Blog Sabbath, Deo gratias!

Dear Nealobstat Readers:

Periodically I have to take a break from my blog writing to attend to the myriad details that assail me. And periodically I have to give your Inbox a rest!

It’s time, and this time it may be a while.

I hope to resume sometime in the summer.

Let us pray for one another.

I am genuinely amazed, deeply grateful and exceedingly humbled to know that anyone reads what I write and benefits from it in their faith life. Deo gratias!

I have loved writing this Blog and engaging in exchanges with so many extraordinary people of faith. Nealobstat has become for me over the last couple of years a sort of Jeremiah 20:9 experience, so I will have to see what happens over the next weeks as I transition to other forms of writing on into the summer (I am hoping a book and an article).

I will leave you (1) with my personal favorite blog post out of the 601 (click here) and (2) with a quote that sums up in brief the very soul of everything I am trying to say in all I write about Christ and his life-giving Cross. And maybe you’ll say: you could have saved yourself a lot of time by leaving it at this!

For true love is inexhaustible; the more you give, the more you have. And if you go to draw at the true fountainhead, the more water you draw, the more abundant is its flow.
– Antoine de Saint-Exupery

“He has sent me to proclaim liberty to captives” – Luke 4:18

{I apologize up front here for the excessive length of my post today, but I feel those who can take time will be enriched by these texts}

Part I: Franciscum et Benedictum

I would like to begin by noting here something important that happened yesterday in Rome. Pope Francis referred for the first time to the “voice of Benedict XVI,” and especially to Benedict’s core message regarding the Western “crisis of truth.” Francis took his stand with firmly with Benedict, while at the same time further enriching his own insistent “Franciscan” call to our Church for a new “poverty of spirit” by offering a concomitant critique of Gospel-poverty’s antithesis, “spiritual poverty”:

But there is another form of poverty! It is the spiritual poverty of our time, which afflicts the so-called richer countries particularly seriously. It is what my much-loved predecessor, the dear and venerated Benedict XVI, called the ‘dictatorship of relativism’ which makes everyone his own criterion and endangers the coexistence of peoples.

And that brings me to a second reason for my name. Francis of Assisi tells us we should work to build peace. But there is no true peace without truth!

There cannot be true peace if everyone is his own criterion, if everyone can always claim exclusively his own rights, without at the same time caring for the good of others, of everyone, on the basis of the nature that unites every human being on this earth.

One of the titles of the Bishop of Rome is Pontiff, that is, a builder of bridges with God and between people.

My wish is that the dialogue between us should help to build bridges connecting all people, in such a way that everyone can see in the other not an enemy, not a rival, but a brother or sister to be welcomed and embraced!

My own origins impel me to work for the building of bridges.

As you know, my family is of Italian origin; and so this dialogue between places and cultures a great distance apart matters greatly to me, this dialogue between one end of the world and the other, which today are growing ever closer, more interdependent, more in need of opportunities to meet and to create real spaces of authentic fraternity.

In this work, the role of religion is fundamental. It is not possible to build bridges between people while forgetting God. But the converse is also true: it is not possible to establish true links with God, while ignoring other people.

Hence it is important to intensify dialogue among the various religions, and I am thinking particularly of dialogue with Islam.

At the Mass marking the beginning of my ministry, I greatly appreciated the presence of so many civil and religious leaders from the Islamic world.

And it is also important to intensify outreach to non-believers, so that the differences which divide and hurt us may never prevail, but rather the desire to build true links of friendship between all peoples, despite their diversity.

Fighting poverty, both material and spiritual, building peace and constructing bridges: these, as it were, are the reference points for a journey that I want to invite each of the countries here represented to take up.

But it is a difficult journey, if we do not learn to grow in love for this world of ours.

Here too, it helps me to think of the name of Francis, who teaches us profound respect for the whole of creation and the protection of our environment, which all too often, instead of using for the good, we exploit greedily, to one another’s detriment.

Part II: Preaching to Prisoners

In honor of Pope Francis’ stunning decision to celebrate the Mass of the Lord’s Supper on Holy Thursday in a juvenile prison, Casal del Marmo, I thought it would be appropriate to re-print Pope Emeritus Benedict’s homily at the same prison in Lent of 2007.

To me, the power of celebrating the liturgical memorial of the institution of the Sacramental Sacrifice of Passover Freedom in a prison is extraordinary. Francis is certainly thus far a pope of wows.

++++++++++++

Chapel of the Merciful Father

Fourth Sunday of Lent, 18 March 2007

Dear Brothers and Sisters,
Dear Boys and Girls,

I have willingly come to pay you a Visit, and the most important moment of our meeting is Holy Mass, where the gift of God’s love is renewed: a love that comforts us and gives us peace, especially in life’s difficult moments.

In this prayerful atmosphere I would like to address my greeting to each one of you: to the Hon. Mr Clemente Mastella, Minister of Justice, to whom I express a special “thank you”; to Mrs Melìta Cavallo, Department Head of Justice for Minors, to the other Authorities who have spoken, to those in charge, to the operators, teachers and personnel of this juvenile penitentiary, to the volunteers, to your relatives and to everyone present.

I greet the Cardinal Vicar and Auxiliary Bishop Benedetto Tùzia.

I greet in particular, Mons. Giorgio Caniato, General Inspector of the Prisons Chaplaincy, and your Chaplain, whom I thank for expressing your sentiments at the beginning of Holy Mass.

In the Eucharistic celebration it is Christ himself who becomes present among us; indeed, even more: he comes to enlighten us with his teaching — in the Liturgy of the Word — and to nourish us with his Body and his Blood — in the Eucharistic Liturgy and in Communion.

Thus, he comes to teach us to love, to make us capable of loving and thereby capable of living.

But perhaps you will say, how difficult it is to love seriously and to live well! What is the secret of love, the secret of life? Let us return to the Gospel [of the Prodigal Son].

In this Gospel three persons appear: the father and two sons. But these people represent two rather different life projects. Both sons lived peacefully, they were fairly well-off farmers so they had enough to live on, selling their produce profitably, and life seemed good.

Yet little by little the younger son came to find this life boring and unsatisfying: “All of life can’t be like this”, he thought: rising every day, say at six o’clock, then according to Israel’s traditions, there must have been a prayer, a reading from the Holy Bible, then they went to work and at the end of the day another prayer.

Thus, day after day he thought: “But no, life is something more. I must find another life where I am truly free, where I can do what I like; a life free from this discipline, from these norms of God’s commandments, from my father’s orders; I would like to be on my own and have life with all its beauties totally for myself. Now, instead, it is nothing but work…”.

And so he decided to claim the whole of his share of his inheritance and leave. His father was very respectful and generous and respected the son’s freedom: it was he who had to find his own life project.

And he departed, as the Gospel says, to a far-away country. It was probably geographically distant because he wanted a change, but also inwardly distant because he wanted a completely different life.

So his idea was: freedom, doing what I want to do, not recognizing these laws of a God who is remote, not being in the prison of this domestic discipline, but rather doing what is beautiful, what I like, possessing life with all its beauty and fullness.

And at first — we might imagine, perhaps for a few months — everything went smoothly: he found it beautiful to have attained life at last, he felt happy.

Then, however, little by little, he felt bored here, too; here too everything was always the same.

And in the end, he was left with an emptiness that was even more disturbing: the feeling that this was still not life became ever more acute; indeed, going ahead with all these things, life drifted further and further away.

Everything became empty: the slavery of doing the same things then also re-emerged. And in the end, his money ran out and the young man found that his standard of living was lower than that of swine.

It was then that he began to reflect and wondered if that really was the path to life: a freedom interpreted as doing what I want, living, having life only for me; or if instead it might be more of a life to live for others, to contribute to building the world, to the growth of the human community….

So it was that he set out on a new journey, an inner journey.

The boy pondered and considered all these new aspects of the problem and began to see that he had been far freer at home, since he had also been a landowner contributing to building his home and society in communion with the Creator, knowing the purpose of his life and guessing the project that God had in store for him.

During this interior journey, during this development of a new life project and at the same time living the exterior journey, the younger son was motivated to return, to start his life anew because he now understood that he had taken the wrong track. I must start out afresh with a different concept, he said to himself; I must begin again.

And he arrived at the home of the father who had left him his freedom to give him the chance to understand inwardly what life is and what life is not. The father embraced him with all his love, he offered him a feast and life could start again beginning from this celebration.

The son realized that it is precisely work, humility and daily discipline that create the true feast and true freedom.

So he returned home, inwardly matured and purified: he had understood what living is.

Of course, in the future his life would not be easy either, temptations would return, but he was henceforth fully aware that life without God does not work; it lacks the essential, it lacks light, it lacks reason, it lacks the great sense of being human. He understood that we can only know God on the basis of his Word.

We Christians can add that we know who God is from Jesus, in whom the face of God has been truly shown to us. The young man understood that God’s Commandments are not obstacles to freedom and to a beautiful life, but signposts on the road on which to travel to find life.

He realized too that work and the discipline of being committed, not to oneself but to others, extends life.

And precisely this effort of dedicating oneself through work gives depth to life, because one experiences the pleasure of having at last made a contribution to the growth of this world that becomes freer and more beautiful.

I do not wish at this point to speak of the other son who stayed at home, but in his reaction of envy we see that inwardly he too was dreaming that perhaps it would be far better to take all the freedoms for himself.

He too in his heart was “returning home” and understanding once again what life is, understanding that it is truly possible to live only with God, with his Word, in the communion of one’s own family, of work; in the communion of the great Family of God.

I do not wish to enter into these details now: let each one of us apply this Gospel to himself in his own way. Our situations are different and each one has his own world. Nonetheless, the fact remains that we are all moved and that we can all enter with our inner journey into the depths of the Gospel.

Only a few more remarks: the Gospel helps us understand who God truly is. He is the Merciful Father who in Jesus loves us beyond all measure.

The errors we commit, even if they are serious, do not corrode the fidelity of his love. In the Sacrament of Confession we can always start out afresh in life. He welcomes us, he restores to us our dignity as his children.

Let us therefore rediscover this sacrament of forgiveness that makes joy well up in a heart reborn to true life.

Furthermore, this parable helps us to understand who the human being is: he is not a “monad”, an isolated being who lives only for himself and must have life for himself alone.

On the contrary, we live with others, we were created together with others and only in being with others, in giving ourselves to others, do we find life.

The human being is a creature in whom God has impressed his own image, a creature who is attracted to the horizon of his Grace, but he is also a frail creature exposed to evil but also capable of good. And lastly, the human being is a free person.

We must understand what freedom is and what is only the appearance of freedom.

Freedom, we can say, is a springboard from which to dive into the infinite sea of divine goodness, but it can also become a tilted plane on which to slide towards the abyss of sin and evil and thus also to lose freedom and our dignity.

Dear friends, we are in the Season of Lent, the 40 days before Easter. In this Season of Lent, the Church helps us to make this interior journey and invites us to conversion, which always, even before being an important effort to change our behaviour, is an opportunity to decide to get up and set out again, to abandon sin and to choose to return to God.

Let us — this is the imperative of Lent — make this journey of inner liberation together.

Every time, such as today, that we participate in the Eucharist, the source and school of love, we become capable of living this love, of proclaiming it and witnessing to it with our life.

Nevertheless, we need to decide to walk towards Jesus as the Prodigal Son did, returning inwardly and outwardly to his father.

At the same time, we must abandon the selfish attitude of the older son who was sure of himself, quick to condemn others and closed in his heart to understanding, acceptance and forgiveness of his brother, and who forgot that he too was in need of forgiveness.

May the Virgin Mary and St Joseph, my Patron Saint whose Feast it will be tomorrow, obtain this gift for us; I now invoke him in a special way for each one of you and for your loved ones.

Petrine Authority

The other day, I was responding to a seminarian’s question about the nature of the power of the Papacy in the Church, and I quoted from Pope Francis’ Inaugural Mass homily where he made the point that the true nuclear reactor (my image) of any Petrine power is to be found in the Cross. We then unpacked that statement and its rich and varied meaning. The next day I read this quote from Francis Cardinal George, OMI, who, while still in Rome, offered a striking read of this “cruciform power”:

I am writing this from Rome, just a few days after the election of Pope Francis. There is and will continue to be much discussion about him and the Church. Often this discussion starts with statistics about how many U.S. Catholics disagree with Church teaching on sexual morality.

But I am in Rome. Two thousand years ago, children were killed here in their mother’s womb and newborn babies were abandoned on hillsides if their fathers didn’t want them. Homosexual relations caused little surprise. Divorce was rampant. There’s nothing new about sin.

Peter didn’t tell the Christians here that they should act in ways acceptable to the Emperor or to the general population. He had the keys given him by Christ; he, with all his weakness, was a rock. St. Peter was crucified outside the center of Rome by the authorities of his day, as Jesus, his only master, was crucified a few decades earlier outside Jerusalem.

Pope Francis is Peter’s successor. His faith will confirm ours, and it will be the faith of the apostles and of the saints of all the ages, the faith that conforms our minds and hearts to the mind and heart of Jesus Christ, who is the same “yesterday, today and forever.”

“Contradiction is not a sign of falsity, nor the lack of contradiction a sign of truth.”

― Blaise Pascal

Our Misérables Pope: miserando atque eligendo

As I have been prayerfully reflecting on Pope Francis’ expressed wish to see a “poor Church and a Church for the poor,” I had a flash insight Sunday morning that connected his aspirations with the Gospel-like vision of poverty and redemption found in the musical, Les Misérables.

In fact, you might say that Les Mis offers a sort of dramatic and redemptive theology of poverty steeped in mercy that addresses socio-economic injustice, the role of virtue in genuine reform and the power of evangelical poverty in those chosen by God to bring Jesus’ glad tidings to the poor. I think here especially of the Christ-figure that the Bishop was in the musical/movie, and even of the more striking resemblance between Pope Francis’ style and that of the historical bishop [N.B. maroon words are always hyperlinked] that stood behind the Les Mis character. (See also this clip on the Bishop)

If you get to watch the movie again, see if you also can perceive in it a dramatized “Franciscan” program for ecclesial reform and evangelizing fire in a Church whose load has been lightened and whose face by Christ’s has been brightened.

Or, just maybe, you will see that I have too much time on my hands to even think of such things.

In any event, any viewing of Les Mis can only leave you enriched.

Holiness or Criticism? I choose Franciscum.

Henri De Lubac once wrote that the difference between St. Francis and Martin Luther is the difference between a reform aimed at holiness and a reform aimed at criticism. In choosing Bergoglio, the cardinals seem to have opted for the former. — John Allen Jr.

What an insightful remark. And let me say that in a time where these two reform paradigms loom large and vie for dominance in our Church, I for one am glad to see in this case the saint prevailing over the cynic. Though both have a role.

Bergoglio chose St. Francis of Assisi’s name, it would seem, to point to this saint as the needed paragon of Gospel poverty in a time of worldly excess, of charity in a time of hatred, of trust in a time of fear, of outward apostolic mission in a time of inward ecclesial navel-gazing, of conciliation in a time of vitriol, of zeal in a time of apathy, of prayer in a time of distraction, of service in a time of selfishness, of chastity in a time of unchastity, of inner freedom in a time of addiction, of peace in a time of violence, of hope in a time of despair, of love of God above all things in a time of love of all things above God. I dare not tire you further with this lengthy litany, but I think you get the point.

St. Francis’ model of reform was unambiguously this: before you look to incite God’s revolution, make certain you’ve allowed yourself to become its first about-turn. As the Latin proverb as it, Nemo dat quod non habet, ‘You can’t give what you don’t have.’

In fact, St. Francis’ saint-counterpart in the Eastern Church, St. Seraphim on Sarov, made this point succinctly: “Acquire inward peace and thousands around you will be saved.”

As Fr. George Rutler phrases it in his book on ecclesial reform, every crisis in the Church is, at core, a crisis of saints (or lack thereof). Saints are not only living, authentic and compelling witnesses to the Gospel, but they are wellsprings of divine life bubbling up in the midst of a parched world. Saints transform human deserts into divine oases by refusing to leave the Gospel untried, unrisked, unspoken. Each saint manifests and sparkles with the truth, goodness and beauty of God according to his or her absolute uniqueness, which is why truly life’s greatest tragedy is to have not become the saint God created you to be. The manifestation of divine glory — of God’s attributes of peace, justice, charity, kindness, purity and mercy that were themselves made fully manifest in Christ crucified — is impoverished by even one human being’s failure to singularly refract the Light from Light.

The mission of the Church, which is to capture the world’s attention and turn it toward the Face of Christ, succeeds only inasmuch as the Church mirrors that Face; and she mirrors that Face only by first facing that Face aright in prayer-made-flesh, drenched in the Gospels, fruiting in holy lives awash in cruciform deeds of charity and justice.

Francis, patron saint of Church Renovation, was all of this in spades, and his life and charism set in motion a reformation that to this day burns undimmed.

Chestertonian Francis

G.K. Chesterton, in his must-read biography of St. Francis, describes personal sanctity as a prescription for reform:

Every saint is a sort of man before he is a saint; and a saint may be made of every sort or kind of man; and most of us will choose between these different types according to our different tastes….The Saint is a medicine because he as an antidote. Indeed, that is why the saint is often a martyr; he is mistaken for a poison because he is an antidote. He will generally be found restoring the world to sanity by exaggerating whatever the world neglects, which is by no means the same element in every age. Yet each generation seeks its saint by instinct; and he is not what the people want, but rather what the people need.

In the same book, Chesterton offers a vivid portrait of St. Francis’ freshly minted and wildly radical post-conversion visage that shows just how potent this antidote had to be in the face of the ills of his age:

A young fool or rascal is caught robbing his father and selling goods which he ought to guard; and the only explanation he will offer is that a loud voice from nowhere spoke in his ear and told him to mend the cracks and holes in a particular wall. He then declares himself naturally independent of all powers corresponding to the police or the magistrates, and takes refuge with an amiable bishop who is forced to remonstrate with him and tell him he is wrong. He then proceeds to take off his clothes in public and practically throw them at his father; announcing at the same time that his father is not his father at all. He then runs about the town asking everybody he meets to give him fragments of buildings or building materials, apparently with reference to his old monomania about mending the wall. It may be an excellent thing that cracks should be filled up, but preferably not by somebody who is himself cracked; and architectural restoration like other things is not best performed by builders who, as we should say, have a tile loose. Finally the wretched youth relapses into rags and squalor and practically crawls away into the gutter. That is the spectacle that Francis must have presented to a very large number of his neighbors and friends.

Maybe this celestial irruption is the very form of sanctity our Pontiff is hoping will arise in the midst of the Church to proffer our ailing world a fresh dose of the Medicine of Immortality that subsists in the Catholic Church. Maybe we need a few such soberly intoxicated saints.

Maybe.

Fire-Casting

I will leave you with an oft cited quote from Swiss theologian Hans Urs von Balthatsar that elaborates on de Lubac’s point about St. Francis and punctuates in exclamatory form my own hope for the future-church:

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.

Blessed are the Poor, S.J.

Pope Francis paying his hotel bill at Domus Paulus VI, the clergy lodging that was his pre-Conclave hotel

In the spirit of this new pope’s sudden storming of the Vatican with St. Francis of Assisi’s radical spirit of simplicity and Gospel poverty, it seems to me (by logical deduction, not prophecy) that his personal witness will soon be translated into a clarion call to the universal Church: repent and live more simply, frugally, justly and charitably. In other words, the message Benedict XVI taught with stark clarity for eight years, Papa Franceso, Il Poverello, is about to translate into prophetic thunder: radical orthodoxy must be accompanied equally by radical orthopraxy, i.e. “faith without works is dead.”

And this voice of thunder will not simply be a call to live a personal lifestyle of Gospel poverty. It will also be a call to the Church everywhere to be a Church first and foremost “of and for” the poor.

Francis Cardinal George argued in his book, The Difference God Makes, that such a re-prioritizing of the Church’s mission on the ground can go a long way toward healing  our fractious present state by privileging an orthodoxy that makes a difference for those Jesus came to identify himself with:

Being “simply Catholic” means starting with the poor. That’s the evangelical touchstone. You take a group that starts with the poor, and then you know that there’s evangelical motivation. There’s no power or anything else, because these people don’t have power. They identify with the poor, and then they say, things have to change for the poor. We have to see that the poor are better served in the name of Christ. The church will follow along, if they know that you’re changing the way that the world looks at the poor.

Here’s my recommendation: prepare for the Pope Francis’ imminent implementation of what Pope Benedict called “God’s revolution” and buy, prayerfully read and take seriously the late Fr. Thomas Dubay’s deeply challenging masterpiece on the call for all to Gospel Simplicity: Happy Are You Poor: The Simple Life and Spiritual Freedom

Use it to study for the coming Exam.

Pope Innocent III Dreaming of Saint Francis Holding Up the Church

Habemus Papam! A new Francis

Among his first words, before his blessing:

“In silence, pray for me now.”

So let’s do it….

O Lord Jesus Christ,
Supreme Pastor of your Church,
we thank you for the fresh gift of
of a universal shepherd, Pope Francis I,
Successor of Peter, and your Vicar on earth.
Good Shepherd,
who founded your
Church on the rock
of Peter’s faith
and have never left
your flock untended,
look with love upon us
now,
and sustain your
Church in faith, hope,
and charity.
Grant, Lord Jesus,
your boundless love
to our new Pope
that he may please you by his holiness
and lead us faithfully to you,
who are the same yesterday, today, and forever. Amen.

©February 2013, Knights of Columbus Supreme Chaplain Archbishop William Lori of Baltimore (adapted from original)

READ A BIO of this new Pope:

While there are still no tracking polls to establish who’s got legs as a papal candidate, the 2013 conclave at least has one objective measure not available in 2005: past performance. Many of the cardinals seen as candidates now were also on offer the last time around, and someone who had traction eight years ago could be a contender again.

By that measure alone, Cardinal Jorge Mario Bergoglio of Buenos Aires, Argentina, at least merits a look.

After the dust settled from the election of Benedict XVI, various reports identified the Argentine Jesuit as the main challenger to then-Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger. One cardinal later said the conclave had been “something of a horse race” between Ratzinger and Bergoglio, and an anonymous conclave diary splashed across the Italian media in September 2005 claimed that Bergoglio received 40 votes on the third ballot, just before Ratzinger crossed the two-thirds threshold and became pope. Read more…

Martyrdom of St. Peter, Caravaggio

Joseph Ratzinger Gave Me Back the Faith I Almost Lost

By Guest Blogger and Colleague, Dr. Chris Baglow

In a very famous passage, C.S. Lewis describes finding faith in Jesus Christ on a drive to the Whipsnade Zoo in Bedfordshire: “When we set out I did not believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God, and when we reached the zoo I did.” Sometimes, faith sneaks in unawares.  And sometimes, it sneaks back out.

Just one hour south of that zoo, in July 2003, I strolled through downtown London with my father, all but certain I had lost my faith.  Joseph Ratzinger, not yet our beloved Benedict XVI, helped me find it again two weeks later in the little living room of our first house, a red 1500 square foot Acadian in Mandeville, LA.  In this my final post of the series, let me honor him one last time by telling the story and sharing the quote that ended my crisis and began my passion for the theology of Joseph Ratzinger.

I had to go to give a paper at the Medieval Congress in Leeds on July 17.  I brought my father along because, although both his parents were from Great Britain, he had never been there.  We started in London and made our way to the North, then back via Oxford – one week of travel.  I still feel that my father never really experienced England, however, because our trip coincided with what is now known as the 2003 European heat wave.

The wave is considered the hottest summer on record in Europe since at least 1540.  It felt lLondonCitySignike Southeastern Louisiana for the ENTIRE trip, including a sizzler of 91.4 degrees.  We had expected a break from the heat and had packed jackets for nighttime.  I don’t think we ever used them. We suffered.

The Londoners, by contrast, were ecstatic.  Instead of having to travel to Orlando or the Bahamas for fun in the sun, it had come to them.  The streets were packed, not with the usual tourists like ourselves, but with city residents basking, skating, biking, frolicking in the warmth. The magnificent churches we visited were empty but the streets were full, and on our second afternoon I received the only chill of the trip as it dawned on me that for all I could tell these happy people were almost all post-Christian, post-God.  They weren’t atheists, who still believe enough to have to trouble themselves with arguments.  Faith didn’t even seem to be significant enough for them to take the trouble to reject it.  And they were happy, loving life and laughing.

I turned my mind to prayer and for the first time in my adult life it felt utterly futile, like trying to lift with a broken collarbone.  I was afraid to pray again – it was like the fear I felt as a teenager when my friends and I found a broken Open_Gravecemetery vault in uptown New Orleans and were daring each other to look inside.  I didn’t want to pray because I didn’t want to see what seemed entirely certain to me: that my faith was proven wrong, dead, forever to be silent. I looked into the faces of those happy British people and felt that were I to address them with the Gospel, I myself would disappear from their sight like a shimmering shade.  My faith and so myself were ephemeral; they were solid, real.

This was surprising to me.  As a theologian, queries of faith were and are part of my daily schedule.  As the mathematician deals in probabilities or the gunslinger in lead, so I deal in the unanswered questions, the new challenges, that the human experience of reality presents to the Word from beyond the world. Always the Catholic Faith had presented itself to me as the better answer, the delightful clarity of light, the “both/and” holistic way, as the Truth.  But I had never had the very foundations shaken like they were in the miraculous (miracu-less?) London heat.

Proof of the depth of my crisis: I didn’t tell my Dad.  Better proof: when I got home, I didn’t tell Christine.  As a person who doesn’t have an unspoken thought, my crisis of faith had even brought me a new virtue – discretion – which almost seemed like a grim confirmation that I would never recover, because there was nothing to recover to. 

What could I do?  I couldn’t do anything but go forward.  So I got back to my summer reading list as if I could still be a theologian.  Next book on the list: Introduction to Christianity by Joseph Ratzinger.

At this point in my life I had only read Ratzinger once, in a doctoral course at Duquesne University where Eschatology had been assigned.  I found an interesting argument about Plato’s metaphysics there, but that was all I could remember about it.  He wasn’t on my Top 25 list of theologians to read; actually I had developed a soft avoidance because a) he was a German thinker, b) he was a German thinker, and c) he was a German thinker.  When people would laud him I would smile and nod.  If they asked what my favorite Ratzinger work was, I would answer: Eschatology. That usually seemed to suffice.  But I really didn’t know him.

Might I suggest that far too many of the enthusiastic throngs who cheered wildly when he became pope also didn’t know him?  That they had heard the derogatory God’s Rottweiler media epithet and just turned it into German Shepherd because they wanted a bully to hide behind?  The last days of the John Paul II’s life had a different feel than the first days of Benedict’s papacy, which brought out some ugliness.  The same people who gave up Palm Sunday cheers, I suspect, were the same people who gave up Good Friday shouts when they found out that he was still a daring, creative theologian, still ready to be surprised by Divine Truth and not a reactionary anti-modernist. Unlike themselves.

But I digress.  Eight pages into Introduction to Christianity I was on my knees shedding tears of gratitude, because I discovered there that he understood.  He had stared into the same sarcophagus and had not dissolved into thin air.  He had gone through the darkness and found solid ground.  These were the words I read that made me forever a Ratzingerian.  He broke through my choking solitude, my icy numbness and horror, and his calm presence became the vehicle through which the Presence returned.  I offer them here almost certain that I will never receive new words from him again:

…the believer is always threatened with an uncertainty that in moments of temptation can suddenly and unexpectedly cast a piercing light on the fragility of the whole that usually seems so self-evident to him. A few examples will help to make this clear. That lovable Saint Therese of Lisieux, who looks so naive and unproblematical, grew up in an atmosphere of complete religious security; her whole existence from beginning to end, and down to the smallest detail, was so completely molded by the faith of the Church that the invisible world became, not just a part of her everyday life, but that life itself. Yet this very saint, a person apparently cocooned in complete security, left behind her, from the last weeks of her passion, shattering admissions that her horrified sisters toned down in her literary remains and that have only now come to light in the new verbatim editions. She says, for example, “I am assailed by the worst temptations of atheism”. Her mind is beset by every possible argument against the faith; the sense of believing seems to have vanished; she feels that she is now “in sinners’ shoes.” In other words, in what is apparently a flawlessly interlocking world someone here suddenly catches a glimpse of the abyss lurking–even for her under the firm structure of the supporting conventions. In a situation like this, what is in question is not the sort of thing that one perhaps quarrels about otherwise—the dogma of the Assumption, the proper use of confession—all this becomes absolutely secondary. What is at stake is the whole structure; it is a question of all or nothing. That is the only remaining alternative; nowhere does there seem anything to cling to in this sudden fall. Wherever one looks, only the bottomless abyss of nothingness can be seen.

Paul Claudel has depicted this situation in a most convincing way in the great opening scene of the Soulier de Satin. A Jesuit missionary is shown as the survivor of a shipwreck. His ship has been sunk by pirates; he himself has been lashed to a mast from the sunken ship, and he is now drifting on this piece of wood through the raging waters of the ocean. The play opens with his last monologue:

“Lord, I thank thee for bending me down like this. It sometimes happened that I found thy commands laborious and my will at a loss and jibbing at thy dispensation. Yet now I could not be bound to thee more closely than I am, and however violently my limbs move they cannot get one inch away from thee. So I really am fastened to the cross, but the cross on which I hang is not Fastened to anything else. It drifts on the sea.”

Fastened to the cross–with the cross fastened to nothing, drifting over the abyss. The situation of the contemporary believer could hardly be more accurately and impressively, described. Only a loose plank bobbing over the void seems to hold him up, and it looks as if he must eventually sink. Only a loose plank connects him to God, though certainly it connects him inescapably, and in the last analysis he knows that this wood is stronger than the void that seethes beneath it and that remains nevertheless the really threatening force in his day-to-day life.

There is much more to be quoted.  But at that moment in 2003, this is where I stopped.  I end here because I hope that my reader can see the moment of resolution – “he knows that the wood is stronger than the void.”

Benedict XVI, pope emeritus, knew that the wood is stronger the day he became pope.  He knew it the day he resigned.  He knew it in the 1960′s when he wrote these words.  He knows it today.  And thanks to him, the world can know it as well.

Well said!  Viva il Papa! Hooray for Ratzinger!

I confess to Almighty God, and to you my brothers and sisters…

The following is the most recent data for 2012, published by Catholic Relief Services:

25.2% of the world’s population lives in extreme poverty, living on less than $1.25 a day. In the developing world, 1.4 billion people live on less than $2 per day. 925 million people worldwide are hungry. Nearly 16,000 children die of hunger-related causes each day. 25% of children under 5 are undernourished. 13% of the world’s population does not have access to clean water. Worldwide, 40% of the population, or more than 2.6 billion people, lack one of life’s most basic needs: an adequate sanitation facility – defined as one that hygienically prevents human contact with sewage. 12.2% of children primary-school aged are not enrolled in school. 101 million primary school-aged children are not enrolled in school. Of children not enrolled in schools, 53% a re girls. 33.4 million people are living with HIV, of whom 22.4 million live in sub-Saharan Africa. An estimated 17.5 million children (under age 18) lost one or both parents to AIDS in 2008. 14.1 million of these children live in sub-Saharan Africa.

Pope Benedict XVI, Caritas in Veritate (Charity in Truth):

The world’s wealth is growing in absolute terms, but inequalities are on the increase. In rich countries, new sectors of society are succumbing to poverty and new forms of poverty are emerging. In poorer areas some groups enjoy a sort of ‘superdevelopment’ of a wasteful and consumerist kind which forms an unacceptable contrast with the ongoing situations of dehumanizing deprivation. (22)