us remember that God is always around us. Be it a tiny whisper or a twitch upon the thread, Elijah’s example tell us that our God, whether we know it or not, is there at our lowest moment. He came to the proud, now humbled Elijah. So too will He do for us. My prayer for all of us at this Christmas season is to listen for the tiny whisper. I believe it speaks to us still.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some Evelyn Waugh to pull off the bookshelf!

Thoughts after a desecration; or, Is a Church more than a building?

I knew something was amiss as I walked up the side of the entrance of the Church.  When I lived closer to downtown, I always entered through the main doors.  But now that I live a bit further away, I drive on Sunday mornings and the side door is closer to the neighboring parking lot.  The first clue was that the lowest stained glass window, nearest the door was covered by a wooden board.  About a month earlier, a storm had blown some stray tree branches into one of the windows on the other side of the building.  That had been much larger damage, and was also covered with a board.

St. Brigid’s has beautiful stain glass made in Germany in the early 1920s.  They depict key moments in the beginnings of Catholicism: from the parents of the Blessed Virgin Mary to Her Assumption.  Along the way, we have the Wedding Feast at Cana; the Last Supper; Doubting Thomas, and many more.  St. Brigid’s is a historic structure, and the windows add much to its attractiveness.  It’s one of the things that drew me to the Church when arrived back in 2011.  Here I came from California, where everything is new, and now am in New England…where everything is not new.  And while a Church from the hey day of Babe Ruth is nothing compared to those historical houses of worship in Boston (hello, Old North Church!), St. Brigid’s age appealed to me.  As many of you know, I am a history buff.  But before I digress to far, I should include that Father Smegal, our priest, mentioned that the window was under repair and would be re-installed in August.  And now, here’s another damaged window.

As I walked up to the Church, I noticed Fr. Smegal approaching.  I asked him about the glass and he said we’d talk about it during the service.  And so, I found my pew and had a seat.  At this point, I should admit, this wasn’t my usual service.  I typically go to 10:30 am.  But on this day, that was to be First Communion, and since that service is always extra-crowded with families and friends, I figure I’d let someone have my usual spot.  I could get the same readings and the Sacrament at 8, and have a little more elbow room in the pews.  Okay, I’d get my own pew.  I guess that’s a wrong way of looking at it….we want the pews filled right?  I’ll have to answer for that one.  Anyway, the reason I bring this up is, at 10:30, I tend to kind of be a “jack of all trades.”  If it gets to be 10:20 and no one has grabbed the big red lector book, I step in.  Similarly, if  we’re saying the “Our Father” and less than three people have come forward to be Eucharistic Ministers, I hop on up there.  Reverentially, of course; the hopping is only implied.  But since I’m not a regular 8 am attendee, I didn’t survey the front of Church to see if the lector book was still there.  It’s not my service, so I figure I’d just be a parishioner.  No duties today, just worship.  Had I looked at the altar, I would’ve known there were more things wrong than just broken glass.

Feel free to cast judgment on me.  St. Brigid’s Parish is my spiritual home.  It’s where I am nearly every Sunday morning.  I went there as soon as I moved to Amherst.  I’ve gone to occassional mid-day services at the Newman Center during Lent, but other than that, St. Brigid’s has been my home.  As I mentioned, I lector and am a Eucharistic Minister.  I don’t sing in the choir, but I do sing along.  I have one friend I’ve made from Church, but I’m friendly with may others, though not having a social relationship beyond the pews.  Mind you, I have my quibbles and disagreements with some of how St. Brigid’s functions, but don’t we all have periodic problems with loved ones?  It’s still my Church, and I am proud to attend.  It’s my spiritual home, a place I long to be at least once a week.  I wouldn’t say I find piece there….but when I’m in those pews, I know that’s where I’m supposed to be.  I belong there.

So then why, Tim Anderson, if you care so much about St. Brigid’s, are you not attending First Communion?  Shouldn’t you want to be part of the celebration of new members in your faith community?  Well….good question.  Its something I debated much that morning.  Other factors include cleaning the house, watching the CBS Sunday Morning Show, and a possibly Sunday afternoon outing (which the rain pretty much decided for, anyway).  And, in the spirit of full disclosure, powerful paraclete that it is, I was supposed to EM (short for Eucharistic Minister) at 10:30.  But, like I said, I also knew from past experiences how crowded First Communion can be, so I figured, my pew space could go to someone new.  It’s not like I was’t going to Church, just not at my regular time.  If that’s a bad choice, I accept your judgment.

But anyway, back to 8 am, or shortly before.  I’m seated in a pew, head buried in the bulletin, when Fr. Smegal hands me a piece of paper.  He’s going through the pews, distributing these to those in attendance.  On it is a statement from him, informing us that sometime this past week, between Tuesday and Wednesday, the Church was “seriously vandalized.”  It doesn’t specify what happened, what was damaged, but that it happened.  The paper states:

But beyond any material loss, this senseless action has left our sacred & beloved worship space violate.  It is hard to imagine what lies behind such actions, but clearly this person or persons need our prayers.  As difficult as it is, we must pray that they will get the help they need and that they will know God’s forgivenes.

I quickly scanned throughout the Church.  That explains the broken window.  The other thing I noticed was that the confessionals were exposed.  There’s usually a curtain over them, and that was not the case today.  Other than that, I couldn’t put my finger on anything.  All other glass seemed fine.  The altar was still there.  The statues of the Blessed Mother and St. Joseph were all in place  The painting of St. Brigid seemed okay.  The stations of the Cross were all hanging.  Was it just the window?

Speculation would have to wait.  8 am, the bells rang, and Mass is underway.  Father invites us to join him in a hymn (there is no choir at 8 am Mass; instead, Father invites us to sing a capella with him.  Fortunately, he’s quite a good singer!) and the Mass begins like any other.  Opening prayer, a lector gives the readings, Father says the Gospel; it’s Mass as usual.  Granted, it moves faster than 10:30, but when you don’t have any music, things like the Responsorial Psalm and the Alleluia move by pretty quick.

And then we get to the announcements.  Father says his usual about upcoming events.  And then he says he has something more serious to talk about.  Hegets out from behind the pulpit and walks down in between the pews.  He reads the handout I quoted from above and then asks for questions from the congregation.  Okay, this is different.  Most time a priest asks a question during Mass, it’s of the rhetorical variety.  But that’s not the case today.  The first question is the one we’re all wondering about:  what was damaged?  And that’s when things got shocking.  First off, Father says he’s not sure of the totality of the destruction.  That’s alarming…was it that much?  But this is what he shared: the baptismal font was knocked over and shattered in five pieces.  The scupltures in the entry way to the Church were all knocked over and shattered.  The dispensaries for the Holy Water met a similar fate.

Before I continue, I need to repeat what Father informed us when asked what was stolen: nothing.  There was no theft.  It was all vandalism.  Father then pointed out that the vandalism was done at objects with a doctrinal connection.  The crucifix that sits atop the Tabernacle was dropped.  The framed image of Divine Mercy destroyed.  Candlesticks (or whatever you call the holders) smashed.  And now I looked throuhgout the Church again, to do another inventory.  The golden rod with the crucifix upon that goes before the Procesional/Recessional was nowhere to be found.  Now that I think about it, the candles on the altar don’t look like the ones that are typically there.  And where is the tall Easter candle?  We still have two more Sundays in Easter; it’s supposed to be on display.

Father continues with his list: the missal was torn.  The banner over the altar, announcing First Communion, with the handprints of the class, had been damaged.  Fortunately, they were able to make a new one, and that was up and ready for the celebration.  Father was quick to point out the efforts to make sure First Communion still occurred.  A parishoner was able to put the baptismal font and Holy Water dispensaries back together.  And if that isn’t a modern miracle, I’m not sure what is!  Questions are asked from the congregation: why wasn’t this in the newspaper? (Side note: it was today.  I wrote this blog after coming from this Mass, but decided not to publish it till the story became public.  It is now)  Father tells us that he reports everything to the police and then its up to the reporters to decide what to publicize.  Someone asks if this is a hate crime.  That’s up for the law enforcement to decide.  Was it one person or multiple?  Considering how heavy the baptismal font is, that probably took a couple people to knock it over.  How did they get in?  Father speculates that the front doors don’t always seal tight, so while they are locked, with continued pressure, they probably were forced open.  Does the Church have insurance?  Yes, with a $2,000 deductable.  So a fund will be started to replace.  But what he points out that many of the items were old, works of art.  Some were made of ivory.  Those won’t be replaced the same, with good reason.  Will be there be a re-consecration?  That’s a good idea.

When the Mass ends, I decide to walk out the front door, to see more of what was missing.  The baptismal font is back together, but you can see the fissure lines, from where it had been broken apart.  And yes, the curtains to the confessionals were completely gone.  The entry area was the most noticeable.  All the plaster sculpturs just weren’t there.  Thankfully, the most important sculpture was still in place.  St. Brigid’s has a wooden sculpture of Our Lady, made in Spain in 1915, for display at a Worlds Fair.  It was knocked over, but fortunately, survived serious damage.  That’s also miraculous, since intricate little parts, such as the fingers on the baby Jesus were still intact.  It is interesting what was disturbed and what was not.  Out of all the beautiful stained glass, just that one small area was damaged.  At the bottom of each window is a Bible verse.  That was what was destroyed.  What was the passage, I tried to recall?  Is that of significance?  Or perhaps the vandals just didn’t have the time to do more.  All I can do is speculate.

Probably most jarring is when I went up to receive Communion.  There, above the Tabernacle….was nothing.  The gold crucifix, with its ivory base, was gone.  That probably was the most jarring to me.  Because that’s supposed to be there and it’s not.  The absence was deafening.  But again, it could’ve been worse.  All that beautiful stained glass, and only one (not counting the previously tree-struck window) were still intact.

And so I wonder….St. Brigid’s is in downtown.  It’s in an area where you’re going to have drunken escapades that happen in college towns.  But this doesn’t seem like that.  The fact that nothing was stolen makes it more alarming.  Does someone have a vendetta against Catholicism?  Against our parish in particular?  What have we done as a congregation or creed, or have not done, to provoke this reaction?  It doesn’t take too long to think of a myriad of motivations; we all can make a list in short order of grievances one can bring against Catholicism.  If law enforcement identify a culprit, I would be interested just to know why.

I was robbed once about 10 years ago.  It’s such an uncomfortable feeling, knowing that your dwelling place, your home, where you sleep, was intruded upon.  All I lost was a computer and window, but that sense of violation makes it worse.  It took me a few nights before I was comfortable staying in that apartment again.  And, of course, it hastened my moving to another place not long thereafter.  But this is different.  This is my spiritual home and since it’s not my posessions I think about it differently.   I’m also 10 years older.  For starters, I’m not scared.  Granted, I don’t live at St. Brigid’s.  But there’s no desire to switch congregations like I did apartments.  Things can be replaced.  I’ve been thinking that whatever insurance money the Church gets, does all that need to be used for replacements?  Yes on the stained glass.  It doesn’t look right with a wooden board.  But do we need the same value of crucifix or statues?  Whatever insurance money is left over, can that be given to charity?

St. Brigid’s Church building was violated, but the Church as a spirtual body was undamaged.  I hesitate to say something like “we will rebuild.”  It’s not that severe; what matters most was, Mass went on.  Granted, daily Mass was cancelled the following days after the incident, but come the weekend, the doors were open.  And again, with the exception of the broken glass, if you didn’t know where to look, you might not have noticed the absence…at least not at first.  First Communion was celebrated, and though I wasn’t present, I’m sure families rejoiced.   New communicants joined a Church, unimpeded by vandalism.  It is sad that our Church was struck in this manner and while St. Brigid’s historical appearance is what first brought there, it’s not what keeps me.  St. Brigid’s is MY Church, MY spiritual home, and that is undamaged.  Yes, it does feel violated, but the fact that this wasn’t theft maybe trying to tell us something.  We can speculate all we want: the choice of icons as targets?  A grudge to settle against Catholicism?  St. Brigid’s in particular? Or all organized religion.  We may never know, but if law enforcement does find a conclusion, I hope we learned the motivation.  And we need to listen.  That may be truly more painful than the vandalism, finding out how our Church (local and universal) wronged someone.  But it might also be the most gained from all this, much more than replacing a crucifix.

St. Brigid’s will be celebrating it’s 150th anniversary in two years.  I hope to be there for it.  And I agree with Father that prayers are needed for whoever did the damage.  Every Mass, I try to offer a prayer that all who are in attendance find what they are looking for, that our Church provides fulfillment for all that seek it.  It apparently did not do so, for whatever reason, to the person(s) who damaged it.  It is my prayer that we the Church have the opportunity to learn what motivated all this.  If we have wronged that person, it is my prayer we can have reconciliation.  Let the legal process do its due course, but as a congregation, let here always be forgiveness and love.  That, my friends, is more than adequate recompense for what happened.

Statues and artwork are gone, but a Church and its community will be just fine.  So what if the door doesn’t seal completely?  May it be opened to all who seek, and should we learn what motivated all this, may we listen.  Together, we will grow.

It all comes down to love: a final Lenten “Way”

Well friends, here we are: Easter.  Our Lenten journey has seen its completion.  My home congregation of St. Brigid’s, here in Amherst, had their traditional “new life” Easter Mass, where local farmers bring in their newly born animals.  Usually, you associate live animals in a Church with a nativity scene, but we’ll just roll with it.  It’s something the kids look forward to each year, and I guess it’s our Church’s thing.  Who am I to object?

So with Lent coming to its end, this will also conclude my blogging on the writings of St. Josemaria Escriva.  I’m sticking by my New Year’s Resolution of being more Catholic this year, and will keep with my morning devotions including the Catechism, the Lives of the Saints, and the Confessions of St. Augustine.  But my near-daily discussions of tracts from The Way?  Those are going to wind down.  Guy in a Boater will go back to movies, books, music, and of course, life with a batter on the head.  Catholicism will undoubtedly return, but I don’t think it will be the focus of each blog as it has been the past 40 days.

I hope you’ve enjoyed this introduction to Escriva.  Perhaps you’re now motivated to join Opus Dei!  I can’t say I’ve reached that point, but then again, I wouldn’t know the first thing about where to even meet them.  I find the Escriva ideal, of aspiring to holiness in your everyday life to be important.  His counsel can be a mixed bag, but is most effective when put into a scriptural context.  And his authoritarianism?  Well, it can be seen as creation of its time, or of a darker streak in its author.  I just hope these blogs have shown you enough of Escriva for you to make your own choice.

Throughout this process, I have tried to choose tracts from The Way at random.  I will confess, it hasn’t always been honest.  At first, I went with whatever passage I opened up to.  As we went through Lent, though, I became a bit more discerning.  I had to find tracts that inspired me to write about; it had to speak to me.  For this final installment, though, it seems appropriate to examine the very last tract in The Way.  Here is #999; I think you’ll find the sentiment fitting.

#999:  And what is the secret of perseverance?  Love.  Fall in Love and you will not leave him.

I’m normally not too big into analyzing syntax, but it strikes me that Escriva capitalizes “Love” but does not capital “him”, especially since the latter is referring to God.  It’s pretty clear what “love” Escriva is talking about.  It’s Divine Love.  He’s talking about Jesus, who loves all of us.  Jesus is that love.  At the 2002 canonization of Escriva, Pope John Paul II (himself now a saint), referred to the former as “saint of the ordinary.”  It’s the Escriva message.  Remember, Escriva did not belong to a religious order like the Dominicans, the Franciscans, the Passionists, the Jesuits or the like.  He was not a monk.  He began as a parish priest.  He then studied law at the Complutense University of Madrid.  Extraordinary things happened during his college days, most notably the Spanish Civil War, when the Catholic Church was persecuted.  Through this period came the formation of the only religious order that Escriva belonged to: his own, Opus Dei.  And it’s important to point out, Opus Dei is overwhelmingly the laity.  It’s not a cloistered religious community.  That’s the point of Escriva’s message, the saint of the ordinary.  You are not called to leave your life, to leave the world.  While Escriva probably wouldn’t criticize someone who took a vow of poverty and sold everything, he would say, that’s not meant for everyone.  Society needs to function.  It needs teachers, engineers, mechanics, drivers, pilots, soldiers, sailors, farmers.  Artists are needed, poets, writers, photographers.  Buildings need building and projects need financing.  Law cases must be heard, and patients must be treated.  But in doing this, are you doing this for yourself, or for something greater?  All that you do, be it a financial transaction or a work of labor, do it with the Love that he speaks of.  Your customer, your patient, that stranger you just passed; let all your interactions be with love.

The whole of Christianity, in my opinion, can be defined by when Love comes into the story.  As some of you know, I read a chapter of the Bible every morning.  I’ve gotten through the Bible 4 or 5 times; I’ve kind of lost count.  The point being, I’m currently in Exodus.  And I have to say, that God does not always come across loving.  I know, I know; He leads them out of Egypt.  I get all that, but it’s also a God of plagues, of punishments, of threats that anyone who approaches the Holy Mountain will die.  And let’s not forget, once we get passed the Ten Commandments, there’s a lot of death penalties in the laws given out.  Yes, He is leading the Israelites to a Promised Land, but remember, none of that original generation from Egypt will be allowed to live long enough to see it.  And what happens when they arrive in the Promised Land?  Bloodshed of the inhabitants already there.  Fast forward to King David and you get a pestilence being sent upon Israel because a census was committed.  We are told that the Lord our God is a jealous God, but it doesn’t seem to be a loving one.

But that changes come the New Testament.  If there was ever a doubt of Divine Love, it is answered in the coming of the Son of God.  That God sent His only Son to Earth, to become man, born of a woman, to live among us, to teach us, and most amazingly, to die for us…it’s the example of perfect love.  And let’s not forget what Jesus teaches.  He upholds the law of Moses, but teaches a commandment greater than that, “Love your neighbor as yourself.”  Everything Jesus did was guided by love.  His rejection of Satan’s temptations; it was out of love for something better.  The miracles he committed?  Love for the persons whose lives were touched by Him.  His teachings to us, and His glorious death and resurrection?  All an act of love.

So what are we to do with this gift?  I think Escriva would say, “pay it forward.”  In my reading of the Lives of the Saints, I recently came across Nicholas of Flüe, the patron saint of Switzerland.  Responding to a call, St. Nicholas left his wife and children to become a hermit.  That’s one way of responding to God’s Love.  I doubt Escriva would recommend it, though.  His point would be, God loves you, so love your wife, love your children, love your neighbor, love your pets, love everyone and everything you encounter.  You don’t need to go somewhere remote to love God.  Love God by loving the world you are in.  And what if you are not loved back?  Well, that’s what Escriva says about perseverance.  In Luke 6, Jesus tells us how to respond to harshness with love.  It’s unconditional.  “Whoever takes your coat, do not withhold your shirt from, either.”  We are not to love just those who love us, but to love all.  It’s not easy, but Christianity isn’t supposed to be.

And so, as I wrap up this survey of Escriva, it all comes down to love.  It’s how you can aspire to a sanctified life, to holiness, as Escriva calls us to do.  By loving each other, we are doing God’s Will.  We have in Him the perfect example of Love.  Lent is over.  He is Risen Indeed, Alleluia Alleluia.  Let us proclaim that good news, and let Love lead the way.  After all, isn’t it what this whole thing called Christianity is all about?

I hope you have enjoyed this travel along The Way.  Thanks for making the journey with me, and have a most blessed Easter season.

The Power of the Pen: Day 29 of a Lenten “Way”

Well, here we are on Good Friday and this is my 29th Lenten blog.  Obviously, I won’t be making to 40 before Easter.  So, I guess we’ll call it even when #30 shows its face.  So, if this is to be the second to last examination/reflection on the writings of St. Josemaria Escriva, then I guess it’s about time I got around to looking at one his tracts that I find just a bit problematic.

#339:  Books.  Do not buy them without advice from a Catholic who has real knowledge and discernment.  It’s so easy to buy something useless or harmful.  How often a man thinks he is carrying a book under his arm, and it turns out to be a load of trash.

Well, well, well….what to say?  I’ve talked about Escriva’s authoritarian tendencies before, and of the murkiness between him his organization Opus Dei, and the fascist regime of Francisco Franco. In track 339, that authoritarianism is on full display.  And if you’re like me, reading this brings up images of book-burning, or similar rejection of challenging printed opinions.  The most common image we have of book-burning, if not Ray Bradury’s Fahrenheit 451, are the rallies of Nazi Germany.  Which means this might be a  good time to say Escriva was accused of making statements in defense of Adolf Hitler.  The veracity of the allegations is debated; I did read where, in 1941, members of Opus Dei volunteered to be part of the “Blue Legion” that was composed of Spaniards who fought alongside the Germans in the Eastern Front.  But as the Nazi are the famous example of book burning (due to both the unquestioned evil involved and the photographic record), it’s not the only one.  We need look no further than our own faith.  In the early days of the Church, following the First Council of Nicea, the Emperor Constantine decreed that any of the writings of the Arians be burned.  Fast forward to the Italian Renaissance and you get the “Bonfire of the Vanities,” (not to be confused with the similarly named Tom Wolfe novel), where the Dominican priest Savonarola organized in Florence mass burnings of anything that might cause sin.  One wonders what works of human creation were lost forever.  In more recent times, we had burning of Beatles records in response to John Lennon’s quote about the band being more popular than Jesus.  And I think I speak for most of humanity when we hear of the destruction of thousand year old antiquities by the Islamic State.  So with those harrowing images in our recent memory, how can one not take exception at Escriva’s warning against unapproved reading?

One thing I’ve tried to through out this blog is to use Escriva as a gateway into what the Bible says.  In this case, it’s not clear cut.  In the Book of Exodus, the law is given out in pretty straight-forward terms: You shall not let a Sorceress live, for example.  There’s not much wiggle room there.  Fast forward to Escriva’s day.  I don’t think he’s giving much thought to sorcery.  However, writing at a time where the Church in Spain was under persecution during the Spanish Civil War, Escriva would likely have equated sorcery with political teachings that worked up anti-Catholic sentiment.  Again, it’s up for interpretation how actively Escriva supported Franco, but seeing as how the latter championed Catholicism, it’s not too much a stretch to think that Escriva’s warnings against unguided reading included political tracts of his day, that sought to deny the Church.

When we get to the New Testament, it is again a matter of interpretation.  Jesus cautions against leading others to sin.  In Matthew 18, after receiving children, He warns His Disciples “Whoever causes one of these little ones who believe in Me to stumble, it would be better for him to have a heavy millstone hung around his neck, and to be drowned in the depth of the seas.”  Pretty stern stuff.  But it also is worth pointing out, Jesus does not specify what it is that causes a believer to sin.   A list of possible sins is pointless; I could probably crash the internet before concluding that endless catalogue.  However, if you are Escriva, or hold a similar mindset, books that teach against the Church could qualify as potential “stumbling blocks.”  Whereas Escriva is not calling for drowning by millstone of the authors (thankfully!), and really, he isn’t calling for book-burning, he does advocate avoidance.  Most significantly, though, and where the charge of authoritarianism rings the strongest, Escriva is calling for you to check with your religious superiors before opening a book.  It’s a mindset that we (the anointed, appointed, educated clergy) know more about this and can make your decision for you.  We know what’s best for you, so go with us.  If you want to accuse Escriva of elitism, here’s a feather for your cap.

So let’s talk about reading, shall we?  I will confess, I am an avid reader.  I always am in the middle of a book.  When I’m done with one book, I move immediately onto the other.  There’s not really a pattern to my reading.  Some people concentrate on biographies, historical fiction, classics, poetry, etc.  I cross genres and subjects, just going with what interests me.  Right now, I’m reading about World War I aviation, because the topic has long fascinated me.  There were no tactics, the technology rudimentary, the odds insane…everything was sort of made up on the go.  In the past, I’ve read about the railroads of the American West, the early days of baseball, fiction from the Soviet Union (more on that later) and so forth.  If I have any pattern, it’s that I like to periodically visit an author (or a work) that has had acclaim/long-lasting standing.  If it’s endured, it’s time to find out what the fuss is all about.  About every five years, I’ll take on Charles Dickens.  This past summer I did an over-view of Mark Twain.  This past winter, it was Margaret Mitchell’s Gone with the Wind.  Again, more on that later.  I will confess, I haven’t done much religious reading outside of the Bible and, obviously, St. Josemaria Escriva’s The Way.  I’ve been trying to change this year, as my New Year’s Resolution was to live a more Catholic life.  And so, I’ve added the Confessions of St. Augustine to my daily routine.  That’s not exactly going well.  Perhaps, at some point, St. Augustine will draw me in.  So far, it seems an awful lot of words, but not really having much direction.  Give it time, I suppose.

In terms of reading works that might be controversial/harmful to faith, my record is a mixed bag.  Like I’ve said, I’ve read quite a bit of Mark Twain.  This is not about The Adventure of Huckleberry Finn, and whether it belongs in school curriculum.  My favorite Twain work is The Innocents Abroad, his travelogue of Europe and the Middle East.  Twain is very opinionated toward religion, and in The Innocents Abroad, while going through Italy and the Holy Land, he shares his thoughts on Catholicism and Christianity.  A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court also has some critiques of religion and how it impedes progress.  Twain has his opinions, which he doesn’t hesitate to express.  I am of the opinion that he was a terrific story-teller, made some good points, but was a pretty bad novelist.  This blog isn’t about Twain and his challenges at maintaining an operational narrative.  The point is that reading Twain doesn’t diminish my faith.   Look, we’re living in an ignorant paradise (and that’s an oxymoron if there ever was one.  For more, read Huxley’s Brave New World) if we believe the Church has always been perfect.  Martin Luther made many valid points.  Now I believe he went too far in starting his own Church, but there were problems in the Church of his day.  Just as the sex abuse scandal amongst the clergy in our day shows that the Church continues to be far from infallible.  For me, though, these events, just like Twain’s critiques, question the institution.  Let us not forget the Church consists of humans.  The faith which the Church upholds, that’s where we enter into the divine.

Another literary example from my own reading: the aforementioned Gone with the Wind.  I intended to write a blog about this book, but then Lent started, and I went “all in” on Escriva.  Perhaps someday I’ll get to it.  I find Mitchell to be somewhat misunderstood.  I don’t think she glorifies the Old South.  The dominant character is Scarlett O’Hara, and my, is she independent!  She finds the tranquil, do-nothing, landed gentry lifestyle of the Plantation to be ridiculous.  Had the War not happened, I doubt she could have been a quiet mistress like her Mother.  Does anyone really think, had she never met Rhett and the War never happened, that she really would have been content as Ashley Wilkes’ wife?  Not a chance, or at least not in the Melanie model.  Scarlett is tough.  She’s not going to be denied based on the social norms.  She makes it in the world of business, when society disagrees with her.  In many cases, I think Mitchell views the antebellum South as pretty ridiculous.

Now, with that being said, the book is horribly racist.  Any time an African-American character speaks in Gone with the Wind, it redeems Twain of anything Jim might have said in Huckleberry Finn.  Every one of Mitchell’s African-American characters, from Mammy to Pork to Prissy to the various former slaves on the streets of Atlanta are depicted as simple-minded.  Mammy and Pork are loyal to the O’Hara family to the end.  Freedmen are gullible and have not the mind to comprehend how unscrupulous Yankee carpetbaggers are taking advantage of them.  Mitchell has no problem using a term I will not include in this blog.  We even get the scene of an exasperated Scarlett beating Prissy, and her thought process that she deserved it.  It’s really awful stuff.  But is Gone with the Wind an awful book?  As a novel, it’s something Twain could only have dreamed of writing.  The narrative is incredibly tight.  Even minor characters (so minor they didn’t make the film version) such as Will Bemet and Archie the Mountain Man play an important role and advance the narrative.  It may be Mitchell’s tilted view of the Civil War in Georgia and Reconstruction but it absolutely grips you and takes you there.  I can’t justify Scarlett’s racism, but in terms of her other personal choices, you may find them disagreeable, you may find her unlikable, but it’s a testament to Mitchell that you can understand why she does what does.  You may say you’d never have done the same (the most notable, the stealing of her sister’s beau), but you can at least understand why.  It’s a remarkably well-written, effective book.  And back to Escriva’s point?  When I finished Gone with the Wind, I had no interest in raising the Stars and Bars and lamenting the passing of a fabled age of chivalry in America.  If anything I felt stronger that the correct side won the Civil War.  But I did find a book worth reading, if, for nothing else, a display of mastery of the narrative form.

Likewise, I read works from the Soviet period.  Most of the books from that period were ones that resisted the Regime, and often had to be smuggled out of the country.  The famous examples of these are Solzenhenitsyn’s The Gulag Archipelago, Pasternak’s Doctor Zhivago (featuring one of my favorite literary characters), and Grossman’s Life and Fate, which might be the best Russian book after War and Peace.  I also read some works by those who were supported of the Communist regime.  I will admit, I didn’t find any of them as good as those written by the dissidents.  No surprise there; the Stalin Regime was not exactly a “worker’s paradise” or a paradise for anyone, worker or not.  Still, Sholokov’s Quiet Don series and Alexei Tolstoi’s The Road to Cavalry were enjoyable.  I particularly liked the latter more.  Both were historical fictions, about the Russian Revolution.  Also, very enjoyable were Ilf and Petrov’s books about Ostap Bender.  These were approved by Stalin and are openly critical of religion.  They’re still a lot of fun.  The point is, reading these works never made me inclined to demand a worker’s uprising and advocate for state control.  As strongly opposed to Communism as Escriva was, he’d probably advice against reading anything from a state-approved Soviet author.  But though the adventure of Ostap Bender may not edify me as a Christian, I don’t think it had a negative impact, either.

I should say that I have not read Christopher Hitchens, Richard Dawkins, Sam Harris or any of those who tackle religion dead-on.  You can accuse me of burying my head in the sand by avoiding those attacks on faith.  My response would be, I typically read historical fiction or history.  Maybe I should read God is Not Good or the like.  I will say, I have long wanted to read the Quran.  There seems to be a popular notion in America of what Islam is and what its practitioners believe.  Just as a critic of Christianity can take citations from the Old Testament and point to what a violent religion it is, I would not doubt the same is done with regard Islam.  So I think it would be enlightening to actually read the text.  Perhaps some day I will get to it.

But before I wrap this up, I did want to offer one defense of Escriva’s literary authoritarianism.  Let’s go to St. Paul’s Letter to the Romans.  In Chapter 14, verse 14 – 15, St. Paul tells us “I know and am convinced in the Lord Jesus that nothing is unclean in itself; still, it is unclean for someone who thinks it is unclean.  If your brother is being hurt by what you eat, your conduct is no longer in accord with love.  Do not because of your food destroy him from whom Christ died.”  Later on, in verse 20, he says, “Everything is indeed clean, but it is wrong for anyone to become a stumbling block by eating.”  This actually seems somewhat in line with Escriva.  The latter, in his suggestion that you seek permission to read, is to keep you clear of something that will cause you to lose faith.  St. Paul tells us to be mindful of what we consume.  He (Paul) is speaking of food, but it doesn’t take too much of a stretch to see that include books (or movies, music, or take your pick).  You may be fine, but if your consuming effects someone else, then that needs to be considered.

I actually find the Pauline version more suitable.  I am not told to avoid Sam Harris, Mark Twain, Margaret Mitchell, Karl Marx, [insert author name].  What I am told is, be aware of the impact my choice has on those around me.  As I’ve written on here before, community is a vital part of religion. There’s a reason we are called to go to Church.  We are a community of the faithful.  As such, none of us exist in a vacuum.  I read Gone with the Wind on my own.  It didn’t influence me to take up the Southern “Lost Cause.”  But if I recommended it to someone else who then became a member of the Klan….well, I’d feel pretty guilty.  I don’t know how likely that is; I’m guessing not very.  But the point is, be aware of how we are all connected.  Escriva knows words can be powerful.  Look at the power Jesus’ Words have had over the past 2,000 years.  I don’t agree with his tendency to rely on authority to discern your reading habits, but I agree with his belief that words can convince.  And so, with St. Paul’s counsel in mind, I will be aware of what I choose, and how that can be interpreted.  It’s okay to read Gone with the Wind, but I should also be ready to explain.  Good novel, really well-written, unforgettable characters, unforgivable racism.

I’m not an authoritarian guy.  I believe we can read what we want.  But it’s not just about us.  If what we choose causes others to fall, then we need to examine our habits.  May we always be aware of the greater world around us.  We’re all connected, in the larger family of Christ.

Service to Sanctity: Day 28 of a Lenten “Way”

We’ve all done it.  We all know a person we’d like to avoid.  We may find their conversation just doesn’t interest us.  We may find their views disagreeable.  Perhaps there is something that just rubs us the wrong way.  Whatever the reason, we just try to keep our distance.  I know I’ve done it.  When this person comes into a room, we take note and position ourselves in a way so that we won’t have to interact.  We do our very best to avoid eye contact.  When our paths look like they’ll interest, it’s time to take full throttle evasive action.  We’re all guilty of it, as we all know someone who inspires us to act in such a way.

St. Josemaria Escriva has a response to such behavior:

#174:  Don’t say, “That person bothers me.”  Think:  “That person sanctifies me.”  

The point?  Every person we encounter is an opportunity to serve the Lord.  There is no shortage of examples.  Perhaps the first great servant in the Bible is Moses.  He was called to be a servant to the Israelites, leading them out of Egypt and to the Promised Land.  He had all kinds of obstacles to deal with.  He first had to convince Pharaoh to let the Israelites go.  He then had to deal with the constant grumbling of the people. Later on, he has to deal with challenges to authority, and attempts to turn away from God.  We’re told that this wore on Moses.  In Exodus 18, his father in law, Jethro, comes to visit.  Jethro sees how Moses is occupied all day settling disputes amongst the people.  Moses is advised to appoint deputies, to help him with his administrative load.  Trying as the people may have been to Moses, it was what he was called by God to do.  As we find out, Moses never makes it into the Promised Land.  It seems a sad story, all Moses did and yet he never got to enjoy the reward.  But when you think about it, perhaps he did indeed have his award.  Moses was called to serves others.  He does not die until he sees all of the Promised Land.  He knows he served his people and they will now enjoy the fruits of his labor.  It’s not important that Moses doesn’t make into the Land.  It is the serving of others that sanctified him.

The Gospel gives us plenty of examples of service.  Take the entirety of Jesus’ entire ministry . Think about the miracles.  They’re all done for someone else.  The first miracle of the turning the water into wine?   It was to keep the good times flowing at a wedding feast.  Jesus fills the nets of Peter the fishermen, to the point that they were going to break.  Thousands of people came to see Jesus and listen to His teachings.  He responded by a miracle of feeding them.  All the miracles of healing, be it Jairus’ daughter, the Centurion’s servant, the bleeding woman, or most remarkable, Lazarus; all these were done to serve others.   At the Last Supper, Jesus washed the feet of the Disciples. Everything was made clear to them.  If the one they called Master and Teacher should not refrain from a position of service, then we definitely need to being serving each other.  And lastly, what about the Crucifixion itself?  A supreme act of service, obedient unto the Father, ready to serve all of humanity.  Unlike Moses, Jesus didn’t need to be sanctified.  But for both of them, an example that serving others gives a purpose to being.

Let’s go back to Escriva.  He’s writing approximately 70 years ago; so, in other words, in a world not too different than ours.  Definitely closer than Biblical times.   Escriva was a graduate student at the Complutense University of Madrid when he wrote much of The Way.  For those of you who have been in grad school, did you ever have a classmate (or two…or multiple) who you really didn’t care to be around?  It can be a competitive environment; a limited number of students are all vying for the professor’s favor .  You have a short window in which to leave a strong impression.  The academic demands can be challenging and there’s that awkwardness of trying to take on the trappings of a professor while still being a student.  You’re supposed to be so  more mature than the undergraduates but you’re definitely not on the professor’s level.  It’s where your ambitions are blunted by reality.  And all your peers are going through the same thing.  The whole situation breeds an air where its easy to hurt others, where only the toughest get ahead.

So, it is in this place in life that Escriva advises us not to dwell on how someone irritates us, but rather on how they can sanctify us.  Instead of being competitive, instead of putting someone down, we’re called to served and love them.  It’s truly a Christian approach.  We are to love our neighbors as ourselves and to turn the other cheek.  It’s not easy, but then again, leadership rarely is.  Let’s take another look at Moses.  It’s clear from Exodus that the demands of being a leader wore on him.  He pleads with God for relief.  Lest we forget, he never wanted to be a leader in the first place.  God had to convince Moses to become the leader of his people.  Now, chances are, none of us will ever be tasked with leading an entire population through the wilderness.  But there are times in our various lives/professions where we are called to be a leader.  And those people we are leading?   They may not always appreciate you.  But being liked all the time isn’t what leadership is about.

For me, leadership is about service.  In my job, I am called to serve others.  I serve my University, and I see serve my students.  I’d like to think those are one and the same.  Naturally, I want to be liked.  Let’s face it, life is more pleasant when you are greeted with a smile.  But at the end of the day, being liked isn’t always the most important thing.  What is important is providing for my students, doing my job, regardless of what people think.  Don’t get me wrong; I try to listen to students, and meet their needs.  But let’s also be honest; not everyone is going to like me.  That’s just the nature of the beast.  Even Franklin Delano Roosevelt, who was elected to a record four presidential terms, had fiercely vocal opponents.  And let’s not forget Jesus; called to serve others, and is crucified for it.  Like Jesus showed us, though; to be a servant you have to be above the frivolity of whether you like someone or not.  We are all brothers and sisters in Christ, and as such, we are called to serve.  Service doesn’t require being liked.  You hope you are , but it is the service that is more important.  As a Christian, where we are instructed to love our neighbors as ourselves and turn the other cheek, you must cheerfully serve the one who denigrates you just as you serve the one who sings your praises.

Escriva often talks about the sanctified life, of how you live in this world, and in doing so, you are called to direct your life to God.  Serving each other is a means of doing this.  And service knows no boundaries.  There’s no qualifiers to loving your neighbor. We are not told to love our neighbor who is good to us, who is always nice to us, who always encourages us.  That would be too easy, and as we are reminded, Christianity isn’t that.  The gate is narrow. The way to salvation is challenging, but through God, all things are possible.  Jesus tells us to love our neighbor.  Period.  There are no qualifiers.  That person?  Nah, he doesn’t bother us.  Rather, its just an opportunity to love and serve our fellow man.  Moses did it.  Jesus did it.  And we are called to do likewise.

The unexamined life: Day 27 of a Lenten “Way”

It is often said, “Ignorance is bliss.”  One of those great ethical questions you hear mentioned debates would you rather know of impending, unescapable calamity, or just live your life, business as usual?   It’s prime fodder for conspiracy theorists: “The government knows about [aliens, rogue asteroids, weather control, you name it] but is keeping us in the dark.”  The notion is, just live your life, everything is fine, mind your own business, just keep on keepin’ on.  What you don’t know won’t hurt you, just go on with the status quo. The ending of the musical Cabaret does such a nice job of illustrating this.  In the Bob Fosse film version, a disenchanted Michael York leaves Berlin, as the presence of the Nazis and their accompanying violence increases.  Meanwhile, Liza Minelli’s character, Sally Bowles, gives the performance of the show, in the black one-piece outfit, a bowler on her head, and a chair on the stage.  “What good is sitting alone in your room?” she asks us.  “Come hear the music play!  Life is a cabaret, old chum; come to the cabaret.”  The show ends like it began, Joel Grey’s unforgettable emcee takes the again, with his cheery Wilkommen number.  His shtick is the same, it’s identical to two hours earlier.  The only difference is the reflection of the audience.  Whereas, in an earlier scene, a Nazi brownshirt was ejected, they now comprise the majority of the audience.  Despite this menace, the song and dance goes on as before.  It’s quite the juxtaposition.  The decadence of the Kit-Kat Club, with a blind eye to the politics of the present.  The merriment continues, because of a choice to ignore what’s really going on.

In today’s tract from The Way, St. Josemaria Escriva addresses the idea of how a carefree, unexamined life is really a cowardly one.

#18:  You go on being worldly, frivolous, and giddy because you are a coward.  What is it, if not cowardice, to refuse to face yourself?

I’ve talked before of how Escriva has an authoritarian streak to him, and that comes through in the strong-worded, accusatory tone he uses here.  I’m not sure I would call anyone a coward because…well, I don’t really feel it’s my need to judge someone.  I am always skeptical of anyone who claims to occupy the seat of moral superiority.  Not that there aren’t immoralities that are screaming to be addressed.  Racism, sexism, harassment, financial improprieties are all wrongs that need to be taken on.  But in terms of judging another person, calling them a coward….well, I’m always reminded of Matthew 7, when Jesus says, “Or how can you say to your brother ‘Let me take that speck out of your eye’ and behold, the log is in your own eye.  You hypocrite, first take the log out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to take the speck out of your brother’s eye.”  Jesus isn’t saying there was never a speck in the one person’s eye, but that the other was just as sinful. So, when Escriva berates one for cowardice, it does arch an eyebrow.  Remember, he did flee Madrid when the clergy were under persecution, and only returned when the pro-Catholic Franco regime took control.  I’m not faulting him, I probably would have done the same.  But it does seem a bit peculiar that he now can call someone else a coward.  Perhaps a case of “Do as I say, not as I do.”

Escriva is correct, however, in that we are called to examine ourselves.  I’ve before mined the quote from my teacher, David Waybright, “True growth is often painful.”  Ignorant bliss is not, but in doing so, you’re maintaining the status quo.  If you want to grow, to be better/more than you are at present, it does not come easy.  Each semester, every class I teach engages in course evaluations.  This is where the students get to provide feedback on how I did.  It’s a vital part of the educational process; the students (who are paying tuition) absolutely should have their voices heard.  Reading their comments can be sobering; their perception may differ from what mine is.  But if I want to be a better teacher, I need to read them and take them seriously.  It may not always be pleasant, but do I want to keep doing the same thing?  If I want to make the next step as a teacher, Iu need to read those comments and give them serious thought.  The same thing comes when I record my ensembles.  Wow…that doesn’t sound like I thought it did in rehearsal.  Are we really sounding like that?  And the concert is when?!  It can be a painful crash back down to reality, but it’s a bruise we must bear if we’re going to make that “true growth.”

Let us not forget that Jesus calls us to examine ourselves.  John 4 is the story of Jesus at the well in Samaria.  In His encounter with the woman, He makes her aware of the choices she made, of how she had five husbands and the man she is now with, she is not married to.  This woman comes to believe in Jesus, and leads others in the village to do so as well.  We are not told if she makes a lifestyle choice, but I tend to think she did.  Let us not forget that, a few chapters later, we have Jesus’ encounter with the woman caught in adultery, who the mob wanted to stone.  After He dismisses the crowd with the famous instruction of “Let he who is without sin cast the first stone,” He tells the woman He does not condemn her.  But He also instructs her to sin no more.  There is an instruction to avoid sin, to make a change in your life.  I tend to think the same occurs with the Samaritan woman, that after the encounter, her life changes.

What is important is that by Jesus revealing the woman’s history to her, she recognizes Him as a prophet.  From that begins a dialogue in which the woman begins to think that He might be the long-awaited Messiah.  She spreads the news of how Jesus knew her history, and this led to many in her village coming to believe.  Though the examination of the woman’s life, she and many of her neighbors found salvation.  Ignorance may have been bliss; she could have continued in her ways.  But Jesus made her examine the life she led.  And through that examination, she and her neighbors gained salvation.  To put in Escriva’s terms, the woman was “worldly.”  By facing herself, she became something more.

There are more examples of the intervention of Jesus causing a change in someone’s life.  In Luke 19, Zacchaeus (of the “wee little man” fame), the chief tax collector of Jericho, gives half of his possession to the poor and volunteers to pay back four fold anyone he cheated.  We don’t read of what Jesus said to Zacchaeus while He stays at his house, but we know the effect it had.  Zacchaeus examined himself, and made a change.  Later on in Luke, we learn of the two others being crucified alongside Jesus.  While one reviles Him, another defends Jesus; “And we indeed are suffering justly, for we are receiving what we deserve for our deeds, but this man has done nothing wrong.”  The speaker examined himself, was admitting of his crime, and accepting of his punishment.  It was obviously too late for him to change his life, a la Zacchaeus, but in this acceptance, Jesus informs him that he will be in paradise.  Self-examination leading to salvation.  Now granted, it’s not like that man was in bliss; he was being crucified, for crying out loud!  But he didn’t have to accept his fate.  His comrade is defiant to the end.  But not this one.  We have no record of any other conversation between him and Jesus.  We don’t know if he was aware of Jesus’ teachings.  We only know that he believed Jesus was innocent, while he himself was not.  And while that didn’t get him a reprieve from his cross, it brought him a much greater reward.  Through self-examination and acknowledgment of sin, he found a way to salvation.

Ignorance can be bliss.  Jesus, in His teachings about the End Times, warns that there will be celebrating at that late hour.  It’s definitely the easier path.  Think about that woman at the well.  We aren’t given her emotional response, just that she realizes that Jesus must be a prophet.  But we have every reason to think she feels remorse or shame.  But that’s not where the story ends.  The moral is not for the woman to be ashamed.  The end result is her accepting Jesus, and then helping spread the news, so that others joined in.  Don’t you think Zacchaeus felt shame?  There’s so much we don’t know in that story, but I have to think, at some point, he looked at his past actions and felt regret.  And then what happened?  Zacchaeus’ self-examination led to the financial benefit of the poor and anyone he had wronged.  He is now using his wealth for the betterment of others.  The one who is crucified with Jesus, he acknowledges his guilt and we know he is saved.  Zacchaeus and the Samaritan woman could have continued their lives as they had been doing.  The former would have had great wealth (and probably added to it) and the woman would have continued a life of what we assume is promiscuity.  It would have been a worldly, pleasurable existence.  But that’s not where the story ends.  They lost their ignorant bliss, but gained so much more in return.

So, in closing, I guess I disagree with St, Josemaria Escriva.  I wouldn’t call the unexamined life cowardly.  Rather, I would call it “opportunity.”  The opportunity to find how you can better live the life Jesus call us to.  The examined one can be painful, but that pain  is temporary.  The reward for the examined life, however, now that’s something that won’t pass away.

The format of prayer: Day 26 of a Lenten “Way”

We all know prayer is something important to a spiritual life, or as St. Josemaria Escriva refers to it, the “interior life.”  From the beginning days of Sunday School, we’re taught to pray.  The Mass is filled with prayers, from the Kyrie to the Our Father.  Prayer is a commonality essential to seemingly all the world’s religions.  Yet, the form prayer takes can be somewhat nebulous.  Most notable for Christians is the prayer Jesus taught us; the Our Father or Lord’s Prayer.  From there, we have the prayers our Church has created over the centuries to describe our faith.  I’m talking about the creeds: Nicene, Apostles, and the lesser read, Athanasian.  We’ve got the prayers that are part of the liturgy, not the least of which are the Responsorials.   The entire book of Psalms is a collection of prayers.  Many of the saints have contributed their own prayers that have now become familiar.  Many of us know the Prayer of St. Francis.  There are the prayers to the Holy Mother and to the Saints, for their intercessions, an area where Catholics and Protestants have just a wee bit of disagreement.  I remember as a kid, not really understanding how that whole sainthood thing worked.  If you can pray to St. Anthony, why can’t you pray to some other person from the past?  Most appropriately, my childhood petition to the Red Baron never really caught on.  I don’t know what Manfred von Richthofen’s religion was, but I’m pretty sure World War I flying ace isn’t necessarily a precursor to canonization.  But I digress.

As it turns out, there is a prayer for the intercession of St. Josemaria Escriva.  I can’t say I’ve ever recited it.  Not surprisingly, though, Escriva did opine about prayer.  As is the case with him, it’s not just that prayer is important; he also has suggestions/guidelines about the proper method of prayer.  36 tracts in The Way are dedicated to the topic, and it is from those that today’s blog is dedicated.

#86:  Your prayer ought to be liturgical.  Would that you were given to reciting the psalms and prayers of the missal instead of private or special prayers!

We all are familiar with the private/special prayer.  Those are those informal petitions of God.  They may have begun with the childhood acts of kneeling before bed.  From then on, we get the “there are no atheists in the foxholes” type of prayer; “Lord, please help me to pass this test,” “Lord, please heal my Grandmother,” “Lord, please let me get the job.”  By no means am I saying those are inappropriate.  I actually don’t know if I agree with Escriva in today’s citation.  I do believe we are called to address the Lord.  I think it is perfectly fine to bring our problems, our fears, our anxieties, our worries, our petitions to Him.  However, I would agree that those are “private prayers” because they reflect something personal to us, not so much the Universal Church.

Another kind of private/special prayer is the one that I tend to employ on my morning walk to campus.  It’s the one where I make my petitions of the Lord, ask for forgiveness for sins, ask for blessings in my day, and try to remember to give thanks for the blessing I have received.  It’s a bit of a scatter-shot approach, which is where I think Escriva has a point.  Again, there’s nothing wrong with asking God for help, but is the only time you talk to Him when you need something?  In my morning walk, sometimes I have a lot to say; other times, very little.  And as anyone who knows me can attest, attention/focus is not a strong point of mine.  It’s tough for me to stay on task, and other thoughts just seem to find a way into my mind.  It can be what’s coming up in the day, or a dream of what could happen years down the road .  I’d like to think I’m an imaginative guy.  That’s not necessarily a bad thing, but when you are trying to converse with the Lord, visions of future professional glory take you away from something far more important.

And I think that’s where Escriva has a point.  When we pray on our own, we may not be covering the bases.  We’re asking for something specific, a petition to address an immediate need.  Maybe we are asking for forgiveness.  But are we giving thanks?  Are we praying for others, or is it just about us?  Or maybe, we’re just having a day where we don’t know what to say.  We know we should be praying, but the words just aren’t coming.  I think that’s what Escriva is getting at; you have a wealth of prayers to draw from.  There’s very little new under the sun.  Yes, our world is different than that of, say, St. Francis of Assisi.  But our God is unchanging.  Are the prayers he (St. Francis) offered not still valid today?

We may struggle with how to approach the Divine, but thankfully, we are not lacking for examples.  And lest we forget, Jesus Himself taught us how to pray.  It’s why the Our Father has such an exalted place in the liturgy; it’s the prayer He gave us.  Let’s take a look at it for a moment, as it appears in Matthew 6:

Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name, your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as in heaven.  Give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors; and do not subject us to the final test, but deliver us from the evil one.

When you think about it, that really sums up everything we might ever need to beseech of God.  We honor Him.  In “daily bread”, we are asking Him for what we truly need.  We all know what we want, but only God knows what we need.  We are sinful people, so it is vital that we beseech forgiveness.  More than that, though, we are called to forgive others.  That’s right at the core of Christianity: love your neighbor as yourself.  Its not all about you (and I include me in that).  Sure, you’ve asked for God’s blessing, you’ve asked forgiveness.  Now go do something about it!  In the exact same phrase where Jesus teaches us to ask for forgiveness, He tells us to forgive others.  Christianity can’t just be an individualistic faith; from the words Jesus taught us to recite, our actions are called into question.  And lastly, “do not subject us to the final test.”  There’s your “no atheist in the foxhole” right there.  You have something that’s bothering you in life, something that’s causing you anxiety and you’re asking for relief.  You just asked for it when you recite the Our Father.  Don’t you think God knows what’s going on in your life?  And if things don’t turn out the way you were hoping, the answer is in the first sentence.  “Your will be done.”    Anything we could ever need to ask of God, it’s all contained in this prayer Jesus taught us.

And that, I think, is what Escriva is saying.  There’s a reason we have certain prayers in the Church.  They’re recognized as having significance; from a Creed that testifies to what we believe, to the prayer Jesus gave us, which sums up perfectly all you ever need to ask.  Add to these prayers from the Psalms or the examples of our saints, and you never have a lack of material.  Going back to the Our Father, you can still have your own petitions.  I can’t imagine God minds hearing from us.  But we should know that He’s already given us the words that can sum up anything we would have ever thought of on our own.  And that goes for anyone in the Church’s history.  For all the wonderful prayers the Saints have devised over the centuries, has any ever been as all-encompassing of our needs as the Our Father?  God knows what we need, and He’s given us a perfect format for asking for it.  I ask you, can there be a more beautiful gift?

The gift of words with which to approach the Divine.  What more can we ask than that?

Strength on loan from God: Day 25 of a Lenten “Way”

Yes, I know, I know; I’ve long said I was going to keep this blog a “politics free” zone, and there it is; the title of today’s issue is a phrase quite similar to that of the Grand Poobah of conservative talk, El Rushbo himself.  But before you get out the pitchforks, please allow me to assure you: today’s blog is going to have nothing to do with the golden microphone, the EIB network, or a Shanklin parody.  Not that I have any familiarity with such a program.  But if I did, I might find that phrase, “talent on loan from God”, apropos to today’s citation from The Way.  So, before I step into it any further, why not step back from the parapet of political quagmire, and jump right into the writings of St. Josemaria Escriva.  And if some of you are snickering, from right wing talk to right wing Catholic authority figure….well, the connection is purely coincidental.  Or is it?  Anyway…here’s Escriva:

#728:  All our fortitude is on loan.

So you now see why I borrowed a phrase from Rush?  But whereas that icon of conservative radio uses the phrase as a boast, Escriva is going the opposite way.  It is an admission of human frailty, our complete helplessness in a world drowning in sin.  It goes back to what I’ve talked about recently, the concept of original sin and how there’s no way we can avoid it.  It’s interesting how things line up.  At the beginning of this year, I made a resolution that this was going to be my year of living a more Catholic life.  As part of doing so, I increased my morning readings from just the Bible, to also include a section of the Catechism (always good to know what you profess); the Lives of the Saints (interesting, to say the least.  Sometimes pushing a bit of incredulity when dealing with the very old saints, but that’s for another day) and the Confessions of St. Augustine (tough; very, very tough.  I’ll leave it at that.  No I won’t.  I’ll just say, there are many mornings where I’m not sure what I just read.  Anyone else feel that way?).  But the reason I bring this up, by pure coincidence, my recent blogging on original sin has happened at the same time that I’ve been reading the Catechism’s teaching about the subject.  It explains why infant baptism is so important in the Church; in a world where sin runs rampant, the idea is to dedicate the child to Christ, before they commit their own, knowing sin.  Now, I realize infant baptism is something many of our Protestant brothers/sisters disagree with.  I understand their reasoning, that you need to be mature enough to make a conscious decision to dedicate your life to Christ.  But as I’ve mentioned on here before, with Catholicism, it’s an “all in” proposition.  The Church holds to infant baptism as being essential.  So, if I’m going to call myself Catholic, it’s what I need to get behind.  But this is digressing from the main point, which is, I’ve been doing a lot of thought about original sin lately.

I’ve written about Jesus speaking of how difficult the path to Salvation is, and that its impossible for man, but through God, all things are possible.  It would seem Escriva’s thoughts on fortitude are in line with St. Paul’s.  One of the latter’s most famous images is that of the “armor of God.”  This is found in Ephesians 6.  Echoing what Jesus said, St. Paul reminds us that we can’t face Satan alone.  I should explain.  Paul is not talking about a Milton-esque confrontation with the great romantic anti-villain of Satan.  It makes Paradise Lost gripping reading, but that’s not the Satan we meet.  Our Satan is the same that Jesus encountered in the desert, it’s the one of temptations.  No, we’re not going to be guided to the parapet of the Temple.  But it’s the everyday things of life.  Talking bad about someone; finding a way to cheat on an assignment/exam; using inappropriate language; dealing dishonestly with someone; not fulfilling our obligations.  The Satan we are battling with is the one who cuts us off while driving, prompting us to raise our voice, extend a middle finger, and use bad language.  Our Satan calls us to focus more on work and the bottom line, in promise of a better financial future, than spend time with loved ones.  Our Satan makes us avoid certain people, because we don’t want to ride in the same car as someone we just don’t like.  No, it’s not as romantic as Milton….but we don’t live in his literary world.  The decision to try and avoid someone for any myriad of reasons: personal hygiene, uninteresting conversation, perception of others….that’s not going to make the pages of Paradise Lost, but it goes against what Jesus told us in Matthew 25, about what we did unto others, we did to Him.  That’s the Satan we deal with. Hopefully you can see just how easy it is to sin in our everyday lives.  Chances are, there’s no dramatic, course of humanity changing choice we have to face like Adam and Eve did.  Rather, the opportunity to sin is so prevalent in our lives, we may sin and not even realize we did it.  I know I’m absolutely guilty of it.  It’s part of living in a world where original sin exists.

It’s why Jesus came.  His gift of unquestioning love for us, realized upon the Cross, is how we can survive in a sinful world.  But just accepting Jesus is not enough.  As I’ve mentioned before, He didn’t condemn the woman who was to be stoned.  He also told her to sin no more.  In a sinful world, that’s impossible.  But we can improve our chances by relying upon God.  Back to Ephesians, which, yes, I never really got to in the previous paragraph.  St. Paul, in verse 10, calls us to “be strong in the Lord and in his mighty power.”  It’s an acknowledgment, just like Escriva, that Satan is too much for us by ourselves.  We can only do this with God.  “Put on the full armor of God, so that you can take your stand against the Devil’s schemes.”  It’s what you spend your money on, the words you speak, the thoughts you think, the way you carry yourself.  With the armor of God, you can make a choice that will reflect the life Jesus has called you to.  We can’t do it alone.  It’s strength on loan from God.

And since it’s a loan, what is the interest we are to pay?  Why, it’s nothing less than our devotion to Jesus, and living our life as He called us to do.  It’s being part of a community of faith (going to Church), it’s giving of ourselves (our time and talents….aka, tithe to the Church and to others), and it’s loving our neighbors as ourselves.  It’s turning the other cheek.  It’s helping others.  As Escriva calls for, it’s living your life dedicated to a higher purpose.  The way you carry yourself, that’s your missionary work.  Living the Christian life, and it may be an example for others.  That’s the interest we pay, for strength on loan from God.  It’s not easy, but its impossible to do so alone.

All our fortitude is a loan from God.  May we don that armor and enter into the fray.

 

Hold your tongue! Day 24 of a Lenten “Way”

I’ve written on here before how one of my biggest weaknesses is a tendency to talk without thinking.  I remember, 20 years ago, when I was student teaching, my University supervisor warning me that someday my tongue was going to get me in trouble.  That’s always stuck in the back of my head, and on more than one occasion, I’ve felt that statement was coming true.  I won’t go into the details, but the number of times I’ve feared a word too far has been uttered is more than can be counted on two hands.  From hurtful words to friends and family; to brusque statements to colleagues, students and strangers; and don’t even get me started on the knee-jerk reactions that message boards and social media inspire!   One of my flaws is feeling a need to answer immediately.  I may be in complete agreement with what someone is saying, and as such, I can’t wait any longer.  I’m always feeling a need to comment.  It’s gotten to the point where I now will bite on my lower lip while the speaker is going, to physically prevent me from interrupting.  When I’m on the other end, such as facing a criticism or a disagreement, it’s the exact opposite.  There, I wait till the speaker is done before crafting a response.  In my younger days, I wouldn’t even let the speaker finish a sentence, I was in such a hurry to defend myself.  Still, the point stands; when it comes to firing off a verbal round, I am always in fear of writing a check I can’t cash.  Which makes me wonder, in our world of electronic financial transactions, is that an analogy that longer carries cache?  But I digress.

St. Josemaria Escriva recognized the danger in a sharp-edged tongue.  For him, it could prove an undoing of one’s own spiritual life.  Here’s what he said in The Way about such conduct:

#453:  Back-biting?  Then you are losing the right spirit, and if you don’t learn to check your tongue, each word will be one more step toward the exit from that apostolic undertaking in which you work.

Escriva doesn’t get into detail regarding the kind of comments that could be your undoing; he makes the umbrella wide, since there’s really no shortage of potential verbal pitfalls.  It could be gossiping.  It could be sharing information that shouldn’t be spread.  It could be publicly looking for faults in another person.  It could be just using inappropriate language.  Frankly, there’s no shortage of examples, and I’ve been guilty of most of them. Such behavior is bad for multiple reasons.  On the most basic level, it’s just bad form, and can cause you professional and personal problems.  I remember a while back, at a previous institution, our football team dropped a very discouraging game.  Members of the band staff, of which I was the head, were all in a foul mood, and tempers were needlessly raised.  Looking back on it now, it was completely ridiculous.  We were talking college football.  There’s no need to let it get to us personally.  Yet, in my bad temper, I snapped at a good person, a valued member of the staff.  It didn’t take too long for me to realize I was in the wrong.  I felt terrible afterward, and spent much of the evening, trying to apologize to the wronged party.  Since then, thanks to the kind guidance of my wonderful wife, I’ve gotten better about putting sports into perspective.  Florida choking away a lead in the 2012 Elite 8 only left me in a foul mood for about 20 minutes.  These days, I tend to get disappointed, but not too depressed, and hopefully no longer angry.  But still, the potential for damage done by the unguarded tongue is always there.

For Escriva, the risk of the unchecked tongue is not just the hot water the speaker may find themselves in.  The Escriva theology is all about how you live your life in this world, in the society you are in.  How can you, in your everyday life, aspire to holiness?  Escriva is not calling for you to leave your father Zebedee in the boat, while you give up on all earthly cares in pursuit of Jesus.  Rather, Escriva wants you to stay at your job, your place in society, but direct your aims higher.  And in doing so, that’s how you will be a missionary.  The way you live your life will attest to God.  Dedicate your life to Jesus, and the way you carry yourself in this world can attract others to Him.  With that being the case, the danger of the unchecked tongue is clear.  Not only are you committing a sin, you are also ruining your chance to set an example of a life in Christ.  St. Paul writes of the fruits of the Spirit in Galatians 5.  Amongst the fruits described is self-control.  The speaker who shows no restraint in what comes out of their mouth would seem to be lacking in that fruit.  And let us not forget Matthew 7, Jesus warns against false prophets by saying that “You will know them by their fruit.”  Clearly, a tongue without discretion is fruit that we can do without.

When you accept Christ, you are agreeing to a higher standard.  In many ways, you are agreeing to not be part of society.  I don’t mean to say you drop out.  Escriva himself would say that’s a bad course of action.  But what he would most likely say is that you are setting your sights on things not of society.  What the world values is not necessarily what you value.  To love and serve the Lord, to love your neighbor as yourself, those may not be values shared by the society in which you live.   Live in that society, but do not necessarily put your heart on what it holds dear.  The language used by your friends, neighbors, acquaintances and more may be fine for them, but not for you.  You accepted Jesus, you need to hold yourself to something higher.  Should a Christian be gossiping?  Should a Christian be critical of another?  Should a Christian use questionable language?  It may be convenient to speak behind someone’s back, but as we’re told, the gate is narrow.  The path of salvation isn’t supposed to be easy.  And if we are hoping to find others to join us, then we need to make sure the way we carry ourselves is one that truly reflects the faith we profess.

In my teaching, I caution my students of how they are perceived.  In a group activity such as band, there are no individuals.  One person makes a poor decision, everyone is held accountable.  We all can be guilty by association.  So it goes with our faith.  People can judge Christianity not by the Words in the Bible but by the actions and words of those who claim to follow Jesus.  We are all probably familiar with Gandhi’s famous quote, “I like your Christ.  I do not like your Christians.”  Throughout history, we’ve probably been our own worst enemy.  From the Crusades to disgraced televangelists to sex scandals, you will find no shortage of misdeeds/evil committed by those who claim to follow Christ.  It’s easy to see why someone would reject Christ, based on such actions.  It’s why we have to hold ourselves to a higher standard.  Escriva knew this; it’s why he cautions us to be mindful of the words we use.

There’s that old adage, “The pen is mightier than the sword.”  Instead of “pen,” you could say “Words are….”  They can build up and they can tear down.  And unfortunately, in our world, it is usually easier to say the things that harm than help.  After all, jealous/envy/anger make us want to tear others down.  And sometimes, we can find ourselves challenged to say something nice about someone.  We’ve been hurt; we’re upset; we just don’t want to like someone.  It’d be far easier to say what we are feeling.  But again, no one ever said this was going to be easy.  Take your time and watch your tongue.  Words are powerful; what you say reflects on how someone perceives the creed in which you believe.  Everyday interaction are opportunities for witness, whether we are discussing God or not.  And the words we use, they are the fruits by which our faith can be judged.  When you think of it that way, are there really any idle words?

Lord, please bless us with the discretion, that the words we choose reflect a faith in You, and a desire to live in the way You taught us.  May, by our conduct, others see the way to You, and that we may live to glorify You.  In Your Name we pray, Amen.

With the Grace of God: Day 23 of a Lenten “Way”

A fundamental belief of Christianity is “original sin.”  From the moment Adam and Eve took the fruit from the Tree of Life, sin has been part of humanity.  No one, save Christ and His Holy Mother, have been excluded.  The latter part of that statement is a belief unique to Catholicism, but as I’ve written on here before, if you’re going to be Catholic, it’s an “all-in” proposition.  The Church is very clear in its teaching on the Virgin Mary, and if you’re going to call yourself Catholic, it’s part of the deal.  But back on topic…from the moment we are born, we exist in sin.  It’s a sinful world we live in, filled with temptation and evil.  It’s one way we can explain why bad things happen.  In a world that is sinful, you can understand how easy it is for evil to occur.  It may not explain the randomness of life, such as a natural disaster.  But in terms of the evil doings of man, from financial impropriety to mass murder, in a world where sin is as a commonplace as air, it becomes understandable.  Not acceptable, but somewhat more comprehensible.

So, what can we do, if we are born into sin?  It does not seem a very promising life, knowing that sin is everywhere, and that from the moment we enter this world, we are part of it.  Today’s tract from St. Josemaria Escriva’s The Way addresses this conundrum, and how we can face it.

#386:  Don’t forget, my son, that for you there is but one evil on earth: sin.  You must fear it and avoid it with the grace of God.

Escriva boils down all evil to one source: original sin.  And there’s no way of avoiding it.  Think of how easy it is to sin.  I highly doubt anyone reading this is a murderer.  I could be wrong on that, but I’m going to go with that basic assumption.  Probably most of us on here have never committee a serious crime, one that would involve going to prison.  Chances are, we’re all normal citizens.  But following the laws of the land does not make us free of sin.  Lying under oath is a lie.  But the police aren’t coming after us for all the lies we tell in our daily lives.  We’ve all done that; perhaps we “fudge” the details of a story, increasing our importance, or putting someone else in a less than favorable light.  The goal is humor and it may work.  But its still a lie.  Its not a crime but it is a sin.  Slander can be a crime.  Again, I am guessing the majority of us will never see the inside of a courtroom, facing a defamation of character charge.  But how many of us have talked badly about a colleague/friend/even someone we didn’t know?  I know I am completely guilty of it.  Gossiping may not be a crime, but it’s a sin.  And it’s so easy to do.  Again, sin is as commonplace as the air we breathe.  In too many ways, it’s the easy choice to make.  Matthew 7:14 tells us how challenging the straight and narrow path is.  In a world of sin, how can we escape the plight into which we are all born?

The answer seems to be at the heart of Christianity.  I’ve previously talked about the rich young man in Matthew 19, who follows the commandments scrupulously.  He is saddened because Jesus tells him to sell all his possessions and give to the poor.  Jesus then cautions his disciples that “It is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to entire into Heaven.”  This is a powerful statement, and if Jesus left it there, it would be the strongest possible statement for completely rejecting this world.  What a challenge that is!  Sell everything and give to the poor?  How is one supposed to live?  Doesn’t the world need people to do their jobs in order for society to function?  Is Jesus calling for a complete abandonment of all that?  It would appear the Disciples were as incredulous as I just was.  After all, we are told they were astonished and asked Jesus, “Who then can be saved?”  That’s when Jesus reminds us, “With people, this is impossible, but with God, all things are possible.” Jesus is subtly informing the Disciples of why He came.  It is for the redemption of all.  How many times in His ministry do we see Jesus with the sinful?  He eats dinners with the tax collectors.  He does not condemn the woman at the well.  At the time of his gruesome execution, He calls for the Father to forgive all who brought about this grisly end.  We assume that can include the Pharisees, the High Priest, Herod, Pontius Pilate, the soldier, and the mob.  Think about that one for a moment; those responsible for the death of the Son of God….forgiven?  Its something most (if not all) of us cannot comprehend, yet alone do.  But as Jesus reminded us, much of this is impossible, but with God, all things are possible. It’s that Divine Grace that allows us born into a world of complete sin, already sinful before our first cry, that gives us hope.

Escriva calls for us to avoid sin.  It’s impossible to completely avoid, but we stand a better chance when we accept Christ.  It is important to note, though, that forgiveness of sins is not a carte blanche for “business as usual.”  John 8 tells the story of the woman who was to be stoned for adultery, and how Jesus tells the crowd, “He who is without out sin, let him throw the first stone.”  When the crowd leaves, Jesus tells the woman He does not condemn her, but He also instructs her “Sin no more.”  This is an area where our behavior as Christians leaves us plenty open for criticism.  When you claim to be a Christian, there is a change of lifestyle.  You are accepting to be held to a higher standard.  The Bible has plenty to say on how to live our lives.  Escriva asks that we fear and avoid sin.  First off, let me be clear: while Josemaria Escriva may be  saint, his word is NOT holy.  I believe there is merit to it, but it is not infallible.  I’ve already discussed how I disagree with his tendency to authoritarianism.  And what Escriva is saying is nothing new and really, not un-Biblical.  One needs only to go James 2 and learn of what little value faith is that does not have works.  One cannot accept Jesus and not have a different life.  Sinning gleefully and following Jesus are not compatible.

But, as we all know, it is not possible to live a life free from sin.  It is through the Grace of God, and the supreme loving sacrifice of His Son, Jesus Christ, that we can be forgiven.  But we must accept that Grace by a changed life.  No, we’ll never be without sin, but we are called to do our best to avoid it.  For me, I struggle with speaking too quickly.   Far too often, I rush to say something that may seem appropriate at the time, but it’s something I end up almost immediately regretting.  I have to work on waiting, not always needing to comment.  Not every emotion/thought needs to be expressed.  A popular term these days is “No Filter.”  It seems to be a way of excusing that what I say is genuine, it’s my real emotion, nothing holding back.  For me, a “no filter” is an invitation to sin.  It’s allowing me to say what I probably shouldn’t.  Patience just isn’t one of my strong points.  My spectacular personal trainer at the gym frequently gets on my case because I tend to rush through my work-outs.  The real strength is built by controlled motion.  It’s the same with my speech.  Be patient, take your time; not everything needs an immediate comment.  The rush to respond/comment is an opportunity to sin, which is needed to be avoided.

And if to show how this all comes full circle, one thing that has helped me slow my pace at the gym is prayer.  A recitation of the Our Father and a Hail Mary is enough time to hold a plank.  Likewise, an Our Father is usually enough rest time between sets.  Now, yes, I’m probably not getting a lot spiritually out of inserting a standard prayer for timing’s sake during exercise.  And yes, it’s use is for time-keeping.  But I think this shows something bigger.  I call upon God to help slow down in the gym.  Just as I need God to help slow my rush to respond, which is where sin typically has a point of entry.  It’s a sinful world.  To avoid it, we need the Grace of God.