Come, O Harmonious One!

Pope Francis, Taken from wdtprs.com

The Spirit raises our hearts to heaven, guides the steps of the weak, and brings to perfection those who are making progress. He enlightens those who have been cleansed from every stain of sin and makes them spiritual by communion with himself. As clear, transparent substances become very bright when sunlight falls on them and shine with a new radiance, so also souls in whom the Spirit shines become spiritual themselves and a source of grace for others. From the Spirit comes foreknowledge of the future, understanding of the mysteries of faith, insight into the hidden meaning of Scripture, and other special gifts. Through the Spirit we become citizens of heaven, we enter into eternal happiness, and abide in God. Through the Spirit we acquire a likeness to God; indeed, we attain what is beyond our most sublime aspirations. – St. Basil the Great

Getting Spirit-reliant

When I was on my 8-day Ignatian retreat two years ago, my retreat spiritual director — who was in his 80’s, very experienced as a director and brutally insightful — was confronting me on my fear of new situations that challenged me to step outside of my comfort zone. As I presented to him my standard approach to such challenges, he said,

You see, that’s your problem. You try to white-knuckle everything, a typical American middle-aged white male who thinks sheer will-power, stoic indifference and an ethic of self-reliance will get him through everything. But you see, that’s got nothing to do with holiness if God is not invited into your fears and weaknesses, if God is not sought before every decision but only asked to bless you after you’ve made your decision or only after you’ve gotten through the pain. A God who is only asked to bless what your self-reliant self decides to do is not the God of the Cross, but the god of your ego. Next time you walk into a new situation, a new place, a new office space, a new home, I want you to stop and remember that the Holy Spirit is already there; that He already has a plan for you to navigate the fears, the unknown, the chaos; and He’s overloaded with graces to dispense if you ask Him for them at the beginning, middle and end.  Every morning when you wake up I want you to say, right away, “Holy Spirit, before I begin my day I want to ask what you want from me.” Just sit and listen long enough to receive His grace. He’s in no rush, and when we show Him we aren’t in a rush to receive from Him, He’s generous. If He sees we are impatient and restless, ready to move on to other things and we quit after a few moments, He will withhold His richer graces and wait. Wait until the pain and exhaustion pulls you to your knees, and then you are ready to wait and receive because you know you have nothing. But really, you always have nothing, always depend on Him for everything. Wait every morning in silence to receive from Him, to hear; maybe for 15 minutes. You won’t hear a voice — usually — but He always and infallibly communicates to every trusting, waiting soul. When you stop and listen to Him, dispose yourself to His action by sitting in a silent fiat, a “let it be,” and He will secretly communicate to your soul all that He wishes. Its effects will spill out during the day even when, and especially when, you’re not aware.

St. Paul says the Holy Spirit is the Spirit of harmony, of peace, of order, so when your life feels out of those things He awaits your aching cry to Him: Come! In fact, let me encourage you to pray Cardinal Mercier’s prayer every morning to help you open yourself and, at least when you are in God’s presence, forget your white-knuckled machismo: “O Holy Spirit, beloved of my soul, I adore You. Enlighten me, guide me, strengthen me, console me. Tell me what I should do; give me your orders. I promise to submit myself to all that you desire of me and to accept all that you permit to happen to me. Let me only know your will.” Do this faithfully every day, and tell me in three months about the changes you’ll see. Remember, the Evil One will do everything he can to distract you and discourage you and dissuade you from the practice, because he’s threatened by it. Terrified. But stand your ground and you will not be disappointed…

I can’t quote that Mercier prayer without offering you Colleen Nixon’s exquisitely beautiful musical rendition that makes you want to pray it 24/7:

Papa Franceso

Finally, let me share today a portion of the brilliant Pentecost homily of Pope Francis from 2013:

In the light of this passage from Acts, I would like to reflect on three words linked to the working of the Holy Spirit: newness, harmony and mission.

1. Newness always makes us a bit fearful, because we feel more secure if we have everything under control, if we are the ones who build, programme and plan our lives in accordance with our own ideas, our own comfort, our own preferences. This is also the case when it comes to God. Often we follow him, we accept him, but only up to a certain point. It is hard to abandon ourselves to him with complete trust, allowing the Holy Spirit to be the soul and guide of our lives in our every decision. We fear that God may force us to strike out on new paths and leave behind our all too narrow, closed and selfish horizons in order to become open to his own. Yet throughout the history of salvation, whenever God reveals himself, he brings newness and change, and demands our complete trust: Noah, mocked by all, builds an ark and is saved; Abram leaves his land with only a promise in hand; Moses stands up to the might of Pharaoh and leads his people to freedom; the apostles, huddled fearfully in the Upper Room, go forth with courage to proclaim the Gospel. This is not a question of novelty for novelty’s sake, the search for something new to relieve our boredom, as is so often the case in our own day. The newness which God brings into our life is something that actually brings fulfillment, that gives true joy, true serenity, because God loves us and desires only our good. Let us ask ourselves: Are we open to Gods surprises? Or are we closed and fearful before the newness of the Holy Spirit? Do we have the courage to strike out along the new paths which Gods newness sets before us, or do we resist, barricaded in transient structures which have lost their capacity for openness to what is new?

2. A second thought: the Holy Spirit would appear to create disorder in the Church, since he brings the diversity of charisms and gifts; yet all this, by his working, is a great source of wealth, for the Holy Spirit is the Spirit of unity, which does not mean uniformity, but which leads everything back to harmony. In the Church, it is the Holy Spirit who creates harmony. One of Fathers of the Church has an expression which I love: the Holy Spirit himself is harmony, “Ipse harmonia est.” Only the Spirit can awaken diversity, plurality and multiplicity, while at the same time building unity. Here too, when we are the ones who try to create diversity and close ourselves up in what makes us different and other, we bring division. When we are the ones who want to build unity in accordance with our human plans, we end up creating uniformity, standardization. But if instead we let ourselves be guided by the Spirit, richness, variety and diversity never become a source of conflict, because he impels us to experience variety within the communion of the Church. Journeying together in the Church, under the guidance of her pastors who possess a special charism and ministry, is a sign of the working of the Holy Spirit. Having a sense of the Church is something fundamental for every Christian, every community and every movement. It is the Church which brings Christ to me, and me to Christ; parallel journeys are dangerous! When we venture beyond (proagon) the Church’s teaching and community, and do not remain in them, we are not one with the God of Jesus Christ (cf. 2 Jn 9). So let us ask ourselves: Am I open to the harmony of the Holy Spirit, overcoming every form of exclusivity? Do I let myself be guided by him, living in the Church and with the Church?

3. A final point. The older theologians used to say that the soul is a kind of sailboat, the Holy Spirit is the wind which fills its sails and drives it forward, and the gusts of wind are the gifts of the Spirit. Lacking his impulse and his grace, we do not go forward. The Holy Spirit draws us into the mystery of the living God and saves us from the threat of a Church which is gnostic and self-referential, closed in on herself; he impels us to open the doors and go forth to proclaim and bear witness to the good news of the Gospel, to communicate the joy of faith, the encounter with Christ. The Holy Spirit is the soul of mission. The events that took place in Jerusalem almost two thousand years ago are not something far removed from us; they are events which affect us and become a lived experience in each of us. The Pentecost of the Upper Room in Jerusalem is the beginning, a beginning which endures. The Holy Spirit is the supreme gift of the risen Christ to his apostles, yet he wants that gift to reach everyone. As we heard in the Gospel, Jesus says: I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Advocate to remain with you forever (Jn 14:16). It is the Paraclete Spirit, the Comforter, who grants us the courage to take to the streets of the world, bringing the Gospel! The Holy Spirit makes us look to the horizon and drive us to the very outskirts of existence in order to proclaim life in Jesus Christ. Let us ask ourselves: do we tend to stay closed in on ourselves, on our group, or do we let the Holy Spirit open us to mission?

Today’s liturgy is a great prayer which the Church, in union with Jesus, raises up to the Father, asking him to renew the outpouring of the Holy Spirit. May each of us, and every group and movement, in the harmony of the Church, cry out to the Father and implore this gift. Today too, as at her origins, the Church, in union with Mary, cries out: Veni, Sancte Spiritus! Come Holy Spirit, fill the hearts of your faithful, and kindle in them the fire of your love! Amen.

Okay, I know this is a lot, but you have to listen to this magnificent Byzantine hymn to the Holy Spirit called, O Heavenly King:

Fire

“Pentecost,”by Jean II Restout, 1732. Taken from wikimedia.org

On the eve of Pentecost, I thought I would offer a simple hommage to a Sacrament I assume most of the readers of this Blog have received: Confirmation.  I will use the Catechism of the Catholic Church to reflect on some of its riches.

First, do you know when you were Confirmed? As with the dates of Baptism, Holy Orders and Marriage, it’s a salutary practice to annually honor the anniversary of this day of grace. You can find out from the parish in which you were Confirmed. That said, tomorrow’s Feast, in real sense, is the anniversary of your Confirmation, as the Catechism reminds us (#1302). Confirmation, the Catechism says, is the sacrament of Pentecost, i.e. the whole mystery that took place that morning in Jerusalem is planted in us spiritually, mystically, invisibly through the visible signs of the laying on of hands and Sacred Chrism. In other words, Confirmation is your personal Pentecost. I attended a Confirmation six or seven years ago, and the a Confirming Archbishop gave a really passionate homily to the teen confirmandi which I later jotted down from memory. Here’s a portion of it:

If God gave to your eyes right now the power to see the spiritual world, you would see this church enveloped in wind and flame. Why? Well, at this very moment the Holy Spirit is eagerly awaiting to ignite the kindling wood of your faith so He can set the world on fire! You all have faith, right? [he walked over to individuals and asked them with mic in hand, much to their chagrin!] If not, tell me now. This isn’t magic. Like all the Sacraments, this is a Sacrament of faith. Faith means you believe what God has revealed to his Catholic Church about who He is and who you are. And faith means we cling to the God we believe in, we trust him absolutely, in the best and the darkest of times. We have to have a fierce faith in this world of doubt! The cowardly disciples came out of that Upper Room after the Spirit came filled with trust, with a fearless joy and enthusiasm that drove them into the streets to greet — like madmen! — the very people who had, only weeks before, shouted to Pilate: Crucify him! Crucify him! Now they were going to tell those same people to their faces: this Jesus you crucified is now exalted as the Lord of all creation. Jesus puts his disciples in places of dissonance and rejection so they can bring the Spirit’s harmony in to replace that division and hate and every other sin. You’re going to get uncomfortable when your Confirmed. You’re squirming now, right?

But you’re not alone, you’re not orphans. Jesus is sending you now His Spirit to fire you up, to enlighten your mind and make you firm in your faith — Con-firm-ation, right? Be ready to break open those church doors when this Mass is over, get ready to rush out into the world to shout, by your words and actions, that one word of the Cross that silences the babel and tell everyone you meet: Christ is the meaning and measure of life! He’s the right Way! Crazy, right? Crazy chaste men and women who refuse to give in to a culture of self-indulgence and addiction to pleasure. Crazy honest men and women of integrity who refuse to succumb to a culture of lies and deception. Crazy sacrificial men and women who refuse to live their lives for themselves first, but who live for Gof and others even and especially when it hurts. We’re crazy people, folks, Jesus freaks. They may accuse you of being drunk, of having lost your mind, but you’ll know that you haven’t lost your mind. No! You’ve gained not a lost mind but a Pentecost mind, the mind of Jesus! He’s the only fully human human-being who ever lived. Vatican II says it like this: “Christ, the final Adam, by the revelation of the mystery of the Father and His love, fully reveals man to man himself and makes his supreme calling clear.” You want to know who you are? Look at Him! Jesus is our looking glass: He reflects back to us what we’re supposed to look like, who we’re supposed to be. And when we look like Him those whose mirrors and dark, distorted, shattered think we look crazy. But who’s really the crazy one?

Confirmation is conformation to the mind and heart of Jesus Christ, and it’s not just thinking like Jesus but it’s letting Jesus think his thoughts in you. You see, He’s alive! That’s what the Holy Spirit’s whole mission is: to open your mind to Jesus’ mind, to what’s on Jesus mind right now gets into my real life and fills it with real and lasting joy.

So, as Pope John Paul often said to us, do not be afraid to be different, to put out into the deep, to be counter-cultural, to surprise your peers and parents with a new way of thinking. It may cause a stir, an uproar, laughter and snickering; but that’s the stuff saints and martyrs are made of, the stuff your own patron saint was made of; stuff God wants you to be made of. Are you ready for the challenge? I can’t hear you!…

Unpacking the Catechism

The Catechism reminds us that Confirmation is really about diving deeper into the baptismal font, unlocking and searing into our souls more perfectly and permanently some of the most profound gifts that came to us in our Baptism. There are five effects in particular that are highlighted. I will list each in the Catechism’s own words and then offer a brief quote to further illumine it’s meaning.

1. Rooting us more deeply in the divine filiation which makes us cry, “Abba! Father!”

And since I in the beginning created man after my own image and likeness, and afterwards imprinted your image on my Son by assuming human nature, it is always my endeavor, in so far as you are fit for it, to intensify that likeness between me and you. — God the Father to St. Catherine of Siena

2. Uniting us more firmly to Christ

The laity derive the right and duty to the apostolate from their union with Christ the head; incorporated into Christ’s Mystical Body through Baptism and strengthened by the power of the Holy Spirit through Confirmation, they are assigned to the apostolate by the Lord Himself. They are consecrated for the royal priesthood and the holy people (cf. 1 Peter 2:4-10) not only that they may offer spiritual sacrifices in everything they do but also that they may witness to Christ throughout the world. The sacraments, however, especially the most holy Eucharist, communicate and nourish that charity which is the soul of the entire apostolate. — Vatican II’s Decree on the Apostolate of the Laity

3. Increasing the gifts of the Holy Spirit in us

We turn now to the Seven Gifts of the sanctifying category. They are: wisdom, understanding, knowledge, counsel, fortitude, piety and fear of the Lord. They each perfect certain basic virtues. Four of them perfect the intellectual virtues. Understanding gives an intuitive penetration into truth. Wisdom perfects charity, in order to judge divine things. Knowledge perfects the virtue of hope. The gift of counsel perfects prudence. The other three gifts perfect virtues of the will and appetites. The gift of piety perfects justice in giving to others that which is their due. This is especially true of giving God what is His due. Fortitude perfects the virtue of fortitude, in facing dangers. Fear of the Lord perfects temperance in controlling disordered appetites. — Fr. William Most

4. Rendering our bond with the Church more perfect

Why do I remain in the Church? Because she is the Church of the saints, both the hidden ones and those others who have been pushed into the limelight. It is they who refute the silly assertion that Christians are so engrossed in receiving their God that they can never forget themselves to engage in feats of courage and imagination.

And the saints are humble, that is to say, the mediocrity of the Church does not deter them from expressing once and for all their solidarity with her, knowing well that without her they could never find their way to God. To bypass Christ’s Church with the idea of making their way to God on their own initiative would never occur to them. They do battle with the mediocrity of Christ’s Church not by protesting but by enkindling and encouraging the better. The Church causes them pain, but they do not become embittered and stand aside to sulk. They form no dissident groups but cast their fire into the midst.

Your genuine saint never points to himself; he is no more than the reflection. It is the Master Flame that counts. This pointing away from self is an exact criterion. “He was not himself the light, but was to bear witness to the light” (Jn.1:7). But of the same saint it is written that he was “to shine on those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death” (Lk. 1:79). When you come to think of it, is not this pointing away from self perfectly and uniquely realized in the Church herself? She is more than community, more than “a sociological phenomenon,” she is “the handmaid of the Lord” (and that includes the humiliated holder of church authority) who points away from herself and is filled with all fullness, not of herself but with “the fullness of Him who is all in all” (Eph. 1:23). — Hans Urs von Balthasar

5. Giving us a special strength of the Holy Spirit to spread and defend the faith by word and action as true witnesses of Christ, to confess the name of Christ boldly, and never to be ashamed of the Cross

Lastly, we cannot forget that evangelization is first and foremost about preaching the Gospel to those who do not know Jesus Christ or who have always rejected him. Many of these are quietly seeking God, led by a yearning to see his face, even in countries of ancient Christian tradition. All of them have a right to receive the Gospel. Christians have the duty to proclaim the Gospel without excluding anyone. Instead of seeming to impose new obligations, they should appear as people who wish to share their joy, who point to a horizon of beauty and who invite others to a delicious banquet. It is not by proselytizing that the Church grows, but “by attraction”. John Paul II asked us to recognize that “there must be no lessening of the impetus to preach the Gospel” to those who are far from Christ, “because this is the first task of the Church”. Indeed, “today missionary activity still represents the greatest challenge for the Church” and “the missionary task must remain foremost”. What would happen if we were to take these words seriously? We would realize that missionary outreach is paradigmatic for all the Church’s activity. Along these lines the Latin American bishops stated that we “cannot passively and calmly wait in our church buildings”; we need to move “from a pastoral ministry of mere conservation to a decidedly missionary pastoral ministry”. This task continues to be a source of immense joy for the Church: “Just so, I tell you, there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than ninety-nine righteous persons who need no repentance” (Lk 15:7).

We do well to keep in mind the early Christians and our many brothers and sisters throughout history who were filled with joy, unflagging courage and zeal in proclaiming the Gospel. Some people nowadays console themselves by saying that things are not as easy as they used to be, yet we know that the Roman empire was not conducive to the Gospel message, the struggle for justice, or the defence of human dignity. Every period of history is marked by the presence of human weakness, self-absorption, complacency and selfishness, to say nothing of the concupiscence which preys upon us all. These things are ever present under one guise or another; they are due to our human limits rather than particular situations. Let us not say, then, that things are harder today; they are simply different. But let us learn also from the saints who have gone before us, who confronted the difficulties of their own day. So I propose that we pause to rediscover some of the reasons which can help us to imitate them today. — Evangelii Gaudium #263

Have a joyous day of preparation for the Feast of Fire!

Taken from msmc.la.edu

Texting your sins

Taken from bryanterrill.com

Recently my wife and I watched a documentary with our children on texting and driving, From One Second To The Next, that told the heart-wrenching stories of victims and victimizers whose lives were turned upside down by one person’s decision to text while driving. It withered any temptation I may have had in me.

It reminded me of a Sunday homily I heard several years ago by a priest who spoke of what he called “the sins I am surprised I never hear confessed.” It was a sobering homily.

First, he mentioned the need to consider more carefully “sins of omission,” meaning sins that emerge from “failing to do what we can or ought” when circumstances call for action. For example, he said, sometimes we are obliged to act or speak out against maligning gossip shared in our presence, but we fail to through cowardice, laziness, desire for others’ approval or some other self-interested rationale. In such circumstances, he argued, “it is Christ whom we deny or fail to shield, as He is present in every person unjustly accused or maligned; and He awaits members of His Body — us! — to come to His defense. He identifies Himself with these ‘least’ and takes very personally what is done, or not done, for those so wronged. That’s if we are to take really seriously the implications of Matthew 25. Those judged unto damnation are judged for sins of omission.”

Then the priest took a surprising direction in his homily, one I have heard preached neither before nor after that day. It stung me. He said,

But one of the most surprising omissions in Confession is the sin of breaking traffic laws, reckless driving. Did you know the Catechism of the Catholic Church says, ” Those incur grave guilt who, by drunkenness or a love of speed, endanger their own and others’ safety on the road, at sea, or in the air”? Grave guilt! Let me ask you — but don’t raise your hand! — how many of you have sped, had too much alcohol and gotten behind a wheel, texted while you were driving, blown through stop lights or done other irresponsible things while driving? This is, the Church tells us, a grave matter, “graviter” in Catechism’s Latin — which means it’s grave matter, the matter for mortal sin. And the Catechism takes it so seriously that it places this consideration under the 5th commandment, Thou shalt not kill. If Jesus says to grow angry with your brother in your heart is already murder, the Catechism adds that reckless driving, even if you don’t get caught, can be considered already murder.

I beg you as your father in Christ to respect life by driving safely, to be a witness to temperance and justice, and call others to be accountable and responsible. Maybe put a religious bumper sticker or “respect life” sticker on your car so that you make yourself more self-conscious of being a witness to others of the faith, of Christ, of being consistent in your reverence for life.

There’s a bumper sticker I’ve seen — “honk if you love Jesus, text if you want to meet him” [congregation laughter] — but I would add, on a much more serious note, that I personally would not want my last deed before entering the presence of Christ the Judge to be the violation of the 5th commandment.

Go to Confession if you haven’t and unburden your sins before our merciful Lord, the Lover of life…

I know I sure had to.

John 17: Written on Such Thin Paper

“Mystical Supper,” Coptic print, Taken from coptorthodox.ca

O Master, keep me constant and unshaken in the interior dwelling-place that you have made within me. Though dead, I live when I gaze upon you; possessing you, though poor, I am for ever rich, more wealthy than any ruler. Eating and drinking you, clothing myself in you from day to day, I shall be filled with blessings and delight beyond all telling. For you are every blessing and all splendor and joy, and to you is due glory, to the Holy, Consubstantial and Life-giving Trinity, worshiped and confessed by all the faithful and adored in Father, Son and Holy Spirit, now and ever and to the ages of ages. Amen. — St. Symeon the New Theologian

As we near Pentecost have you noticed that the Mass texts, likely abetted by our present risky novena to the sky-rending Spirit, seem to almost be threatening to transgress the already breached and weakened boundaries that still hold at bay the dawning New Creation? I mean, as the Christ of St. John’s Gospel speaks, or the the detonation of God at Pentecost (aka “the Church”) roars out to the ends of the earth in Acts of the Apostles, it seems like our world simply cannot much longer bear the strain of so much disruptive novelty.  The Kingdom has come, how long can the world remain unconquered? But I say, Maranatha! Thy Kingdom come, O Lord — in me, in us, here, now.

Yet even as I say that so glibly, I still wonder, Are you really sure you want Heaven’s untamable Fire to come and unravel all your ego-incurvature by His selfless free-fall on you? 

17

Tuesday-Today’s Gospel for Mass, taken from John 17, has been the Church’s hushed and awestruck eavesdropping on the colloquy that goes on, from before the world began, in the inner recesses of the ineffable Trinity. It’s almost embarrassing to read it, or hear it proclaimed, because of its unequaled character as a disclosed secret of divine intimacy. It is a text of such great profundity and grandeur that it seems to take on an almost sacramental quality, as if the human words of God it contains have nearly been transubstantiated beneath the force of what Meister Eckhart called the ebullitio, the boiling-over of the Living Water that gushes from the wellspring of God’s threefold inter-indwelling love. The Sacred Page that bears John 17 has been so thinned out by the Spirit-who-makes-all-things-new that it’s been worn almost into new-being (Rev. 21:4).

St. John of the Cross claimed it as his most cherished text, and the many testimonials collected after his death agreed that John would recite its Vulgate rendering in a whispered voice almost ceaselessly as he would travel on foot, carry out manual labor or sit in the night silence beneath the vast starry dome. And if you read his most personal and (I would say) mystical text, Living Flame, the fluid rhythms and otherworldly textures of John 17 permeate nearly every line. For John, the heights of union with God mean nothing if not the unspeakable capacity of the soul — after the long and painful journey through the purgative dark nights — to speak of John 17 not as an outsider-interlocutor, but from within.

What has always struck me most forcefully about John 17 — and as I write this I’d rather share it in an old church whose walls have been thickly coated by incense, whose floors have been worn thin by pilgrims’ feet and penitents’ knees, and whose stained glass windows refract the hidden colors buried in the sun’s light — is that, as a revelation of the eternal dialogue coursing about to and fro in God, it reveals something that one fears even to believe for a moment could be true: from all eternity God thinks of us. Prayer, in its highest height, is hearing and receiving and singing back this text in, with and to God. That’s what liturgy must become for each of us. This revealed truth is wonderfully, astoundingly, awfully confirmed in the Incarnation as God has forever and forever made being human constitutive of what-it-means-to-be-God. God’s eternal Word will always know and love His Father in and through a human mind and heart.

For us…

Why would God make Himself so? The Creed says it beautifully,

Qui propter nos homines et propter nostram salutem, “For us men and for our salvation…”

“For us.” That implies love, which is always about the other.

…in fide vivo Filii Dei qui dilexit me et tradidit se ipsum pro me, “I live by faith in the Son of God who has loved me and given himself up for me.” — Galatians 2:20

This truth I understand, I salute and bow before, but still long to internalize and ingest into my heart of hearts. When someone really gets this whole mystery, really believes it from the epicenter of the soul, what might that sound like? Stealing from a saint now seems appropriate.

[Prayed after receiving holy Communion] O eternal Trinity, You are a deep sea in which the more I seek the more I find, and the more I find, the more I seek to know You. You fill us insatiably, because the soul, before the abyss which You are, is always famished; and hungering for You, O eternal Trinity, it desires to behold truth in Your light. As the thirsty hart pants after the fount of living water, so does my soul long to leave this weighted body and see You as You are, in truth. — St. Catherine of Siena

This language, so lofty and passionate in its earnest yearning for the God revealed in Jesus Christ, reveals the secret to this woman’s superhuman capacity to love pauper and king, sinner and saint, pope and profligate: consumed with love, she knew she was loved by God, and so willingly submitted to His surgical grace. The coming of the Spirit is, in the end, not about speaking in heavenly tongues or doing miraculous deeds, but rather is about refashioning us in the image of the Crucified Christ. About allowing the God who has done all things “for us” to make us, in His image, into people who live life for others, i.e. those who can say of me, “He lived for us and for our salvation.”

A friend and fellow devotee of St. John of the Cross once said it well, “We want to luxuriate in the rhapsodic glory of St. John’s mystical poetry, we just don’t want to have to die to ourselves to get there.”

Written in blood

There was a man I knew years ago, who is now a priest, whose father heroically witnessed to the deep meaning of God’s wondrous love that holds us in mind. Here’s an excerpt from a 9.10.08 article about his dad in the Washington Post.

If you ever ran into Nokesville dad Thomas S. Vander Woude, chances are you would also see his son Joseph. Whether Vander Woude was volunteering at church, coaching basketball or working on his farm, Joseph was often right there with him, pitching in with a smile, friends and neighbors said yesterday.

When Joseph, 20, who has Down syndrome, fell into a septic tank Monday in his back yard, Vander Woude jumped in after him. He saved him. And he died where he spent so much time living: at his son’s side.

“That’s how he lived,” Vander Woude’s daughter-in-law and neighbor, Maryan Vander Woude, said yesterday. “He lived sacrificing his life, everything, for his family.”

Vander Woude, 66, had gone to Mass at Holy Trinity Catholic Church in Gainesville on Monday, just as he did every day, and then worked in the yard with Joseph, the youngest of his seven sons, affectionately known as Josie. Joseph apparently fell through a piece of metal that covered a 2-by-2-foot opening in the septic tank, according to Prince William County police and family members.

Vander Woude rushed to the tank; a workman at the house saw what was happening and told Vander Woude’s wife, Mary Ellen, police said. They called 911 about 12 p.m. and tried to help the father and son in the meantime.

At some point, Vander Woude jumped in the tank, submerging himself in sewage so he could push his son up from below and keep his head above the muck, while Joseph’s mom and the workman pulled from above.

When rescue workers arrived, they pulled the two out, police said. Vander Woude, who had been in the tank for 15 to 20 minutes, was unconscious. Efforts to revive him were unsuccessful, and he was taken to a hospital, where he was pronounced dead, police said.

Joseph remains in Prince William Hospital with double pneumonia, and doctors are monitoring him for infection, said Erin Vander Woude, Thomas Vander Woude’s daughter-in-law. Joseph is in critical condition and on a ventilator, she said.

“He doesn’t know that his dad died,” she said.

For those who knew him, Vander Woude’s sacrifice was in keeping with a lifetime of giving.

“He’s the kind of guy who would give you the shirt off his back,” said neighbor Lee DeBrish. “And if he didn’t have one, he’d buy one for you.”

…hoc est enim Corpus meum, quod pro vobis tradetur, “for this is my body which will be given up for you…”

Living Text

My wife and I chose John 17 as our Nuptial Mass Gospel, and as in persona Christi Fr. Tom Collins proclaimed it, Patti and I experienced, in a way that can’t really put into words, the voice of the living Christ speaking these words to God the Father about us. The homily, in fact, was all about that. “Thomas and Patricia,” the homilist said, “these words Jesus spoke to His Father in the Gospel just now were not words from a distant and dead past. No. They were for you, for here, for now; for all your future friends, for your children and grandchildren, for all who fall under your influence. Till death do you part, these words of Jesus are to be the binding seal of your love. Cling to them. If you let go, you’re on your own…”

Still clinging.

…I pray not only for these,
but also for those who will believe in me through their word,
so that they may all be one,
as you, Father, are in me and I in you,
that they also may be in us,
that the world may believe that you sent me.
And I have given them the glory you gave me,
so that they may be one, as we are one,
I in them and you in me,
that they may be brought to perfection as one,
that the world may know that you sent me,
and that you loved them even as you loved me.
Father, they are your gift to me.
I wish that where I am they also may be with me,
that they may see my glory that you gave me,
because you loved me before the foundation of the world… — John 17:20-24

3rd century papyrus fragment “P. Oxy. 4447″ from the Gospel of John 17:23-24. Taken from wikimedia.org

Gasp

After the last three posts, I think I will take (give you) a breather.

Sometimes, believe it or not, I run out of words. And one thing I have learned from others’ example is that when you do run out, don’t fake it.

Also, Pythagoras said that it was requisite either to be silent or to say something better than silence.

But, sed contra, the saints’ voices are are never silent:

The key to all Divine gifts is given to the heart by love of neighbor, and, in proportion to the heart’s freedom from the selfish bonds of the flesh, the door of knowledge begins to open before it. — St. Isaac of Syria

Well, that’s enough said for today about how I will not speak.

Inviting Jesus in the Frame for Kids’ Sake

I too am very familiar with the “immanent frame” and only broke free by the grace of God. And yet, though i know it is only by the Holy Spirit that we experience conversion, what can we do practically to raise our children with this profound sense of God’s majesty and might in this post-modernist culture? I feel like I am treading water alone in choppy seas sometimes!

This lovely and honest comment was left on my post yesterday, so I thought I might take a moment to respond. I am no expert in child raising, but my wife and I have fought the same fight she speaks of and we have known countless families who have offered us a remarkable witness to how this might be done and done well.

Just a few thoughts. Hopefully some of them practical.

What can we do?

Though there are common characteristics that unite all great Christian families (e.g. rooted in family prayer) and universal principles that should illumine and govern every Christian family’s quest for holiness (e.g. mutual love and forgiveness), there is also a great diversity in how this might be done well. Truth may be one, but its epiphanies are many. What the Catechism says of Christian prayer I would affirm of Christian families:

To be sure, there are as many paths of prayer as there are persons who pray, but it is the same Spirit acting in all and with all. #2672

Let me share two examples of such diversity, though there are countless others I could give.

I met a wildly Catholic “hipster” family years ago, while I was giving a parish mission, who demonstrated a sui generis ability to freely and fearlessly engage with various elements of American pop culture, but do so in such a refined and deft manner that not only did they not lose their souls through fatal compromises, but they found themselves very much drawn and sent out to bring their Catholic faith joyfully and straightaway into the midst of the public square of popular culture. They made the “Catholic difference” felt when I sat and talked with them one morning about their homespun passion for evangelizing the “nones,” those many in our culture who identify their religious affiliation as “none.” Their faith was natural, unaffected and essentially traditional. The dad sported a long pony tail, the mom had cornrows in her hair, and one of their 20-something daughters who joined us dazzled the eyes with her nose ring, pink hair, shaved sides of the head and scapular! She was a musician who dabbled in indy music styles and aspired to write lyrics that were not necessarily religious but were “transparently human” in the way God designed. They’re pro-life Democrats who pray the Rosary after watching American Idol.

Their vibe reminded me of Orthodox theologian Dumitru Stăniloae’s comment that believing in a God who became man for our salvation creates a path to salvation that requires us to first become fully human before we can become divine. For these people, the mysteries of faith were as tangible and real and gritty as the lattes and scones in front of us, while their ability to hold robust faith in tension with such culturally edgy visages gave me a holy, if dizzy, envy. I can only be culturally edgy in my imagination! When I left our coffee visit, I said to myself, “These folks have something remarkable to offer both Church and World which I could never bring. Thank God for them!”  When I asked them what was the heartbeat of their family’s faith, the mom said, “John Paul II’s words, ‘Do not be afraid!'” They definitely exuded a fearless faith, brash and bold, grave, fun and mirthful all at once. Mark Judge’s article (here) on faith and pop culture would describe well their approach. I don’t meet too many Catholics like this, but that’s probably because I am as far from being a hipster as Pope Francis is from speaking fluent English, so I would not hang in their circles. In fact, whenever I try to assume any hipster characteristics (like lingo), my children come at me “as one man” (Acts 7:57) and put an abrupt end to it. Usually with the word “awkward” thrown in somewhere.

I have also met equally wildly Catholic families who keep a more radical distance from contemporary American culture and prefer to show their Catholic edge by sinking themselves into some or another Catholic sub-culture that remains at more or less of a distance from mainstream American life. But even these sub-styles of nurturing children in a world drenched in Catholic faith can vary immensely among themselves. Some are extreme (in a good sense, not extremist) in their lives of piety and devotion, others are extreme in their commitment to social activism, while others are just quiet, simple and humble in their desire to raise children exposed to a consistent Catholic worldview. Many send their children to Catholic schools, at great personal expense and sacrifice, in hopes that they will discover an integrated worldview that makes sense of everything from the vantage of a Catholic mind and heart. Others homeschool, also at great personal sacrifice, to ensure their children have both an excellent academic and character formation under their watch. Some of the best and brightest, most well integrated and wholesome young adults I have known have found their way through the homeschooling world.  Rod Dreher’s article (here) would describe well this approach.

And then there’s the third option — a bit of both — what’s been called by Pascal-Emmanuel Gobry the “Francis Option,” represented in this article.

E pluribus unum

The common threads that (in my limited perspective) seem to explain these families’ consistent success in raising children who grow up into Catholic “ceiling bashers” capable of transgressing and transforming the confines of the “immanent frame” are (1) the resolve of one or both of the parents to make that breakthrough and integration first of all in themselves (nemo dat quod non habet, “you can’t give what you don’t have”); (2) the unrelenting commitment by the parent(s) to create for their children a domestic environment that mirrors the integration of faith and life they hope their children will one day build once they leave the home and go out into the secular world; and (3) the daily practice of prayer that invites Christ and His saints to inhabit these children’s worlds from the time of their conception in saecula saeculorum, “forever and ever.” In sum, these parents got it, they show it and they pray for it.

There are more threads, but those are the three stand out at the moment.

Et alia…

Here are a few other final and random thoughts, as I am running out of time and have, it seems, gotten a bit too big here for a bite-sized blog.

* The immanent frame is ubiquitous in the West and all of us, unless we withdraw from society like the Amish, will find ourselves hemmed in by its limits. Whereas early Christians found themselves rejected or excluded from public life by the claims of rival gods, post-modern Christians find themselves rejected and excluded by the claims that no god has any place inside the frame. The constriction of the frame consists of deep seated cultural attitudes like a skepticism that makes all truths relative, a materialism that strips spirit of existence, a narcissism that rages against moral limits on freedom, and a boredom that doesn’t bother to wage war against transcendent divinity as much as declare It to be irrelevant. Frequently, among the faithful, this at-times asphyxiating pressure appears under the form of persistent doubts in regard to this or that aspect of the faith, doubts that incessantly gnaw at the mind and heart. Because of this, learning how to struggle in faith with doubt in a flattened and framed world is staple food for the secular saints of post-modernity. Parents must come to terms with their own struggles in faith, face them with the wisdom of the spiritually mature, and pass on their wisdom to their children to steel them for the struggles they will inevitably face. Do it constructively, respectfully, engagingly and joyfully and not cynically, angrily, fearfully and arrogantly. I think here also of Edward Oakes’ article on Mother Teresa, patron saint of modernity’s doubting pilgrims.

* Sacramentalize your home and kindle your children’s imaginations! Fill your home with the matter of sanctity that can penetrate your children’s five senses with faith. Consider things like a crucifix to reveal the posture of love; holy water to sprinkle; blessed salt to taste; blessed medals or scapulars to wear; blessed candles to light the darkness; a little incense now and again to sweeten the air; blessed holy cards to pray with and trade; holy images and statues tastefully displayed; a well-used Bible reverently enthroned; Rosary beads to thumb; great stories of saints read aloud; baptismal days, patron feast days, solemnities celebrated with savory festivity; fasts celebrated with tummy-growling austerity; sacred music sung and played; and on ad infinitum. Paint their imaginations really well with great stories from great books — above all Sacred Scripture (given in age-palpable forms). See Vigen Guroian’s great article with a persuasive argument for a method of intentional storytelling that (re)shapes your child’s inner universe aright.

* Faith as normal talk. Faith language should be a normal part of your daily home vocabulary, grammar, syntax like football, studying for an exam or asking “what’s for dinner?” Weave doctrines into daily events or world crises, talk liturgical seasons in the midst of baseball season, turn off the car radio and pray a Hail Mary when you hear ambulances whiz by. Share your child’s puzzlement when they ask why none of the cartoon characters on TV pray before they eat. Venture an answer to your child’s incessant questions about why God made the dinosaurs (after you read Chris Baglow’s book!). Allow the kids to hear a language faith-life integration at home even as you help teach them how to engage the religion-free zones that dominate so much of public life.  Let prayer sprinkle the day as you deem appropriate along with the fixed patterns and rhythms that write prayer into their sense of time.

* As the Russians would often tell me when I would attend my Dad’s Orthodox parish, “Always welcome strangers as Christ.” Creating a home where generosity to the needy is evident, where those who suffer and are vulnerable are treated, spoken of, prayed for as Christ-among-us opens for children the ceiling of the world to a God who judges all of history according to its role in the fate of these “least” of His.

* Make the pilgrimage between domestic church and parish church a wonderful, regular, joyful, natural, spontaneous, challenging tradition that wears deep neural paths in your child’s brain. Make sure they know there is a communion of saints in heaven and on earth that’s there to help cheer them on all the way to eternity. And make the Eucharist the axis of their universe in whatever ways you can.

* Love your spouse like an e5 mystic (Ephesians 5:21-33), rendering the whole faith plausible to a child by revealing the Fire within your love. And then in turn love your children with a resounding echo of that spousal love, even down into your child’s hells if that’s what Heaven requires.  Caritas numquam excidit, “Love never fails.” But if that’s missing, the rest is empty, flat and stale.

* You do what you can do, accept what you wish you could do but can’t do, repent for what you didn’t do but should’ve done and then leave the rest to God’s infinite mercy when you wake up at 3 a.m. worrying about it all.

Okay, I am out of time! Too much to say, and so much editing needed to say this better. But alas! there it stands. More like a sneeze than a cathedral of ideas. There’s tons out there written on how to raise faith filled children. Some of it good. Popular ones in the U.S. might include the likes of Dr. Ray Guarendi, Greg and Lisa Popcak or Patti Armstrong.

Thanks for asking, Reader! May God lead all of us parents along the way to give our children all they need to render the frame translucent.

God of the Frame

I see his blood upon the rose
And in the stars the glory of his eyes,
His body gleams amid eternal snows,
His tears fall from the skies.

I see his face in every flower;
The thunder and the singing of the birds
Are but his voice—and carven by his power
Rocks are his written words.

All pathways by his feet are worn,
His strong heart stirs the ever-beating sea,
His crown of thorns is twined with every thorn,
His cross is every tree. — Joseph Mary Plunkett (1887–1916)

Ever since I first heard Archbishop Fulton Sheen recite this poem, I have always been drawn back to it. Shortly after I had experienced a life-changing “faith awakening” back in 1987, someone gave me several sets of Sheen’s sermons which I promptly devoured. I recall the thrill of discovering in Plunkett’s poetic imagery a view of life that I had never before imagined was possible or desirable, one in which the  world around me was alive with the mysteries of faith.

The frame

I loved nature as a child (from the age of 6 to the age of 14 I had successively “decided” to be an entomologist, ornithologist and meteorologist!), and though I had always sensed in it something more than an object of empirical science, I would never have thought of it as related in any way to the presence of Christ. The world for me had always been, in the words of Charles Taylor, an “immanent frame” in whose self-contained godless insularity God played no active or evident role. God remained safely outside the frame — in the ethereal bubbles of church, religion class at school or bedside prayers at night — but would never dare venture into the framed world in which “transcendence” had no place. Though I believed in God, and certainly was raised in a home where faith was present, I was a child of modern Western culture’s version of a “secular world” which, for all intents and purposes, had so radically privatized and marginalized the transcendent realm of angels and demons, saints and the poor souls, God and Christ that one could function in life largely without any reference to that “spooky” realm.

The modern world in the West, though ever-broadening, was flat, devoid of eternity’s heights and depths. And even when God was invoked by the inhabitants of this frame, it was not as the all-pervasive, radically enmeshed, everywhere revealing and incarnate God that Plunkett celebrates in his poem. The God outside the frame was, rather, what you might call a “therapeutic deity” that stayed at a safe distance from the “religion-free zone” that governed most of daily life, but was always there, somewhere out there like a celestial Santa, ready to be invoked in targeted moments of need when the mechanisms that governed the immanent frame failed to suffice. This was the crutch-God, the God of the gaps, not the God who holds all things is existence at each moment by His all-loving and merciful will, making Him, as Augustine memorably says, “closer to us than we are to ourselves.” There’s nothing very threatening about these idols of modernity, though They can be disappointing if They don’t live up to our capricous expectations or meet our occasional demands.

The Christ

But then of sudden, in my little 1987 world, that harmless, aloof deity, like the god Dagon in 1 Samuel 5:3, was handily displaced by the living Christ who “fills all things” (Ephesians 1:23) with His Risen Body. The idols in my shrines were felled by a God that was not only God-with-us, unspeakably present and fearfully near, but a downright invasive and trouble-making God, more like a swirling firestorm than a serene porcelain statue. And though this flesh-and-blood God did not promise me safety from His sway, He also was no dehumanizing Thief threatening to take from me all that made life joyful and good, beautiful and great. I say that because, lurking deep in my culturally shaped subconscious was a dark, ominous voice that warned me — before the radiant face of this Christ — of what Algernon Swinburne (1837 – 1909) deftly articulated in his poem, Hymn to Proserpine:

Thou hast conquered, O pale Galilean; the world has grown grey from thy breath;
We have drunken of things Lethean, and fed on the fullness of death.

As I met this Christ, He at once exhilarated me and threatened me by leading me to pray, “O Lord, invade my stayed and steady space with Your raucous and unsteady grace” (to use the memorable words of an AME Pastor I met in Florida). I was afraid! I had lived my whole life safely distant from God, safe in my world’s immanent frame, but now, before His Face, the existential fabric I had woven of my life looked only to be a tangled mess. What a crisis! How I wish I had had those words of Pope Benedict’s Inaugural Homily to read!

Are we not perhaps all afraid in some way? If we let Christ enter fully into our lives, if we open ourselves totally to him, are we not afraid that He might take something away from us? Are we not perhaps afraid to give up something significant, something unique, something that makes life so beautiful? Do we not then risk ending up diminished and deprived of our freedom? And once again the Pope said: No! If we let Christ into our lives, we lose nothing, nothing, absolutely nothing of what makes life free, beautiful and great. No! Only in this friendship are the doors of life opened wide. Only in this friendship is the great potential of human existence truly revealed. Only in this friendship do we experience beauty and liberation.

Maranatha

The crucified-dead-risen-ascending-Spirit-breathing-knocking Christ seeks admittance into our “immanent frame,” seeks to enter in and render translucent its boundaries, smash its ceilings and inhabit all of our safe-zones. This is the incarnate, sacramental God-with-us who hangs with prostitutes and tax collectors, makes muddy salve from His spit, drives out demons from men who live in graveyards, sleeps in the hull our wind-tossed boats, heals filthy lepers by touching their decaying skin and falls face first into the terrors of our night that we might not be afraid. This is a God who reverences our freedom because He designed it, who in truth loves us without measure and expects that we do the same. He is a God who loves best to be called a Bridegroom, a lover who pursues His adulterous bride down the ages to win back her affection and be oned with her in faithfulness forever. “Hence those skilled in divine matters call Him a zealous and exemplary lover” (St. Maximus the Confessor). He can be found everywhere, anywhere, from the heights of joyful ecstasy to the dungeons of hopeless despair. Hebrews 4:15. Luke 10:21. John 11:35. Matthew 27:46. Philippians 4:4. He has tasted it all, redeemed it all and left nothing of human life — save our freedom to reject — opaque to His all-sufficient grace.

This is the God who is the Christ, the God who “delights to be with the children of men” (Proverbs 8:31). The God who poked the universe full of holes through which we can, if we but learn to love, catch a glimpse of His Fatherly gaze. This is the God whom French mathematician and physicist Blaise Pascal “met” on 23 November 1654. On that night between 10:30 and 12:30 at night, Pascal had an intense experience of God and immediately recorded it on a small piece of paper: “Fire. God of Abraham, God of Isaac, God of Jacob, not of the philosophers and the scholars…” and concluded by quoting Psalm 119:16, “I will not forget thy word. Amen.” He seems to have carefully sewn this document into his coat and always transferred it when he changed clothes; a servant discovered it only by chance after his death.

This is the God who is inescapably everywhere, the Christ whom the late Avery Cardinal Dulles, S.J. collided with as an agnostic undergrad studying at Harvard:

 …in 1939, one grey February afternoon in Harvard’s Widener Library, I was irresistibly prompted to go out into the open air…The slush of melting snow formed a deep mud along the banks of the River Charles, which I followed down toward Boston…As I wandered aimlessly, something impelled me to look contemplatively at a young tree. On its frail, supple branches were young buds…While my eye rested on them, the thought came to me suddenly, with all the strength and novelty of a revelation, that these little buds in their innocence and meekness followed a rule, a law of which I as yet knew nothing…That night, for the first time in years, I prayed.

The is the Christ who has come to make a flat earth round, to set a cold world ablaze and dapple a grey world in the spectrum colors of His glorious grace.