Time for a new look for my blog (Typepad is finally getting some new templates). I like the new starry look, but other things are in transition, so pardon me if the images and things seem a little scattered and disorganized for the next few days as I find time to experiment!
I am happy! It's a beautiful spring morning, I gave a great oral thesis presentation Friday night, blew everybody away with my project, have only one more exam to complete before graduation, have marriage to look forward to, and getting back to writing and speaking and communicating about the faith.
And I just found out: My very favorite 20th century saint, St. Padre Pio, who died 40 years ago, has been found very well preserved - which means he might possibly be incorrupt.
Incorruption, for those who don't know, is a phenomenon that occasionally happens with saints in the Catholic world where their bodies never, or only partially, decompose. They are not simply mummified, and it is not due to embalming or any other scientific explanation – some have been found in moist, wet places that should have caused rapid decomposition, or buried alongside others who decomposed long before. Some saints have been around literally for centuries, and their bodies can be seen in glass caskets in shrines dedicated to them. Here’s one website showing several of the incorrupt; the earliest known incorrupt saint is St. Cecilia, who was martyred in 177 and discovered incorrupt in 1599. There's also a book about incorrupt saints, The Incorruptibles.
The Church makes little formal fanfare of such events (though the faithful will turn out in the hundreds of thousands in celebration), and simply takes it as a sign, granted by God, of the holiness of the saint and the coming resurrection of the body. I for one take it also as a sign of the effects of infused sacramental grace, a sign of the real grace of God that enters us through the sacraments, if we receive them worthily, and transforms us not only spiritually, but also physically. The effect of sin is death (cf. Rom 6:23), and when we receive the sacrament of confession, the Holy Spirit washes away the sin and regenerates us interiorly. The effect of the Eucharist, Christ’s body and blood, is life (cf. Jn 6:53-54). When we receive the Eucharist, we are receiving the resurrected flesh of Christ, being incorporated into him, and the greater our faith and striving for holiness and real conformity to him, dying ever more to ourselves, the more deeply he can enter into us and transform us – and give us life, which leads to eternal life with God and immortality of the body.
That is our Christian belief. And here is Padre Pio, peacefully at rest 40 years after his death: (UPDATE: I just read that he is wearing a silicon mask, so it's unclear to me just how well-preserved he actually is. Don't want to mislead anyone! But I've read in other reports that observers were surprised at how well-preserved his body is.)
So Jesus said to them, "Truly, truly, I say to you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of man and drink his blood, you have no life in you; he who eats my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, and I will raise him up at the last day." Jn 6:53-54
By Fr. Dwight Longenecker, another convert to Catholicism, who published it on his blog, Standing on My Head. Very evocative; sums up everything I feel about the Pope and the papacy. If you like it, be sure to go over there and tell him so.
The Dogwood Tree
For a Papal Visit
My garden has an ancient dogwood tree,
grown from a cutting from a tree that dates
back beyond all living memory.
The old gardener loves that tree, and relates
the tale of how one tree was kept alive
for thousands of years through bad times and good;
how some cuttings would falter, others thrive,
yet all, both weak and strong, bore the same wood.
As I gaze on the old tree another thing
comes to mind. With its blossom white and pure,
it stands like a solemn sentinel for Spring;
it holds together youth and age—and more:
I see that each bough like an arm clad in white,
bows under the world’s ancient dark affliction,
then lifts to grant a fragile benediction
That banishes the darkness and renews the light.
I just read a lovely post on the blog “Et Tu?”, written by Jennifer, a former atheist who found truth in Catholicism, and in particular in the writings of Joseph Ratzinger. I resonated with her post. Though I was not an atheist, more an agnostic before I woke up and started searching for God, I was not always a Christian, didn't become a Christian until my mid-30's, and spent time in the Evangelical world before becoming a Catholic. In the Evangelical world, I definitely got relationship with Christ and grounding in scripture, and very warm community. But I did notice there was a lack of, well, intellectual challenge, really thinking through all the implications of faith.
Sometimes it was subtle, such as in the preaching of accepted theological “truths” that, in time, I began to notice weren’t always consistent with, and sometimes contradicted, what I was reading in the bible, though they claimed to take the bible “literally.” And sometimes it was overt, like the time when, idling around after church one day, I saw a pastor heft his bible in the air and say to bystanders, “We don’t need anything but this! We don’t need college degrees, or psychology, or anything else except the bible!” It struck me as odd – especially as an intelligent, fairly intellectually-inclined woman. God did give us brains, you know. Aren’t we supposed to use them?
When I began to encounter Catholic teaching, I also began to encounter real intellectual challenge and rigor of a kind I didn’t know existed in the Christian world - I have to say the greatest intellectual challenge and rigor I've ever encountered anywhere, an unflinching, relentlessly logical examination of the reality of life, what it means to live, and how to live. The light of Revelation, explained and articulated by the Catholic Church, is no myth - it is the brilliant light that illuminates reality, shows us reality, what reality really is, and how to live in and according to it.
Anyone who thinks Catholicism is just a collection of superstitions or myths or fables simply does not know what they are talking about. They've either never examined, or not with real intellectual honesty, what the Church actually teaches, or have examined it with such deeply ingrained prejudices that they simply cannot see the truth for what it is (and I have met a few like that). I challenge anyone to honestly study and reflect on the Church teachings of recent decades, with the aim to truly understand them, not simply mock or try to disprove them, and not come away profoundly moved and awed.
I studied, and I am a Catholic today as a result. I found truth here of a kind nowhere else on earth, because it is not of earth, but of God, Whom I now profoundly believe in with both the assent of faith and with the truth of reason – God the Creator and Source and Orderer of all reality, of all that is, in Whom and only in Whom can one truly understand everything else that is.
And the Pope, contrary to what some may think, is not just a man playing dress-up, engaging in power games or intruding unnecessarily into people’s lives or bedrooms, but is truly the mouthpiece of God on earth, the explainer and articulator of the truth about life; and Pope Benedict, in my opinion, is one of the best representatives of such.
Taking a break from finalization of my thesis project this afternoon, I remembered that the Papal mass is in progress in Yankee stadium, and decided to tune in. Pope Benedict was in the middle of his homily, with the crowd breaking in and cheering as he spoke.
As I watched Pope Benedict’s mass, I could sense the outpouring of joy in the stadium, the sheer joy and excitement of being there with the Pope in person. It came right through my monitor screen. As the people cheered, my eyes began to tear up, and I began to feel that inexplicable something that I’ve felt ever since I entered the Church: a cool, bright feeling, like light streaming through diamonds, light streaming through me and through the room, through the Pope and through all the people in the Church the world over. This was not just a crowd, a stadium, a group of people collected somewhere in the world.
I cried harder. This was the One Same Body of Christ with whom I am intimately bound as one. This is my Body, a body that unbreakably encompasses all baptized and confirmed believers everywhere, throughout the world, throughout time, into heaven and eternity. It was as if I was actually there – and I could feel, in the cool bonds of light streaming through me, that we are truly one, unbreakably, undividedly one.
Then I thought about Peter, as I watched Pope Benedict, the successor to Peter. I saw Peter, big clumsy fallible Peter, who sank beneath the waves and was pulled up by the Lord’s strong hand, who tried to correct the Lord and was rebuked by Him, who pulled his sword to strike only to be told by the Lord to put his sword back in its place, who promised to stand by the Lord but who denied Him three times, Peter broken to helpless sobbing on the eve of His Lord’s death. I began to sob uncontrollably.
And I saw this same Peter named the Rock, given power to bind and loose, given power to forgive sins, told to feed the Lord’s flock, given the gifts of powerful preaching and healing at Pentecost, this same Peter who at the end of his life was crucified upside down, because he didn’t feel worthy to be crucified right-side up, as his Lord was.
And sobbing, I realized: Peter is still with us. Peter lives, as surely as does Christ our Lord, has remained with us from that day to this, as surely as does our Lord, by the power of our Lord. Peter is with us, the Rock laid by Christ on which Christ is building His Church, and on which we are all solidly joined as one.
My tears dried. Peter, and the Apostles, and Mary, and all the saints, we all remain. Those who have gone before us are still with us. We are one Body, and the Lord has given us form and structure that remains, and endures. He is the same yesterday, today, and forever, and the Church is His Body, and so the Church, though growing, is also the same yesterday, today, and forever, even as a person is the same body with the same structure growing from infancy to adulthood. We are the same today as we were in the beginning, and Peter is still our head, very much present in Benedict XVI today, and in every Pope throughout history. And like Peter, every Pope is a clumsy, fallible man, yet empowered by Christ to conduct his office – it is truly Christ who conducts His Office in and through the Pope, in the power of the Holy Spirit.
I’ve never attended a Papal mass, have never met a Pope in person, though I hope to someday. But today, I feel that I have attended a Papal mass, by watching Pope Benedict’s mass in Yankee stadium, because I am inseparably bound as one with him, and with our whole Body, in and through Christ our Lord.
Apologies to everyone for my long silence here. I really thought that with the start of the new semester I’d be able to do a lot of blogging – but not so! I’ve gotten so deeply involved in my thesis I haven’t had any thought left for anything else.
But I have some good news: I just got engaged! That’s right, I’m engaged!
I haven’t written about this on this blog before, but when I first entered the Church, which was in 1999, I very seriously considered becoming a nun, and was in vocational discernment for a long time. But that did not seem to be where the Lord was calling me, so I then considered become a consecrated secular. But that didn’t seem right either. I then finally began considering the possibility of marriage, and looking to the example of Mary and Joseph, prayed that the Lord would send me my own personal St. Joseph, if marriage was His will for me. I met Joe – Joseph! – only a few weeks later, and we’ve been together ever since, both having felt from the first that the Lord had called us together for a purpose.
Since then, we’ve just been waiting for the right time. Well, it has come. He proposed to me Saturday night, and I accepted. But it was only yesterday that we realized that Saturday was the Feast of St. Joseph – it had been transferred due to Holy Week! So we got engaged on his own feast day. And we do feel that our marriage is for the Lord and his Church, not simply for personal reasons.
And Joe is a wonderful guy, patient, considerate, dedicated, hard working and reliable, loving the Lord. A real St. Joseph. I am very blessed.
Now, just pray for me that with all the excitement I’ll somehow find the presence of mind to continue getting all my school work done, so I really do graduate . . .
Thank you Lord, and thank you, St. Joseph! Please pray for us!
How I regret the mindless free-spiritedness of my generation, embracing "free love" enabled by contraception, and pressuring for abortion so we could be even more "free," rejecting marriage, childbirth, and forming families, so we could do our "own thing." I realize that our short-sighted attitudes were the outcome of - and accelerated - a long process of cultural breakdown and degeneration, rejection and forgetfulness of God and of traditional wisdom, growing reliance on ourselves apart from God or tradition, believing (and still believing, many of us) that we know best for ourselves and can figure things out for ourselves. But the price tag for our "freedom" has been high in terms of broken families, children growing up in poverty and it's many consequences, spread of sexually transmittable disease, and related illness, infertility, and death.
Now it turns out the price tag for our license will be even higher. Catholic News Agency reports on a new documentary about the coming global population decline, The Demographic Winter: the Decline of the Human Family, how it will effect (not if it will effect) culture, society, economics, and human welfare in general. The predictions in the movie trailer are grim, and if true, then there is a lot of suffering in store for us.
But our hope is in the Lord, and we must keep our eyes on Him in faith, for He is the Creator of all, and the Restorer of all. Even if we fall in this world, He will catch us in the next, if we are faithful.
I am reminded of the words of the LORD to Israel as they are about to enter the Promised Land:
But if your heart turns away, and you will not hear, but are drawn away to worship other gods and serve them, I declare to you this day, that you shall perish; you shall not live long in the land which you are going over the Jordan to enter and possess. I call heaven and earth to witness against you this day, that I have set before you life and death, blessing and curse; therefore choose life, that you and your descendants may live, loving the LORD your God, obeying his voice, and cleaving to him; for that means life to you and length of days, that you may dwell in the land which the LORD swore to your fathers, to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob, to give them. (Deut 30:17-20)
Prophetic, indeed. And not only for the Israelites, it seems.
I was finishing up morning prayer this morning using the Liturgy of the Hours, when a series of images and reflections passed through my mind. They were triggered by this line from the Intercessions:
Teach us to enter more deeply into the mystery of the Church.
And the thought crossed my mind: in the Church we are in the Body of Christ – which struck me as a little odd, because we usually speak of how we are members of the Body of Christ. But the image that passed through my mind was of the church itself, the cathedral where I presently worship, which is a traditional cathedral, and it seemed to me that when we are inside it we are actually inside Christ’s own body.
I saw the shape of the floor plan, and remembered something I learned in my degree program: the traditional church floor plan, with baptismal font at the rear, the altar in front, and behind the altar the tabernacle, with a side table for the unconsecrated bread and wine, is based directly on the architecture of the Temple at Jerusalem, which is revealed architecture, God’s architecture, His own design for His place of worship, which He directly gave to Moses on Mt. Sinai.
Since Christ dwells in the tabernacle in the Eucharist, and He is our Head, the Head of the Body, it makes sense to me that the tabernacle should be at the head of the church, behind the altar, which is the traditional location of the tabernacle. To move it elsewhere to me is to dislocate the Head.
But I had not thought of the rest of the church, the traditional design, as representing His body, and that we are in His body when we are in it. And all of the sudden something else flashed through my mind: the confessionals traditionally are located to one side of the church.
One side. The side of Christ, pierced by the lance, from which blood and water, mercy and grace, flowed forth. In the confessional, the blood of Christ and water of the Holy Spirit, mercy and grace, flow forth in forgiveness and absolution of sin.
And I saw: if the Church is the Body, and the tabernacle is the Head, then the confessional is the Heart. When we go into the confessional, we are going into the Heart of Christ, to be forgiven and washed clean of sin.
I love confession; I’ve been meaning, when I have a little more time and a clear head unpreoccupied with other things, to write a long post on the beauty of confession, what it has come to mean to me. One thing is clear: confession is not for the purpose of making us feel guilty. It is for the purpose of freeing us from guilt. When I go to confession, I feel like I am stretching my soul wide, like a sheet, and Christ Himself is reaching in and scrubbing it out, over time removing more and more deep stains of sin. And the more I am opened up and cleansed, the more prepared and open I am to receive Him in the Eucharist – and the more freely and deeply He can enter into me in the Eucharist.
Tabernacle and confessional. Head and Heart. Eucharist and forgiveness. The Body and Blood of Christ, operating in the Church, of which we are not only members, but which we are actually in.
And I remembered one other thing: when visiting a traditional chapel recently at the seminary here, it was explained to me by a seminarian that the architectural design of the sanctuary around the altar actually represents the arms of Christ, reaching out to wrap around and embrace the congregation. And I had an image: Christ gazing tenderly at us from His Head, embracing us with His arms, holding us close to His Heart.
These images flashed through my mind in only a moment, after I closed my prayer book – but they have changed forever, I believe, how I will think of the space inside the church when I go there. I will forever see it as the space inside Christ’s body, close to His Heart, where He tenderly feeds us with His own life, and continues to pour streams of mercy and grace upon us from His Heart, torn open on the Cross, remaining open in the Church, forever.
Sandro Magister reports in Chiesa:
On Monday, January 14 "L'Osservatore Romano," in reporting on the Mass . . emphasized that. . . . "for the first time since the beginning of his pontificate," the pope "celebrated the Mass in public from the traditional altar".
. . . At certain moments the pope thus found himself with his back to the faithful and his gaze upon the Cross, orienting in this way the attitude of the entire assembly."
Here’s a picture of it, from the Chiesa website:
Whatever one thinks of the Tridentine Rite vs. the Novus Ordo mass, or of the traditional ad orientum of the priest vs. the priest facing the people, there is one thing I like about this picture, imagining myself a member of the congregation when it was taken: it does make us all face God together, as one, led by the priest. And it clearly shows that the priest is the servant of God, leading the people to God, and bringing God, through his supplications, to the people, which to me is much more profound than being the “leader” of a worship service. Beautiful, in my opinion.
And another thought strikes me: why not have the priest at some point during the Novus Ordo mass turn to God and pray directly to Him, leading us toward Him in prayer? Is there any reason why not? I think it would be lovely – and powerful.
Writing my post about the book Christianity, Democracy, and the American Ideal: A Jacques Maritain Reader reminded me of something else, a comment I made on Amy Welborn’s blog the other day.
Amy has been writing about HB 1080, a bill here in Colorado that would deny government funding to faith-based charitable institutions that only hire people of the same faith, including in leadership positions, which Abp. Chaput is opposing and even the Vatican has spoken up about. They’d have to be open to hiring anyone of any faith – or no faith - in leadership positions to continue to receive funding, which makes about as much sense to me as requiring football teams to be open to hiring tennis players for coaches. Is it discriminatory for a football player to want a football coach for a coach? Of course not.
Now, politics is not my area. I’m no expert on these matters. But I commented on Amy’s blog because it’s something I’ve been thinking about for awhile, due to all the different controversies over public expressions of faith and government funding of faith-based educational and charitable organizations, which to me seem prejudiced against religious citizens and make it more difficult for us to fully participate in public life. In my comment I said,
I’m no expert on this, but if I understand it correctly, the church/state “separation” was begun not to keep churches out of public work, but to keep government out of meddling with churches. If our country really is “of the people, by the people, for the people,” then the money isn’t really government money. It’s our money, everybody’s, religious and secular. Religious folks pay taxes just like everybody else. So why shouldn’t our organizations be able to benefit from our taxpaying? If the government takes away funding unless we hire non-faith people, it is infringing both on our religious liberty and on our rights as taxpayers. Or so it seems to me.
Apparently I’m not alone in my sentiments. In the introduction to Maritain’s book, editor Jim Kelly says of Maritain,
Maritain anticipated the modern tendency of a paternalist state to usurp the vital role traditionally played by faith-based and community organization. To counter that tendency, he was one of the first to call for the decentralization of social life in favor of what he referred to as a “personalist and pluralist” regime. In such a regime, the state would provide all nonviolent faith-based and community organizations with equal access to government social service, health, and education grants. (pp. xii-xiii; emphasis mine)
So I’m in good company on my speculations, which are based on the fact that religious people are citizens too, full members of society. In my opinion, a “separation between church and state” which seeks to prohibit religious folks from fully participating in and benefiting from public life simply because we’re religious protects no one, but is inherently discriminatory.
A couple of months ago one of my readers kindly sent me a copy of his book, Christianity, Democracy, and the American Ideal: A Jacques Maritain Reader, published by Sophia Institute Press and which my reader, James P. Kelly, III, edited and compiled. In this election year here in the US, I thought it might be a good thing to bring to other’s attention.
The book is a nice compilation of short quotes by Maritain, organized by subject matter in 13 short chapters. A small paperback of 133 pages, printed in a clear, nice size font with plenty of white space, it’s an easy read, something you can pick up and let fall open anywhere, and derive fruit for thought. A very nice touch is that each chapter concludes with a further reading section of both Maritain sources and Church documents. In the Introduction Kelly writes of Maritain,
Jacques Maritain, one of the great moral and political philosophers of the twentieth century, wrote and spoke extensively about the threats that secularism, materialism, and coercive social engineering by state authorities pose to human persons and to the democratic experiment. This book contains some of Maritain's prophetic thoughts. It shows how, until recent times, the Christian faith has shielded America from these destructive tendencies, and it suggests how it can being doing so once again.
. . . Maritain saw "education at the crossroads" in regard to the modern conflict between education for social utility and education for freedom. He was particularly concerned about the government assuming responsibility for the moral education of children. His concern is legitimate, as public-school educators have embraced a full-fledged character-education dogma designed to inculcate children in an essentially secular ethic having no transcendent dimension.
. . . Maritain expressed frustration over those who were willing to sacrifice truth in pursuit of human fellowship. . . . In his view, the pursuit of human fellowship should not be politicized by highlighting those human values and rights that facilitate economic development or population control while undermining those human values and rights that protect and promote traditional interpersonal and family relationships.
The book is loaded with Maritain quotes on the relationship between democracy and Christianity regarding things such as the person, the common good, social planning, education, freedom of association, freedom of thought and religion, and other things. Here are a few examples:
A person is a universe of spiritual nature endowed with freedom of choice and constituting to this extent a whole that is independent in face of the world; neither nature not the state can lay hold on this universe without its permission. (p. 4)
. . .
It is hard to imagine a culture organized and unified by social planning alone – even supposedly intelligent social planning. Such a cultural paradise would offer, I am afraid, little chance for the creative powers of human personality as well as for the enthusiasm and happiness of the people. (p. 13)
. . .
[It] is but normal that in a democratic culture and society, the diverse philosophical and religious schools of thought which, in their practical conclusions, agree with regard to democratic tenets, and which claim to justify them, come into free competition. Let each school freely and fully assert its belief! But let no one try to impose it by force upon the others! The mutual tension that ensues will enrich rather than harm the common task. (p. 60)
. . .
[F]or the very sake of fostering the democratic faith in people’s minds, the educational system should admit within itself pluralistic patterns enabling teachers to put their entire conviction and most personal inspiration in their teaching of the democratic charter. (p. 62)
. . .
All the fragrance and beauty, the forms and values, the very pictures by which our ancestors lived, which made nature fraternal to them and the universe familiar, and which from generation to generation prepared us in them, have suddenly become remote and separate from us, entirely worthy of admiration and respect, but immovably fixed in what has ceased to be. This is undoubtedly the deepest cause of the great distress afflicting contemporary youth. It is strolling in it own humanity as in a museum: it sees its heart in the showcase.
If youth is even aware of our history at all. Perhaps they were more aware when Maritain was writing; for me, I had little awareness of history growing up, and only conceived a real love for it after I became a Christian and entered the Catholic Church. Then history came alive: with meaning, direction, purpose. It was no longer just a collection of events which, in my mind, just happened to occur as people lived. It became the history of the movement of God, and the history of the movement of people toward, or away from, God, but a progressive history carrying us all long, whether we are aware of it or not.
There’s a lot more in the book, on a lot of subjects, and it is good reading. Thanks, Jim! Hope others benefit from it, too!
This is a random thought that crossed my mind the other day, and just crossed it again: what work, jobs, earning a living, doing business, pursuing a career is for. We live in a world, at least here in the West, where pursuing a career, making money, looking good, succeeding and achieving in a material way is increasingly valued. But that has actually taken the heart, the life, out of our culture, out of our very lives.
Some years ago I read an interesting critique of feminism by a female lawyer (and not from a religious perspective), Domestic Tranquility: a Brief Against Feminism, by F. Carolyn Graglia, in which she points out that prior to the feminist revolution not even men understood work as a way to self-fulfillment, an end in itself. Men understood work not as an end, but as a means: a way to have a family, a home, a neighborhood, a place and a community to come home to and be a part of. Work supported and enabled relationships, and it was in relationships, with family and community, that one found fulfillment. Graglia thinks that feminists got the wrong idea about work and career as a means of self-fulfillment – and that their widespread ideas have been extremely damaging to culture.
More recently, it happens that my hair stylist for some time was a Russian immigrant who grew up under communism. Now, this is not a plug for communism. I’m neither a communist nor a socialist. But asking him about what living under communism was like, he had a thoughtful reply: “It was corrupt, and no one had very much, but no one had to really worry about how to survive, either. We had places to live, free education, free health care and transportation.” And here’s what I found most interesting: “It freed us to focus more interiorly. Life in communist Russia was very interior, focused on relationships, thinking, feeling, not like here in the US.”
Last year, I gave a talk on the dignity of women in the Church, based largely on the document Letter to the Bishops of the Catholic Church on the Collaboration of Men and Women in the Church and in the World, written by the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith when then-Cardinal Ratzinger was the head, and signed by him (a great document that everyone should read). Based on the document, here’s one thing I said:
Continue reading "Some Thoughts on the Purpose of Work, Career, and Business" »
Pardon me while I rant for a moment. Catholic News Agency reports on the following story:
Religious leaders in favor of abortion gathered on Tuesday to bless an abortion clinic in support of the Roe v. Wade ruling, the Supreme Court decision that mandated legalized abortion nationwide.
. . . Rev. Larry Phillips of Schenectady's Emmanuel-Friedens Church declared the ground "sacred and holy ... where women's voices and stories are welcomed, valued and affirmed; sacred ground where women are treated with dignity, supported in their role as moral decision-makers ... sacred ground where the violent voices of hatred and oppression are quelled."
Another minister prayed that the clinic be made a place of safety with a sense of sanctuary. A rabbi blew a religious musical instrument called a shofar "as a renewal of commitment" to "reproductive rights."
All participants laid their hands on the building as another minister declared, "This is sacred ground."
Kathleen Gallagher of the New York State Catholic Conference, told the Albany Times Union . . . "My gut reaction is that it's two-faced."
Continue reading "Perverted “Blessing”: Clergy and the Abortion Clinic" »
Continuing to reflect on my recent visit to a friend’s Evangelical church, and the differences in worship between that church and the reverent Catholic liturgy I attend at the Cathedral here, something else occurred to me that I have come to cherish in Catholic liturgy: gesturing, praying, responding, and singing truly as one Body.
It occurred to me last night as I was concluding a meeting with two of my trainees in my door-to-door program. We always close the meeting in prayer, and last night, as we usually do, we took turns praying extemporaneously, and then joined together in praying the Our Father, the Hail Mary, and the Glory Be. The extemporaneous prayers are always beautiful and heartfelt, but when we join together as one in the traditional prayers, something happens that is even more beautiful: we become one.
We feel a joining as one in prayers that our Lord and the Church give us to pray together, a deep spiritual unity as the beautiful, scriptural words roll off our tongues: “Our Father . . . thy kingdom come . . . forgive us our trespasses . . . Hail Mary . . . blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus . . . Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and the Holy Spirit . . . amen.” It is a beauty that surpasses our extemporaneous prayers, makes us forget our individual cares and concerns, unites us as one in love for our God and our holy faith, and unites us in peace of heart.
Not that extemporaneous praying is bad; and it has a place in the practice of the Church. But it is ironic to me that so many in the Protestant world think that written prayers, recited alone or together, are of necessity dry, rote, and dead, without faith. They are so only if the person is so. Any kind of prayer, including extemporaneous, can be dry and dead if done rotely, without faith and attentiveness.
Which brings me to liturgical prayer, especially the mass. Many non-Catholics have commented on and questioned, especially in conversations I’ve had going door-to-door, the idea of ritual in Catholic liturgy (the pastor of the Evangelical church I mentioned above did the same in his sermon, in a kind of boasting “we’re not dry and dead here, we’re so superior to that because we’re spontaneous” way). It’s common as well in Evangelical Protestant literature to encounter references to dead, rote worship, empty or stifling ritual, which is always a reference to liturgical worship.
People who grew up in liturgical churches also sometimes have experienced it as dead, rote, and stifling, and come to prefer, at least for awhile, the more externally enthusiastic, free-wheeling worship in Evangelical Protestant churches (though many tire of it later, come to yearn for liturgy and the real Eucharist again, and sooner or later return to the Catholic Church, with much greater appreciation for what they have here).
I think this is because people don’t actually understand what liturgy is, what it is for, and how to enter into it. Maybe they have not yet really had a conversion experience, in which they truly have encountered our Lord Jesus – in which case liturgy would be an empty, rote experience.
But in the Catholic Church, liturgy is not only a structure, a ritual, an external practice. It is the outwardly orderly worship called for by God in scripture, but it is so much more. In liturgy we truly come together as a single body, a single organ, a single Bride, to love and praise and worship our God as one body, as one voice, our God who literally is the true High Priest leading us in worship through the mediation of the earthly priest, who truly descends into our midst and offers Himself in the bread and wine, and who enters into a real one flesh union with us when we receive His body and blood in the bread and wine.
At the Cathedral, I usually sit near the front, to one side, so that during the mass I can turn my head to see and hear the whole congregation singing, responding, and gesturing as one. It is a beautiful mass where the congregation truly is reverent, attentive, loving, responding. The voice of the congregation often sounds to me truly as one great voice, a single organ, crying out to God in love and worship.
I turn my head so I can marvel at the wonder of it, and contemplate how this is truly a partaking in the great worship in heaven, where countless voices, a vast sea of voices, are raised as a single voice, the Bride and Body of Christ worshipping her Head as one in heaven. And when we kneel, I feel keenly that we truly are a single body kneeling, when standing a single body standing, when praying a single body praying, when singing a single body singing, our hearts united as one heart, loving and worshiping our God.
And when we go forward to receive communion, our God enters into us. Since I’m near the front I go near the beginning, and often while kneeling afterwards watch as streams of people move forward to receive God into their bodies, and it is almost as if I can see God entering into the people as a wave, from the altar to the ministers to the people, gradually flowing through the Church from front to back, until finally the Presence of God has entered into the whole Body, to the very last people in the rear of the Church. And then we are truly one in God, and God is one in us, united more and more closely as one the more often we receive God in Holy Communion with truly loving attentiveness and faith.
As Dom Prosper Gueranger, the great Abbot of Solesmes who led the restoration of the Church in France after the French Revolution, expressed of the Church at worship in the preface to his monumental The Liturgical Year, “Day and night is her voice sounding sweetly in the ear of her divine Spouse, and her words are ever finding a welcome in His Heart.” In the Cathedral, our voice truly is the voice of the Bride sounding sweetly in the ears of our Divine Spouse, who is truly present at the altar, and then in the Eucharist, and who in Holy Communion enters into us, and welcomes us into His heart, carrying us up in the power of the Holy Spirit into union with our Father in heaven, in a union of deep, abiding love. That is the meaning of liturgy.
And that is why, as I said to my trainees after we finished praying last night, “I love praying as a Catholic.” I loved praying as an Evangelical, too. But I love praying as a Catholic more. There is an abiding oneness, a real unity, that flows from the liturgy in which Christ is truly present and active, that we are taken up into when we receive Him in the Eucharist, and pray as one, with attentiveness and love, the great and beautiful prayers given us by the Church to pray, that I never want to be without again.
A few weeks ago a reader asked me to comment on the recent Doctrinal Note on Some Aspects of Evangelization released by the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, given my thesis project on developing an evangelization training program for Catholics. It’s a beautiful document, and reaffirms and clarifies what the Church has been asking for in recent decades, including documents from Vatican II and documents on evangelization by Popes Paul VI and John Paul II.
The basic message of all the documents is: everyone, everywhere, all baptized believers, have a duty to evangelize, to proclaim the gospel of Christ, both by witness of a holy life and by explicit words. As the Note states,
The words of Jesus “go therefore and teach all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you” (Mt 28:19-20), are directed to everyone in the Church. (10)
And it must be done with respect for the dignity and freedom of the person one is witnessing to, never in a coercive or manipulative way, but truly sharing and explaining (as well as living) the truth that can make them free. Everyone has a need and right to hear the gospel, and they also have the right to respond to it however they will (or won’t) based on where they are in life, so we must always respect, to use the words of Pope Paul VI, the spiritual “timing and tempo” of those we witness to.
The new “Note” was issued because of confusion in the minds of the faithful on the nature of evangelization, a confusion I’ve noticed since I entered the Catholic Church. Some Catholics think that we are not supposed to use words at all, but only “way of life,” based on a supposed saying of St. Francis to use words only when necessary (which he actually never said, and for that matter which the Church has never said, either); a few have gone so far as to actually deny Protestants entrance into the Catholic Church, telling them they should stay in their own denominations!
Among those who want to evangelize there is discomfort and fear, which seems mostly based on inexperience and lack of knowledge of how to proceed. I’ve heard many Catholics say, “I know we’re supposed to evangelize, but we don’t know how! Where do we begin? How do we explain it? Catholicism is just too big!”
Since I began my program, in discussing the program with others the main concern I’ve encountered is a fear that in some way we are pressuring people to “commit to Christ” in a way that some Protestant evangelists sometimes can, coming across as coercive or manipulative.
In all cases, it seems there are two extremes, both of which are incorrect: either one says nothing at all, and hopes that people will be attracted by one’s silent witness and way of life; or one will speak, but it will come across in a way that is pressuring and obnoxious (or so people fear).
Continue reading "On the Doctrinal Note on Some Aspects of Evangelization" »
I’m back from the cabin, had a very peaceful and wonderful time, snowed nearly every day so just stayed in and relaxed, built fires and read books, but now I'm suffering from a head cold. Actually have been suffering from it for a couple of weeks. Got rid of it, then relapsed, then started to get rid of it again – and then on the way back from the cabin a couple of days ago my car broke down, spent several hours on the highway waiting for the tow truck, got home very late, had to go back up yesterday to where I left my car for repairs to pick it up, got home late again last night – and this morning woke up feeling simply awful.
So it’s been hot honey lemon water and chicken soup all day, napping, and catching up on e-mail and handling a few business items in my few moments of clarity.
Well, it is a good opportunity to practice patience and surrender to God. Think I’ll go crash or watch a movie or something. Hot honey lemon water, anyone?
While visiting my friend in Dallas this past week, she asked me if I would mind going over to the house of a friend of hers who was out of town and has been having some troubles, and praying there for him. Though my friend is an Evangelical, her friend is a Catholic, so I asked her if she would mind if we went by his parish first for some holy water to sprinkle around, and she said she wouldn’t, so we did.
When we got to the house, we went in, and I noticed that it seemed very dark and cold inside. I told my friend that I wanted to start by the front door, and gradually work my way through every room in the house, praying and sprinkling holy water as we went. We walked over to the door and turned to face the room, and I crossed myself in preparation to pray.
The moment I began praying, I felt a sense of very heavy, dark oppression come over me – and at the same moment, my friend sank down to her knees. I wondered if she felt it, too, but said nothing and continued to pray. We slowly worked our way through each room, praying and sprinkling holy water, but the heavy, dark oppressiveness remained. Finally we had gone through every room, so I returned to the front door and faced the room again. I had prayed everything I could think of, but the darkness and heaviness was still there.
Suddenly it occurred to me: I had been praying in a way that my friend, an Evangelical, would be comfortable with, praying to the Lord and invoking the Holy Spirit. But we were praying in the house of a Catholic. I should also invoke Mary, pray to Mary, and ask for her intercession [please note, if you are not Catholic and are reading this: praying to Mary in this way is not a form of worship, but simply a form of communication, making a request for her to pray for us. One of the original old meanings of the word “pray” is “to make a request of a person,” as in the old English “I pray thee . . . please do such and such.”].
So I turned to my friend, conscious of her Evangelical sensibilities, and whispered, “Would you mind if I prayed a Hail Mary?” She shook her head and said, “No.” So I began a Hail Mary, and as I prayed it other prayers to Mary began to flow into my mind, so I closed my eyes and continued praying, asking her to intercede before the throne of God on behalf of my friend’s friend.
As I prayed, I began to feel a presence, as if not only Mary, but the entire Communion of Saints in heaven were beginning to enter the room, so I shifted my prayers and began praying for their intercession, asking them to surround my friend’s friend and guard him, pray to God for him, keep him safe, keep his house safe, and other things like that. As I prayed, I began to feel the whole feeling of dark oppressiveness begin to lift, and it was almost as if I could see, in my mind’s eye, the entire Communion of Saints, along with Mary, floating down from heaven into the room like a gentle, radiant cloud (the “great cloud of witnesses” that surrounds us, spoken of in Hebrews 12:1). The prayers finally trailed away, and I was left with a feeling of peace, very soft and gentle. I crossed myself to finish, waited a moment, and opened my eyes.
To my utter amazement, the whole room was filled with light. I looked around blinking, and saw that light was beaming in from an upper window that formerly had been dark. I turned to my friend in astonishment, and asked, “Was that light coming in here before?” She answered, “I don’t know! I don’t think so!” We both stood there amazed. The whole house had changed in both look and feel, from dark, cold, and oppressive to light, color, and warmth. It was a cool, cloudy day outside, but apparently while we were praying to Mary and the Saints the clouds had parted, and the sun had begun to shine in.
To me, it was the light of the Son shining in, the light of Christ that dwells in and fills the Communion of Saints, the light that dwells in and fills Mary, radiating and carrying the light of Christ to us. Our Body is real. It is not only a figurative thing. We are truly surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses who pray for us, intercede for us, and can literally light up our lives – or a house, it seems – with the light of Christ, if we ask them to.
Well, it’s been quite a sprint, feel like I haven’t stopped moving since before my term ended! Had a beautiful Christmas with family and a good friend, then went to Dallas for several days to stay with an old friend from my former Evangelical church who moved there recently, and am leaving tomorrow for a few days to go up to the cabin in the mountains where I’ve stayed a couple of times before.
My friend in Dallas has bought an incredibly beautiful house in one of the nicest suburbs, complete with a swimming pool and a hot tub, with a beautiful view out over a golf course. Several golf pros and a Dallas Cowboys football player live in her neighborhood. All the houses have manicured lawns and gated driveways; the architecture appears to be a kind of French country villa style with mixed stone and brick, steep shingled roofs, turrets, and tiny wrought-iron balconies. The interior of my friend’s house is stunning, all rich colors, cathedral ceilings, wide archways, deep lush leather couches, tile work and tapestries and fireplaces. I felt like I was on a movie set, especially after my simple life! Am I really friends with this woman? She even looks like a movie star, stylishly clothed and coifed.
But she is a dear friend, a very gentle and devout Christian, and it was so good to be able to spend time with her. We had nonstop wonderful conversation, ate out every night in a different restaurant, went sightseeing, and lazed around in the mornings and evenings.
On Sunday morning she took me to a church she’s thinking about joining, a small non-denominational Evangelical church. I was curious to go, as it’s been awhile since I was in an Evangelical worship service. Here’s how it went: My friend really loves small communities, was part of an Emerging church kind of home church in her former city, and this new church has just 400 members. The church interior was plain and bare, consisting of a small auditorium with a small stage, a sound system, and a projection screen behind the stage. Seating was on stackable chairs. There was no religious imagery of any kind, not even a cross, except for images that were occasionally projected in between the lyrics for the songs. The worship band (piano, guitar, bass, drums, clarinet, singers) was dispersed around the stage, and a small wooden pulpit was in the center.
It is Christmas morning. Last night I went to a wonderful gathering with family, food and wine, presents and Christmas music, then to caroling and midnight mass, and then the drive home under a cold, starry sky and a bright moon. This morning I woke up to silence and heavy snowfall, a world turned white under an unexpected blanket – a swaddling cloth of snow for the world. A light storm that was supposed to pass through quickly slowed down, and has settled over the area.
I must get ready to go to a friend’s house, but first I must slow down also, because I see that the Pope has delivered such a beautiful midnight mass homily, a snowfall of beautiful reflections, that I need to reflect on it a little myself before I go.
First, he said of Mary,
We can imagine the kind of interior preparation, the kind of love with which Mary approached that hour. The brief phrase: "She wrapped him in swaddling clothes" allows us to glimpse something of the holy joy and the silent zeal of that preparation. The swaddling clothes were ready, so that the child could be given a fitting welcome.
Do we do that kind of preparation in the inn of our hearts for the coming of our Lord? Each day, every day, we should get up and prepare the way for Him to come into us interiorly, by looking at God, spending time with Him, opening up our hearts to Him, so that He enters into us before we begin our day – and then He journeys with us through our day, each and every day. But if we don’t do this, what happens? The Pope tells us:
Yet there is no room at the inn. In some way, mankind is awaiting God, waiting for him to draw near. But when the moment comes, there is no room for him. Man is so preoccupied with himself, he has such urgent need of all the space and all the time for his own things, that nothing remains for others - for his neighbour, for the poor, for God. And the richer men become, the more they fill up all the space by themselves. And the less room there is for others.
We get up, and rush into our day preoccupied with all the pressures of the day, of business and family and school, and forget all about God. Then He is no longer with us – for we have not made room for Him in ourselves, and instead the world comes rushing in, and crowds up our soul, crowding God out.
Saint John, in his Gospel, went to the heart of the matter, giving added depth to Saint Luke's brief account of the situation in Bethlehem: "He came to his own home, and his own people received him not" (Jn 1:11). This refers first and foremost to Bethlehem: the Son of David comes to his own city, but has to be born in a stable, because there is no room for him at the inn. Then it refers to Israel: the one who is sent comes among his own, but they do not want him. And truly, it refers to all mankind: he through whom the world was made, the primordial Creator-Word, enters into the world, but he is not listened to, he is not received.
It is as Saint John said elsewhere: “Behold, I stand at the door and knock; if any one hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and eat with him, and he with me.” (Rev 3:20) Jesus is knocking at the door of our hearts, and wants in. But it is up to us to open the door to Him and let Him in. And we must do it each day, every day, as we start our day, or the door becomes closed, and the room of our soul becomes filled with things of the world, rather than things of God.
These words refer ultimately to us, to each individual and to society as a whole. Do we have time for our neighbour who is in need of a word from us, from me, or in need of my affection? For the sufferer who is in need of help? For the fugitive or the refugee who is seeking asylum? Do we have time and space for God? Can he enter into our lives? Does he find room in us, or have we occupied all the available space in our thoughts, our actions, our lives for ourselves?
If He is not in us, He cannot help our neighbor through us. It is God who is Love, and when God dwells in us, Love itself dwells in us and reaches out to others. But if we are closed to God, Love cannot truly dwell in our hearts – or what love we have can be misdirected, loving and desiring things that are not of God, and take us away from God.
Continue reading "Christmas, Christ and the New Creation: Taking Place in our Hearts" »
What makes Christmas perfect? Is it a perfect tree, or perfect food, or perfect gifts? Is it having the lights, the table setting, the music, just right?
A friend sent me a column by the Atalanta Journal-Constitution, where she describes her struggle to have a "perfect Christmas," and then, here at the end, captures perfectly what makes Christmas perfect:
It's easy to predict what will happen come Christmas day. I will walk into church like I always do, feeling like the biggest loser of all time.
All around me will be evidence of the perfect Christmas woman. Poinsettias precisely parked on the altar. Children decked out in hand-knit sweaters with matching caps.
When liturgy is over, I will tiptoe toward the manger to behold the simple little scene: Mary and Joseph kneeling before the baby, while the animals gather round.
And if I am fortunate, there may come a moment of grace.
My thoughts will travel back in time to Mary, who surely longed for a perfect setting for her newborn son. Perhaps she envisioned a lush and cozy inn with the scent of spicy pastries perfuming the rooms.
Instead, she settled for the stable, messy and dark, and smelling strongly of sheep.
The truth is fairly obvious: I will never be the perfect Christmas woman. My gingerbread men will always be lopsided. And my trees will make Santa's elves cry.
None of it really matters, though, when I imagine what happens next.
In my mind's eye, I see Mary placing her baby in my arms. I glimpse the mysterious light in his eyes as I shift his warm body close to me.
Then I lean down and kiss him, ever so gently. Tell him I love him.
Even if I get everything else wrong at Christmas, at least I can get that right.
That's right. So this year, don't worry so much, but let Mary place the infant Christ in your arms - and give Him the kiss of your love. And that will make Christmas perfect in your heart.
