Politics: Palliative Care for a Dying World

"O God, who cause the minds of the faithful
to unite in a single purpose,
grant your people to love what you command
and to desire what you promise,
that amid the uncertainties of this world,
our hearts may be fixed on that place
where true gladness is found."
--Collect prayer for Wednesday, November 7, 2012

Like many others, I am profoundly troubled in the wake of this recent election.  My disappointment is not simply with the outcome, though that is a source of great worry for me. 

On that count: I believe we have crossed into new territory as a country, and I feel enormous anxiety about the financial security and freedom of my children and their generation.  I hope I am completely wrong about this (my liberal friends assure me that I am, that we can tax the "rich" to pay for our enormous appetite for public benefits).  Time will tell, but I harbor no illusions that should even worse economic hardships come to pass that then Americans will understand the sources of our failure.  Just look at people of Greece right now, furiously clinging to a disaster of an economic policy, even in the face of their utter financial collapse.  We will likely go down in flames, fiddling while Rome burns, oblivious to the cause of our own undoing.  Again, I hope I'm wrong. 

None of this, however, is simply a result of this election.  America got lost a long time ago for reasons both political and non-political, and our political lostness can be blamed on both political parties equally. And politics will not fix what ails us.  Certainly the election of Mitt Romney would not have solved our core problems.

That's why moving forward, we (by which I really mean "I") need a thorough realignment of our attitude toward politics.  I need to shift the way I have related to politics all my life.

Politics is a near obsession for me, consuming enormous amounts of time and energy as I read, study, write, and argue about the best way to organize our economy and our government.  It's a reflection of my personality type, in part, and a life-long passion to feel as if I was doing my part to make the world a better place. 

But politics can become an idol, a means by which we start to think our human designs and efforts can remake the world according to the image we desire for it.  We focus on our own efforts and cling to the outcomes as if the most important things depend on it.  For Christians, this is sin, and it's a sin for which I personally need to repent.  It is not, in fact, my personally responsibility to ensure that the world complies with a particular political philosophy, or to convince by force of argument that others share my views.

Christians are called to look at things in a much broader context and perspective.  What is really most important is the condition of our individual souls and the way we love and serve others in the short time we have.  Civilizations will rise and fall.  Political regimes will come and go.  Some regimes will be more amicable to the Christian vision of life and society, others will be hostile.  In the end, the Word of Life will remain, and "principalities and powers" shall not separate us from It.  In ways we cannot fathom, and in a time beyond our own engineering, all things will be brought to resolution, and will not be because our candidate won (or lost) an election.

Which is not to say that Christians should withdraw from public life.  Finding a truly Christian way to engage with the world will actually be much harder for me than totally surrendering all responsibility as a citizen.  It will require me to be informed, to act when called to do so, whether that means by voting in elections or speaking up on issues as appropriate.  But I may no longer cling to the outcome of my actions as if the outcome is somehow the measure of my discipleship.  The only measure of my discipleship is the extent to which I surrender every aspect of my life to Christ's redeeming grace.  And that means responding to disappointing political turns, and even to the evil and darkness in the world, with dignity, patience, and compassion and love for others (especially those who disagree with me).

There's a recent parallel in my professional life that illustrates what I'm talking about here.  Richard Elmore, the great Harvard education professor, commented a few weeks ago that he no longer believes in the institutional structures of public schooling.  This, after a lifetime of working ferociously to improve the quality of teaching and leadership in schools.  Elmore has simply observed that schooling as we know it has outlived its usefulness, and thanks to its own internal dysfunctions, is dying a slow death.  Schools of the future will look nothing like they do today, Elmore suggests, and all our attempts to shore up the flaws of the current system will eventually be met with failure.

And still, he said he remains committed to his work in improving the practices of teachers and school leaders.  But he sees this work as "palliative care for a dying institution."  If Elmore is right, that's what I do for a living too - I'm caring for a dying institution.

There's nothing wrong with care of the dying.  It is, in fact, one of the corporal works of mercy Christians are called to perform.  But it would be foolish - it would be a sin, in fact - to think that we could, through our own efforts, prevent the death of the terminally ill, or to carry out our care of them as if they were going to live forever.

Just like Elmore's assessment of schooling, I believe (in fact, it is a matter of Christian faith), that our political structures and the world itself, are also dying a slow death.  These human institutions are full of the frailties and flaws of the people who create them and will not last forever.  Nothing in the created world will last forever.

This is not some kind of nihilism or deathwish on the part of Christians, though.  We also believe by faith that this world is blessed and full of light and life.  But all that goodness comes from a larger source, from the God who created it, and all the brokenness and emptiness of the created world will utlimately be redeemed and restored by that same Creator God.  Until then, we are called to care for our bodies, for our families, for society and the world, with compassion, love, and justice.  We are called to engage in politics, because it is one of the means by which we steward this precious world and the precious life we have been given. 

But we are not to think for a moment that our political efforts are establishing some kind of permanent regime of peace and justice (the great modern, secularist, liberal conceit).  That is not within our power or our responsibility.  Politics is palliative care, a corporal work of mercy, for a world that is passing away.

Others have said this better than me.  See the thoughts of Elizabeth Scalia, Fr. Dwight Longenecker, and Bruce Frohnen.  But it's important for me to state this for myself as well.

We are wounded as a nation.  Of course we are.  And I am wounded too, because of my personal sinfulness, as are all of you.  But that is not the end of the story.  There is a source of redemption, of light and life, that brings peace and love and mercy.  May I approach all of my obligations - religious, familial, social, and political - with the mercy and compassion of the God who, in the end, saves us all.

Gratitude of a Christian Yogi

Feast of Cyril of Alexandria

I've recently committed myself to a regular yoga home practice, after years of owning books and DVD's but never really making an effort to make yoga a routine part of my life.  The results have been extremely rewarding.  I won't be tying myself into pretzel-shapes any time soon, but after several months of near-daily practice, I feel more flexible, relaxed, and centered.

Yoga practice has reminded me of the importance of my body and being firmly rooted in this physical experience.  Sadly, much of Western religion has contributed to a disconnect between spirit and body.  From the (heretical) tendency to view the body as a source of sin and weakness to an excessive emphasis on discursive, mental prayer, Christian spirituality has neglected the sacredness of our physical nature and the intimate linkage between mind, body, and spirit.

Yoga has reawakened this connection for me, and I've spent a lot more time lately practicing awareness of my physical experience, seeking to pray through my body and consciously surrender myself more completely to God on all levels. 

A great resource for my yoga practice has been the magazine and website, Yoga Journal, a wealth of practical advice and guidance on yoga as exercise, philosophy, and way of life.  I receive daily emails on a variety of yoga topics to enrich my knowledge and application of yoga.  Today's Daily Insight was titled, Grounded in Gratitude.  The meditation was filled with meaningful wisdom, but as a Christian yogi, I was left feeling a need to add something.  Here's how the message starts:

On the surface, gratitude appears to arise from a sense that you're indebted to another person for taking care of you in some way. But looking deeper, you'll see that the feeling is actually a heightened awareness of your connection to everything else. Gratitude flows when you break out of the small, self-centered point of view and appreciate that through the labors and intentions and even the simple existence of an inconceivably large number of people, weather patterns, chemical reactions, and the like, you have been given the miracle of your life, with all the goodness in it.

This is all true, of course.  Mindfulness deepens our awareness of the myriad interconnections of reality, and the resulting feeling is one of deep awe, reverence, and gratitude.

But for the Christian, there is another level of insight available, one that the author of this little meditation misses.  The vast interconnectedness of our lives arises from God, the ground of all being.  The doctrine of the Holy Trinity reminds that the essence of the Ultimate Reality is interconnection and relationship.  That creation reflects this multiplicity and interdependence is no coincidence to the thoughtful Christian.

Gratitude does not arise, as the author supposes from a sense of indebtedness, but from the sense of vast, spacious, immense and inconceivable love, a love which pours out upon us in waves when we still our hearts to see what is here, both in our physical bodies, in our social connections, and in the created world at large.  Indebtedness is too clumsy a word, too transactional, to reflect the transformative insight of resting in the enormous mystery of God.

In the light of Redemption, all things are lived out in adoration and intimacy with this mystery, including our minds, our bodies, and the practices (like yoga) we use to experience union of our total Selves with the Divine.

Being Saved

Feast of Saints Phillip and James

"I am reminding you, brothers and sisters,
of the Gospel I preached to you,
which you indeed received and in which you also stand.
Through it you are also being saved,
if you hold fast to the word I preached to you,
unless you believed in vain."
--1 Corinthians 15:1-2

As a convert to Catholic Christianity, I used to think a lot about the differences between the Protestant Evangelical understanding of salvation and that of the Roman church.  I don't give it as much thought anymore, since so much of my religious conversation takes place within Catholic circles these days.  But perhaps because I feel that God has been working on me with great intensity lately, and perhaps because a friend mentioned a question about purgatory recently, something about this reading struck me deeply today.

St. Paul says that, through the Gospel, we are "being saved."  These two words reveal so much.

I think Catholics are far too prone to just shrug off the evangelical emphasis on the salvation experience of accepting Jesus as one's lord and savior.  One of the great gifts of evangelical Christianity is its relentless refrain that a true disciple is engaged in a total love affair with God through Christ.  Every individual must surrender himself utterly to Christ's love and mercy, and until he does, the journey of faith hasn't really begun, no matter how much religiosity he displays.

Catholics, who are perpetually prone to falling into rote repetition of ritual and the acceptance of Christianity as more of a social identity than a way of life, need to hear that evangelical insistence on a personal relationship with Jesus.  They need to hear it and answer it by having one, starting right this minute.

Such an emphasis on personal conversion is not foreign to Catholicism, of course.  In fact, it is the heart of the Gospel as expressed in the Catechism, taught by the Church fathers, and lived out by saints throughout the ages.  But the Church also holds firmly to the faith as lived through the sacraments, and so inward faith and outward ritual expression of that faith always reflects a dynamic, creative tension in the life of Catholic Christians.  We are saved through Christ's grace, encountered in our hearts but also poured out in the sacramental life of the church as we make our pilgrim journey through life.

And this understanding of salvation as a journey is perhaps Catholicism's gift to the rest of Christianity.

Here's the thing: I have accepted Jesus as my lord and savior.  I did this first as a child, but I've done it countless times since then.  Not because, as some Protestant theologies would have it, I backslid and fell from grace, but because my desire to surrender to Christ's mercy and forgiveness does not mean I really have fully relinquished my own control into God's hands.

I want to live for Him and conform myself completely to His will.  But wanting it doesn't just make it happen.  I need to work at being a disciple, daily commiting myself to prayer and good works, not to earn my salvation, but to more fully accept the salvation that Christ has already effected for all of humanity.  Through God's grace, I gradually soften my heart so that Jesus' saving power can really work in me, sanctifying me into real surrender to the Father.

It's not like I once was not saved, then I was a little saved, and tomorrow I will be a lot more saved.  That's too simplistic an understanding of the ever-deepening relationship of love I share with Him.  He already effected my salvation through his blood and his mercy.  Now I am slowly learning how to love Him in return.  I am being saved.

This, I think, helps explain the mysterious teaching on purgatory, a state of being which exists within us, not something that God imposes upon us.  God is ready to bring us home to eternal peace with him right now.  We, sadly, aren't ready to go, even though we might really want to.  The process of letting go and really embracing God's love is slow and sometimes painful.  He's patiently waiting for us to finally get over ourselves and accept what he pours out so freely and generously, in reckless, unconditional love.

Lover of my soul, I accept you as the master of my life.  I am powerless to do anything without you.  Break me open so that I might see whatever remains uncoverted within me.  I will give it all to you.  Amen.

St. John Bosco Novena

Our friends at Pray More Novenas will launch the January novena next week in honor of St. John Bosco. 

I must admit I was largely unfamiliar with this fascinating 19th century Italian saint who dedicated his life to ministering to at-risk boys.  I wish I had known about him during the years I spent as principal of an alternative school serving the same kind of boys St. John knew well.

Read a profile of St. John Bosco here and join us for the novena!

Sunday Best

Another recent First Things column by George Weigel got me thinking about what we wear to church, and now Christianity Today's Duane Liftin takes up cause with a thought-provoking piece that raises important questions about our attire on Sunday mornings.

Supporting his thoughts with rich scriptural references, Liftin notes the obvious trend toward casual dress throughout society and most noteably in church and wonders what this says about the way we prepare ourselves for worship.  If take so little thought to how we dress at church, are we also putting little thought into how we prepare our hearts and minds for the experience of encountering God?

These are things I hadn't considered until recently, and I sure don't want to start wearing a tie to church on Sunday mornings (though that's what I wore almost every Sunday as a boy), but I think Liften raises some compelling points.

There's a real problem, of course, with choosing to "dress up" for church now that casual has become the norm.  You'll stand out, almost as if you are trying to draw attention to yourself or make some holier-than-thou point.  Liften acknowledges this issue, but suggest we should shy away from the challenge on account of this issue:

We all understand that the wrong clothes can distract our fellow worshipers. Elaborate, showy attire may reflect a prideful, elitist, egocentric display of wealth, status, and power (Mark 12:38; Luke 16:19; James 2:3). Or it may serve as a mask, a facade behind which lurks a very different reality (Matt. 23:27). In this way and others our choice of clothing can be sinful. But this does not render our everyday ("common"), come-as-you-are attire "spiritual" or "honest." If we care for our fellow worshipers as we ought, we will take them into consideration as we dress for worship. We will clothe ourselves in ways that edify them and strengthen their own worship. We will attempt to avoid the nonchalant attitude that says this event is entirely routine; that it merits nothing special from me; that my only consideration in what I choose to wear is what is easiest and most convenient. Such a self-centered attitude is corrosive to a true spirit of worship. Instead, the goal in our choice of clothing should be to express to the Lord and those around us that this event matters, that I view it as a holy occasion, one which deserves our highest regard. If the first audience for our nonverbal messages is God himself, and secondarily, our fellow worshipers, dress that best suits these first two audiences may also serve a third: outsiders who join our public worship.

Liften says he does not want to prescribe a dress code for church, and I appreciate that humility.  But I'll definitely think twice before dressing for church next Sunday.

Doorways to Faith

At First Things today, George Weigel offers a meditation on the witness of converts to the Catholic faith.  Weigel catalogs an impressive litany of converts and their various intellectual contributions to the Church and culture at large.  Despite their diverse backgrounds, Weigel says these Christians were ultimately drawn to Catholicism's "symphony of truth:"

You don’t have to be an intellectual to appreciate this “symphony of truth,” however. For Catholicism is, first of all, an encounter with a person, Jesus Christ, who is “the way, the truth, and the life” (John 14.6). And to meet that person is to meet the truth that makes all the other truths of our lives make sense. Indeed, the embrace of Catholic truth in full, as lives like Blessed John Henry Newman’s demonstrate, opens one up to the broadest possible range of intellectual encounters.

Viewed from outside, Catholicism can seem closed and unwelcoming. As Evelyn Waugh noted, though, it all seems so much more spacious and open from the inside. The Gothic, with its soaring vaults and buttresses and its luminous stained glass, is not a classic Catholic architectural form by accident. The full beauty of the light, however, washes over you when you come in.

I appreciate Weigel's reflections, but as a convert myself (and having talked with scores of converts over the years; we have a way of finding each other and reveling in our shared experience), I think the journey to the Church is often complicated.  I personally converted to Catholicism as a 30-year-old former Baptist-turned-Quaker-turned-Buddhist. In the beginning, I was, like Thomas Merton (whom Weigel mentions), drawn to the aesthetic dimensions of Catholic worship. I fell in love with liturgy and incense and the mystery of it all. Later, I became convinced of the intellectual, moral, and religious truth of Catholic teaching. And of late, I am finally arriving at the ultimate purpose of the Catholic faith experience: a direct, personal relationship with Jesus as Lord and Redeemer.

I guess my point is, each of these historical converts Weigel describes exemplified one of many doorways into the Catholic Church, doors all of us might pass through at some point in our faith formation.

Holy Trinity: The Tie that Binds

Feast of the Baptism of the Lord

On coming up out of the water he saw the heavens being torn open
and the Spirit, like a dove, descending upon him.
And a voice came from the heavens,
"You are my beloved Son; with you I am well pleased."
--Mark 1:10-11

I recently was pleased to listen to Now You Know Media's audio program on the Orthodox Church with Professor Peter Bouteneff.  My appreciation for theology was deeply enriched by this program and its emphasis on the Church Fathers and the development of Christian doctrine.  One point Bouteneff stressed was the absolute necessity of the doctrine of the Trinity for understanding the entire message of the Gospel and the coherence of Christian faith.

I recalled all this yesterday when the Church in the United States formally observed the Feast of the Epiphany and in today's celebration of the Baptism of the Lord.  During his homily yesterday, my pastor noted that the gifts of the magi had special significance: gold represented Jesus's kingship, frankincense represented his divinity, and myrrh - which was used for burial purposes - emphasized his humanity.  But as Bouteneff's lectures echoed in my heart, I saw another layer of symbolism: gold as fitting the kingship of the Father, frankincense as the wispy, breathlike Spirit, and myrrh - the Son who is God-Man.

Today, all three persons of the Trinity are fully present one of the most dramatic passages of the Gospels, when the Father tears open the heavens, pours out the Holy Spirit, and blesses his Begotten Son.  Again and again throughout the gospels, God is fully present in the interlocking mystery that is the Trinity.

Pope Benedict XVI adds an interesting twist to this feast day, however, by emphasizing that the loving intimacy shared at Jesus' baptism was not merely a dance of joy among the persons of the Trinity.  In our own baptism, which certainly occurred in time but which is ever present (as is the Trinity) each time we bless ourselves, we are invited to fully join in this eternal communion.  In fact, all of Creation joins in:

Baptism is not only a word, it is not only something spiritual but also implies matter.  All the realities of the earth are involved.  Baptism does not only concern the soul.  God's action in Jesus Christ is an action of universal efficacy.  Christ took flesh and this continues in the sacraments in which matter is taken on and becomes part of the divine action...Baptism will remain throughout life a gift of God, who has set his seal on our souls.  But it will then be our cooperation, the availability of our freedom to say "yes" which makes divine action effective.

Again and again of late I hear the Lord's gentle, loving whisper, inviting and inticing me into deeper intimacy, into a communion of bliss and perfect love that is the fulfillment and consummation of all longing.  Two feast days in a row offer an extended celebration of this love.

Beloved, here I am.  Amen.

The Way of Enchantment

Memorial Feast of St. Elizabeth Ann Seton

Today is my 41st birthday.  As I meditated this morning on the passage of time, I have to admit I am no longer a "young man," but neither am I old.  If I'm very lucky, I've reached the halfway point.  In some ways, I'm probably at the pinnacle of my health and at an extremely satisfying life point professional and personally.

I am also tremendously grateful for the spiritual graces God has bestowed on me.  Like most people, my inner world is a mess in all kinds of ways, but each day I feel some greater measure of Christ's peace in my heart.  My prayer life is more stable and gratifying.  I am able to pray for others and have greater wisdom in what to pray for and how.  I try to say this with humility because I know I'm probably one illness or tragedy away from a complete meltdown, and will probably stub my toe and unleash some fury of anger and pent-up rage later today.  That's why I'm grateful for moments when I can, through grace, have some clarity.

One bit of clarity came recently while reading an essay by R. R. Reno in First Things.  Reno was reflecting on the ancient Latin poem, On the Nature of Things, which celebrated Greek philosopher Epicurus.  Reno contrasted Epicurus' materialist worldview, which recommended a dispassionate detachment from all material things as the key to happiness (paradoxically an approach that appeals to many of today's materialist, secular, atheist thinkers) with the path of the ancient Christian fathers, especially St. Augustine. 

Augustine shared with Epicurus a sense that this life, with all its joys and beauty, was nevertheless ultimately disatisfying to the human heart.  Inner peace could not be achieved through outward attachments, acquisitions, or accomplishments.  Rather, says Reno, Augustine's path to peace was through radical attachment - to God.  Augustine's was the path of love, which Reno poetically calls "the way of enchanment:"

 "Let my bones," Augustine prays with an ardor that evokes the profound desire that suffuses the Song of Songs, "be penetrated by your love."  His prayer is answered.  After his conversion he writes, "You pierced my heart with the arrow of your love."

This divine arrow--which is a direct reference to Cupid and Venus that fuses the entire ancient pagan fascination with the enslaving power of love to the Old Testatment's nuptial vision--cures Augustine's restless, troubled soul.  "Suddenly," he writes, "it had become sweet to me to be without the sweets of folly.  What I had once feared to lose was now a delight to dismiss."  Like a fire that clears the field of weeds, the fierce heat of love burns away his distracting, dissipating worldly desires, bringing him to rest in an arresting desire to abide in Christ.  It is a paradox, but not an unfamiliar one.  The burning passion of love makes us stable, which is to say, tranquil.  Under love's enchanting spell we rest in that which we love.

This all resonated with me powerfully.  For quite some time now I've been praying for a deeper conversion of heart, but I've been framing it in terms of some kind of transformation of self that I want God to work in me.  I have prayed for greater peace, for more gratitude, for more joy, for more spontenaeity, all of which are good things, but I've been seeking these things as one might seek out a mechanic to fix one's broken car.

This is not the way of enchantment.  God calls us into relationship.  This is what I've been missing, but what I've in fact been seeking all along.  I want to grow in love, a love that is born of deep communion with Christ, in adoring and delighting in him and, in turn, allowing him to adore and delight in me.  If I grow in love, then all the other things I seek - peace, gratitude, joy - will come too, as fruits of that mutually shared and celebrated love.  This is the essence of Christian discipleship as I've come to understand it.

And so perhaps in my forty-second year, I will simply pray to fall more deeply in love with the One who first loved me.

This prayer from St. Elizabeth Ann Seton, whose feast day we observe today, speaks for my heart:

O my Lord Jesus Christ who was born for me in a stable, lived for me a life of pain and sorrow, and died for me upon a corss, say for me in the hour of my Death Father forgive, and to your Mother behold your child.  Say to me yourself this day you shall be with me in Paradise.  O my Savior, leave me not, forsake me not, I thirst for you and long for your fountain of living water -- my days pass quickly along, soon all will be consummated for me -- to your hands I commend my spirit, now and forever.  Amen.

Unite me to yourself, O adorable victim, life-giving heavenly bread, feed me, sanctify me, reign in me, transform me to yourself -- live in me, and let me live in you, let me adore you in your life-giving sacraments as my God -- listen to you as to my Master -- obey you as my King -- imitate you as my Model -- follow you as my Shepherd -- love you as my Father -- seek you as my Physician who will heal all the maladies of my soul -- indeed my way, truth, and life, sustain me O heavely manna through the desert of this world, till I shall behold you unveiled in your glory.

The Holy Name

Feast of the Holy Name of Jesus

"Kyrie Jesu Christe, Elaison...Learn it in Russian, learn it in Greek.  Say it.  Pep up your spiritual life with the Jesus Prayer in the various languages.  It's a fine prayer."
--Thomas Merton

I was happy to see this feast day on the calendar, as I've recently taken an interest in the "Jesus Prayer" that provides such an important foundation to spirituality in the Orthodox Church.  In particular, I've been reading Merton & Hesychasm: The Prayer of the Heart, and practicing the simple, repetitive prayer, "Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on my a sinner."  The prayer can modified and simplified even further. A friend meditatively prays, "Jesus" on his in-breath and "Mercy" on the outbreath.  Following Merton's advice, lately I've started praying the short version in Greek, "Kyrie Jesu Christe, Elaison."

"Hesychasm" means "stillness," representing the grace of inner calm and peace that often flows into the heart of one who perpetually invokes the name of Jesus.  This prayer is based on the notion that the name of the Lord, when called upon in faith, has the potential through grace to unleash enormous power in into the world both visible and invisible.  Orthodox Bishop Kallistos Ware explains:

The invocation of the divine Name possesses a sacramental character, serving as an efficacious sign of His invisible presence and action.  For the believing Christian today, as in apostolic times, the Name of Jesus is power.

While we typically associated the Jesus prayer with the Eastern Christian tradition, devotion to the Name has a long-standing importance in the Christian West as well.  Abbot Elias Dietz of the Abbey of Gethsemani reminded monks of St. Bernard's thoughts on the holy name during his chapter talk last weekend:

"O blessed name, oil poured out without limit. From heaven it pours down on Judea and from there over all the earth, so that round the whole world the Church proclaims: “Your name is oil poured out.” And what an outpouring? It not only bathes the heavens and the earth, it even bedews the underworld, so that all beings in the heavens, on earth and in the underworld should bend the knee in the name of Jesus. . ." (CS 15.4; CF 4:108)

As he goes on to say, the name of Jesus is both precious and cheap: precious for the depth of mystery and wealth of mercy it contains, cheap, because it is so accessible to us, even when we are at our weakest and worst:

"Hidden as in a vase, in this name of Jesus, you, my soul, possess a salutary remedy against which no spiritual illness will be proof. Carry it always close to your heart, always in your hand, and so ensure that all your affections, all your actions, are directed to Jesus. . . . The name of Jesus furnishes the power to correct your evil actions, to supply what is wanting to imperfect ones; in this name your affections find a guard against corruption, or if corrupted, a power that will make them whole again." (SC 15.7: CF 4:111)

The name of Christ is so accessible to us that we are free to use it in reference to ourselves:

"Made a sharer in the name, I share too in its inheritance. For I am a Christian, Christ’s own brother. If I am what I say, I am the heir of God, co-heir with Christ." (CS 15.4).

This is heavy - and beautiful -- stuff.  In my own prayer practice, I have often invoked the Jesus Prayer in times of panic and despair, or when I could not muster any other words.  But as I practice this prayer on a more regular basis - driving the car, walking to the office, waiting in line at the grocery - times of ordinary life, it becomes more like breathing.  And while I may not yet perceive Christ's presence with the clarity of St. Bernard, I feel a measure of hesychia - of stillness - that is his grace.

Kyrie Jesu Christe, Elaison!

Mary, Mother of Mystics

Feast of Sts. Basil and Great and Gregory Nazianzen

Yesterday was, besides the first day of a new calendar year, the Solemnity of Mary, Mother of God.  Auspiciously, I received a new audio program as a Christmas gift, Ten Christians Mystics and What They Tell Us of God, with Father Murray Bodo, OFM, which I began listening to today.  Fr. Bodo begins his list of ten personally favorite mystics with Mary herself, whom he calls the "Mother of Mystics."  I had never considered Mary this way, and appreciated his insights.

In his introduction, Fr. Bodo explains what's significant about mystics: they reveal to us that mystery of Christ's love that is ever flowing into our lives as a present, life transforming reality, not just an historic event of the past.  Scripture is certainly the revelation of God's relationship with man, but it's easy for Christians to conclude that it's a story the primarily takes place in the past.  The mystics reveal how God is working in our very lives, and by their willingness to hear God's call and respond, they also reveal how us ordinary Christians might live more faithful, Christ-filled lives.

[Mystics] prove to us that God continues to communicate with us in our own time, that God continues to love us, and to cherish us a mother cherishes her own child. We see, too, that like Mary we all can be Christ-bearers. St. Francis of Assisi states this truth beautifully when he writes: "We are God‟s bride when our faithful soul is united with Jesus Christ by the Holy Spirit; we are his brothers and sisters when we do the will of his Father who is in heaven, and w are mother to him when we carry him in our hearts and souls through love and a pure and sincere conscience, and give him birth by doing good."

In this way, Mary is the ultimate mystic.  God reached out to this girl who had no way to anticipate her vocation and purpose in life, and responded to his invitation with an unequivocal "yes!"

The life of Mary is a template one could place over every mystic: an Annunciation of the Spirit, a giving birth to God, a sense of the Incarnate God‟s presence, and following the life of the God who is human, from Nazareth to Calvary to his Resurrection and Ascension to the return of the Spirit at Pentecost. And all the time in between is Ordinary Time, in which one incarnates God in one‟s own daily life, nurturing God and sharing God with others. The whole journey is summed up in Mary‟s words, "Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word" (Luke 1:38).

Fr. Bodo makes it clear that not all of us will be graced with mystical experiences, but all of us will face challenging calls that will mirror Mary's life and faith-filled responses.  In this way, she is not simply Mother of the mystics, but Mother of us All.

Blessed Mother, you grace us with your perpetual prayers of intercession.  Pray that God will bless us with listening hearts that we might hear God's call and respond with some portion of your own loving faith.  Amen.

New Year's blessing prayer for clocks and calendars

[Fr. Ed Hays writes beautiful books of prayer that transform the everday, ordinary experiences of life into sacred moments. The following blessing prayer is from Prayers for the Domestic Church: A Handbook for Worship in the Home.]


Watches and calendars may be placed on the table.

Lord, You who live outside of time,
and reside in the imperishable moment,
we ask Your blessing this New Year's Day (Eve)
upon Your gift to us of time.

Bless our clocks and watches,
You who kindly direct us
to observe the passing of minutes and hours.
May they make us aware of the miracle
of each second of life we experience.
May these our ticking servants
help us not to miss that which is important,
while You keep us from machine-like routine.
May we ever be free from being clock watchers
and instead become time lovers.

Bless our calendars,
these ordered lists of days, weeks and months,
of holidays, holy days, fasts and feasts --
all our special days of remembering.
May these servants, our calendars,
once reserved for the royal few,
for magi and pyramid priests,
now grace our homes and our lives.
May they remind us of birhtdays and other gift-days,
as they teach us the secret
that all life
is meant for celebration
and contemplation.
Bless, Lord, this new year,
each of its 365 (366) days and nights.
Bless us with new moons and full moons.
Bless us with happy seasons and a long life.
Grant to us, Lord,
the new year's gift
of a year of love.

Amen.+

Anti-establishment for the 21st century

Memorial of St. Lucy, Virgin and Martyr

"Thus says the LORD:
Woe to the city, rebellious and polluted,
to the tyrannical city!
She hears no voice,
accepts no correction;
In the LORD she has not trusted,
to her God she has not drawn near."
--Zephaniah 3:1-2

Today on the First Things blog, Anchoress Elizabeth Scalia reflects on the odd disdain so many people have for Denver Broncos quarterback and happy Christian Tim Tebow.  I was less interested in Scalia's specific comments about Tebow (who seems like a nice, likeable, humble, faith-filled fellow to me) and more in her thoughts about a culture that would treat such a guy like a freak.  Scalia excoriates contemporary culture for its fake allegiance to tolerance, cooperation, and the condemnation of self-interest:

If unselfishness, co-operation, and bare profits were truly prized by the narrative builders [of contemporary culture], then monasteries would be heralded as authentic models of the doctrine of “fairness” and practical solutions to our socio-economic dolors; people would be encouraged to dedicate their educations, their talents, and their monies to help grow and sustain them. Ditto for parish outreaches, faith-based job-training programs and soup kitchens; church-administered hospitals, substance abuse programs, and crisis pregnancy centers.

Scalia's point is that our culture is, in fact, the epitome of self-indulgence and hedonism.  If Tim Tebow is a freak in our culture, then the men and women who still answer the call to consecrated life in monasteries and religious orders and utterly alien to this world.

This generation obsessed with being different ought to consider the ultimate example of otherness - and learn from them.
Abba, convict us of our blind selfishness and hypocrisy.  Help us to learn from your saints, those of old and those who walk among us today, nearly invisible to the eyes of the world.  Amen.

Letting go so that we may receive

"Wisdom is vindicated by her works."
--Matthew 11:19

Today's meditation from Jay Cormier's Waiting in Joyful Hope is so good, I have to quote from it at length:

We are not a very patient people.
We can't spare the time to stop and catch our breath.  Quiet unnerves us; silence is a sure sign that something is wrong; reflection and thoughtfulness are luxuries.  We do not live in the moment -- we live in the next moment.
We need to be constantly connected, online, and plugged in.
We are terrified of being bored.
We are in a constant hurry -- and yet we do not get very far.
We struggle to walk between the austere, demanding John at the Jordan and the Jesus who welcomes and forgives all.
Too often we let our fears and doubts, our cynicism and fatalism, affect our decision making.  We are defeated by what is not rather than inspired by what could be....
Advent calls us to patience -- not patience that passively accepts without complaint whatever disappoints us, but patience that is certain in the hope of better things to come...These days of Advent are a microcosm of our lives, revealing to us the preciousness of time and confronting us with our mortality.  May these days teach us to realize the sacred in our lives, to behold God's love in the midst of our family and friends, to embrace the patience of Advent in order to see our lives and world through the eyes of God.

Encouraging words, but hard words for me.  I cling so desperately most days to my to-do list, this never-ending agenda of accomplishment that I have, for the most part, arbitrarily imposed on myself.  And in my desperate rush to check things off, I miss important, sacred moments, I become fragmented and harried, and my overall affect becomes increasingly grim, angry, and afraid.

This is precisely what Emmanuel comes to save us from.  He reorders our priorities.  He gives us an abiding peace in which to rest, and all our efforts may arise from his infinite pool of energy and wisdom.  He gives us eyes to see the sacredness of every unfolding moment. 

But we must first surrender all those things we cling to so that he can give them back to us as sanctified gifts.

My Deal with the Blessed Virgin Mary

Solemnity of the Immaculate Conception

On an autumn weekday in 1993 I went into an empty Catholic Church, knelt before an image of the Blessed Virgin Mary, and prayed.  I was not a Catholic, though I had been sporadically attending Mass with my girlfriend, and even now I'm not entirely sure what brought me there.  I was anxious about many things that day.  My girlfriend and I were at a pivotal place  (we were maintaining an intense but long-distance relationship), I was uncertain about my course of studies (I was in graduate school at the time), and I was feeling spiritually lost and in need of guidance.

In my desperation, I prayed to the Blessed Mother, something totally foreign to my Baptist upbringing, and asked her to intercede for me, to pray for me and help me resolve the big decisions I faced about school and about my girlfriend.  I loved this young woman, could see her as my wife, and was anxious that our relationship succeed.  In the kind of reckless spiritual bargaining people often find themselves engaging in during prayer, I offered Mary a deal: Take me under your protection and pray for me, and I will dedicate myself to you and your Church.

I had no idea what I was promising but the Blessed Mother evidently accepted my plea.  In two months time I had transfered schools, which put me in much closer proximity to my girlfriend.  We were engaged six months later, and have been married for 16 years now.  Our daughter will be two years old in a few weeks.

On the other hand, I was not as faithful to our bargain.  I did become Catholic eventually, though it took me another seven years to finally follow through.  My devotion to Mary was anemic at best, and I have always been the most cafeteria of Catholics, even as I have tried to exercise some discipline in prayer and study and development of my own faith.  I am a deeply flawed disciple, to say the least.

But periodically I am reminded of that day nearly 20 years ago when she accepted me, a lost boy so anxious to love and be loved and find my place in the world.  Today, as I prayed in church during the feast of her Immaculate Conception, I felt her presence again and could sense her loving, caring, prayerful protection as she graciously continues to hold up her end of our deal.

And so on this day I rededicate myself to the Blessed Virgin Mary, and to her son my Savior and Lord, and to his body, the Church, that through his grace I might be a better servant to him, to my family and friends, and to my brothers and sisters in need, now and forever.

Hail, holy queen, mother of mercy; hail, our life, our sweetness and our hope.  To thee do we cry, poor banished children of Eve: to thee do we send up our sighs, mourning and weeping in this vale of tears.  Turn then, most gracious Advocate, thine eyes of mercy toward us, and after this our exile, show us the blessed fruit of thy womb, Jesus. O merciful, O loving, O sweet Virgin Mary!  Amen.

Pray More Novenas: The Immaculate Conception

Before I became a Catholic, and for years after my conversion, I was terribly uncomfortable with novenas and other traditional expressions of Catholic piety.  Part of this was rooted in the seemingly over-the-top results that are often "guaranteed" to those who faithfully offer the prayers for nine straight days as perscribed.  In their excellent little book, Why Be Catholic: Understanding Our Experience and Tradition, Richard Rohr and Joseph Martos warn about the kind of un-Christian superstitions to which Catholicism is always prone.  Our sacramental understanding of reality can tempt us toward a kind of "Catholic magic" whereby we assume that, through our own activities (such as prayers) we can force God to give us a blessing.

Certainly the instructions for some novenas can suggest just this type of thinking.  A few months ago, however, I responded to a friend's invitation to join in a novena to St. Therese of Lisieux, to whom I have personal devotion.  This novena was sponsored by a one-man website operation called Pray More Novenas, run by an ordinary Catholic layman named John-Paul who wanted to, well, pray more novenas, and as a means of encouraging himself, has started a worldwide network of folks who now join together to support each other in the prayers.  The next month I joined in the novena to St. Jude the Apostle, and today we launch the Immaculate Conception novena, which will culminate on said feast day, December 8.  Over 6,000 people are praying this novena together.

Pray More Novenas doesn't promote Catholic magic, but rather Christian devotion and disciplined prayer.  The tradition of nine days of prayer comes straight from Holy Scripture, when Jesus instructed the disciples, following his Ascension, to return to the upper room and wait for the arrival of the Holy Spirit, which descended upon them on the tenth day.  Since then, nine-day devotions of various sorts have proliferated in popular practice.  And while no one is guaranteed a specific outcome to their prayers, Scripture is also clear that God pours out blessings upon those who call upon Him in faith.

And so I have become a devotee of novenas.  I look forward to selecting specific prayer intentions and the gentle discipline of offering the prayers, in communion with Mary and various saints, every day.  John-Paul makes it easy for us digital-age disciples by sending an email with each day's prayers, and an online forum provides a place to note your intentions and any blessings that might unfold.

I invite readers to join us.  Here's today's prayer:

O most pure Virgin Mary conceived without sin, from the very first instant, you were entirely immaculate. O glorious Mary full of grace, you are the mother of my God – the Queen of Angels and of men. I humbly venerate you as the chosen mother of my Savior, Jesus Christ.



The Prince of Peace and the Lord of Lords chose you for the singular grace and honor of being his beloved mother. By the power of his Cross, he preserved you from all sin. Therefore, by His power and love, I have hope and bold confidence in your prayers for my holiness and salvation.


I pray first of all that you would make me worthy to call you my mother and your Son, Jesus, my Lord.


I pray that your prayers will bring me to imitate your holiness and submission to Jesus and the Divine Will.


Hail Mary, full of Grace, the Lord is with you. Blessed are you among women and blessed is the fruit of your womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death.


Now, Queen of Heaven, I beg you to beg my Savior to grant me these requests…


(Mention your intentions)


My holy Mother, I know that you were obedient to the will of God. In making this petition, I know that God’s will is more perfect than mine. So, grant that I may receive God’s grace with humility like you.

As my final request, I ask that you pray for me to increase in faith in our risen Lord; I ask that you pray for me to increase in hope in our risen Lord; I ask that you pray for me to increase in love for the risen Jesus!


Hail Mary, full of Grace, the Lord is with you. Blessed are you among women and blessed is the fruit of your womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death.


Amen.

Christ Climbed Down

Via my dear friend Tom comes this Advent poem from Lawrence Ferlinghetti, compadre of Thomas Merton and co-founder of San Francisco's City Lights Bookstore:

CHRIST climbed down
from His bare Tree
this year
and ran away to where
there were no rootless Christmas trees
hung with candycanes and breakable stars

Christ climbed down
from His bare Tree
this year
and ran away to where
there were no gilded Christmas trees
and no tinsel Christmas trees
and no tinfoil Christmas trees
and no pink plastic Christmas trees
and no gold Christmas trees
and no black Christmas trees
and no powderblue Christmas trees
hung with electric candles
and encircled by tin electric trains
and clever cornball relatives

Christ climbed down
from His bare Tree
this year
and ran away to where
no intrepid Bible salesmen
covered the territory
in two-tone cadillacs
and where no Sears Roebuck creches
complete with plastic babe in manger
arrived by parcel post
the babe by special delivery
and where no televised Wise Men
praised the Lord Calvert Whiskey

Christ climbed down
from His bare Tree
this year
and ran away to where
no fat handshaking stranger
in a red flannel suit
and a fake white beard
went around passing himself off
as some sort of North Pole saint
crossing the desert to Bethlehem
Pennsylvania
in a Volkswagon sled
drawn by rollicking Adirondack reindeer
with German names
and bearing sacks of Humble Gifts
from Saks Fifth Avenue
for everybody's imagined Christ child

Christ climbed down
from His bare Tree
this year
and ran away to where
no Bing Crosby carollers
groaned of a tight Christmas
and where no Radio City angels
iceskated wingless
thru a winter wonderland
into a jinglebell heaven
daily at 8:30
with Midnight Mass matinees

Christ climbed down
from His bare Tree
this year
and softly stole away into
some anonymous Mary's womb again
where in the darkest night
of everybody's anonymous soul
He awaits again
an unimaginable and impossibly
Immaculate Reconception
the very craziest
of Second Comings

Advent of Our Birth

First Sunday of Advent

"What I say to you, I say to all: 'Watch!'"
--Mark 13:37

Today's reflection in Jay Cormier's Waiting in Joyful Hope provides a beautiful kick off to this Advent season.  Cormier reminds us of all the times we have stayed up all night, studying for an exam, or getting an early start on a long journey, or perhaps for even more profound experiences, like sitting vigil with someone about to die, or waiting on the birth of a child.

This last example struck home powerfully for me, of course.  My daughter was born near dawn after a long night of labor, nearly two years ago now.  The parallels between that vigil and the joyful expectancy of Advent make the sacredness of this season palpable to me.  Months of anxious waiting, preparation, and dreaming came to a climax that night.

There are differences too, of course.  Our waiting was accompanied by a subtle but real fear: fear that something might go wrong.  Whereas we are assured of the completeness that accompanies the arrival of the Kingdom.

This doesn't stop us from worrying, fearing, even doubting though, even about the Kingdom, does it?  We are confident pregnancies will come to fullfillment, but we harbor quiet doubts about the infinite promises of the Gospels.  Human nature, original sin, or just the absymally deep fragility and alienation of our spirits nurtures in us the constant risk of complacency.

This is why Advent is also a discipline.  We must work at being watchful, must actively nurture joy, expectant gratitude, and abiding faith.  Because the Kingdom will come as surely as the newborn child, and with mystery, glory and fullfillment far beyond our wildest imaginings.

Creator God, we await your birth among us, but ultimately it is you who give birth to us and through your grace, raise us up to be your blessed children.  Let us ever be watchful for your redeeming love alive in our midst.  Amen.

Of Christ and His Church

Memorial of St. Elizabeth of Hungary

The gregarious Archbishop Timothy Dolan of New York, president of the United States Conference of Catholic Bishops, launched the annual meeting of that august body earlier this week with a delightful address on a theme from Blessed Pope John Paul II: "Love for Jesus and His Church must be the passion of our lives!"

You can read the full text of Archbishop Dolan's remarks here.

Archbishop Dolan offered a stirring vision of what faith in the 21st century must mean for Catholic Christians.  His positive message of passion and love reminded me of the premier episode of Fr. Robert Barron's monumental series Catholicism, which I watched last night on EWTN (interestingly, Archbishop Dolan also gives a shout out to Fr. Barron in his address).  In the premier episode, which focused on the preaching message of Jesus, Fr. Barron emphasized that, despite the horrifying violence of the crucifixion, Christ's core message is one of joy and love.  The Gospel is a pathway of happiness and freedom.

In his presidential message to the bishops, Dolan stressed a key component of our witness to that message of joy and love is the realization that Christ's  message cannot be separated from the Body of Christ alive in the world today, which is His Church.  Quoting the late Jesuit theologian Henri de Lubac ("For what would I ever know of Him, without her?"), Dolan emphasized that the Church is ultimately where the world encounters Christ. 

The Church we passionately love is hardly some cumbersome, outmoded club of sticklers, with a medieval bureaucracy, silly human rules on fancy letterhead, one more movement rife with squabbles, opinions, and disagreement.


The Church is Jesus -- teaching, healing, saving, serving, inviting; Jesus often "bruised, derided, cursed, defiled."

Because of this, Dolan encouraged the bishops to renew their commitment to renewing the Church itself.  Part of this work of renewal is acknowledging that the Church has failed the Gospel in countless ways through the sinfulness of its human members.  The world is lost, and sadly the Church has contributed to its lostness.  But Dolan offers a rallying cry to bring the work of redemption - of the world and the Church - to the Church itself, where Christ pours out forgiveness, renewal, and rebirth through the sacraments and the life of faith.

We who believe in Jesus Christ and His one, holy, Catholic and apostolic Church interpret the sinfulness of her members not as a reason to dismiss the Church or her eternal truths, but to embrace her all the more! The sinfulness of the members of the Church reminds us precisely how much we need the Church. The sinfulness of her members is never an excuse, but a plea, to place ourselves at His wounded side on Calvary from which flows the sacramental life of the Church.

We have failed to live up to Christ's message, but for this reason we need to conform ourselves to the message - and share it with the world - all the more.  It is through the renewal of the Church and its faithful witness to the eternal truth of the gospel that it remains relevant, vibrant, and immediately important for today's world:

It is always a risk for the world to hear the Church, for she dares the world to "cast out to the deep," to foster and protect the inviolable dignity of the human person and human life; to acknowledge the truth about life ingrained in reason and nature; to protect marriage and family; to embrace those suffering and struggling; to prefer service to selfishness; and never to stifle the liberty to quench the deep down thirst for the divine that the poets, philosophers, and peasants of the earth know to be what really makes us genuinely human.

Holy One, pour your renewing life out into your people and your Church.  Forgive us for our many failures and remake us in your image so we may continue to be your Body in a world desperate for your love.  Amen.

Unutterable Splendor

At the First Things blog, Evangel, Hunter Baker offers some reflections on Todd Burpo's popular book, Heaven is for Real.  The book recounts the story of Burpo's son, who (it appeared) nearly died of appendicitis.  Except that some time after the incident, the boy began describing how he had, in fact, died, and visited Heaven, where he encounter Jesus, angels, and dead relatives.

Friends loaned me this book a few months ago and I'd heard many other Christians share their reactions.  I approached the book with a little trepidation, suspicious of any human attempts to describe in words an experience that must be far beyond human imagination.  And while I did find the book hopeful and encouraging in its testimony to a scriptural vision of the afterlife, I was still a bit uncomfortable with the whole thing.  The little boy's description of heaven was just almost too conventional, and I chaffed at certain details like his assertion that Jesus had blue eyes.  I'm not suggesting I know what Jesus looks like in heaven, but I can bet pretty confidently that the historical Jesus did not have blue eyes.

Baker offers a more poetic response to the book than I can muster:

The problem, I think, is that there is something fundamentally wrong with human attempts to describe heaven and/or the things of God. I’m not saying it can’t be done at all, but it seems to me that other than through full-on revelation (as in the book of that name), the sublimeness of heavenly things can only be approached from the side or seen from the corner of the eye. A direct confrontation seems doomed to fall short. I felt that way to some extent about Heaven is for Real (a non-fiction account) and more so about the picture presented of the divine appearing by Jerry Jenkins at the conclusion of the Left Behind novels. When Jesus arrives in the story, he appears to everyone in exactly the same way with exactly the same message. It feels like the description of a heavenly voicemail attached to a hologram.

Baker reminds us of Paul's description of being caught up into paradise ("the third heaven") in 2 Corinthians 12, where "the man...heard things that cannot be told, which man may not utter."

Human words - even the sacred words of scripture - surely cannot do proper justice to the splendor, glory, and infinite beauty that is our destiny. 

Lord, quicken in us the hope for eternal life with you and let us be humble and open to all the unimaginable delights that await us.  Amen.

Fear and True Love

"There is no fear in love, but perfect love drives out fear because fear has to do with punishment, and so one who fears is not yet perfect in love."
1 John 4:18

Monsignor Charles Pope of the Archdiocese of Washington offers a thoughtful reflection on the meaning of the "fear of the Lord" in scripture and the life of faith.

Citing St. Augustine, Msgr. Pope distinguishes between "servile" fear of the Lord (which is a fear of being punished for failing to do God's will) from filial fear (the fear a son feels of failing to properly reciprocate his father's love).

Genuine fear of the Lord is rooted in love. It is the aversion we feel at the thought of hurting or offending someone we love. In genuinely loving relationships, we long for unity with our beloved, whom we appreciate and adore. Msgr. Pope's (and St. Augustine's) comparison of this kind of fear to the relationship of a loving father and his child resonates for me, but ironically in the reverse.

As a father myself, of course I hope that my daughter comes to love me in such a way that she avoids hurting me and bringing separation and enmity between us, not simply out of fear but because she values our relationship so much. But the reverse is also true. I cringe at the thought that I might hurt her someday, I'm sure out of selfishness and unintended oversight if (when?) that happens.

Of course, I feel that aversion toward hurting my friends, my wife, and others too, but I have never known a human love quite like I feel for this little girl. Nothing compares. My adoration for her is beyond words, and I hope with all my heart never to let her down.

This, then, must be what scripture means by "fear of the Lord," or at least the closest thing I've experienced so far, and suggests why such an attitude is so important for faith and discipleship. Modern secular society undoubtedly would scoff at the phrase "fear of the Lord" as something arcane and primitive. This reveals how short-sighted and weaak the modern mind has come to be, and how far from true love we really are.

Lover of my Soul, your patience with and passion for me is humbling. You pursue me though I reject you again and again, you who made me and love me and long for my rest in you. And I long for you too, looking in all the wrong places. Take me and make me yours. Make me always true to our love. Amen.