The Unsettling Silence

There is a great deal of noise in my life. A small part of it is a welcome addition, such as the joyful shrieks of young family members, the playful growl of my dog as we wrestle, etc., but most of it clamors to steal my attention away from things of greater importance. What's worse, I not only put up with this noise, I actually invite it in—I use such noise as an escape from the pressures of job, school, relationships, responsibilities.

In yesterday’s Gospel lesson (Matthew 8:5-11), the centurion, upon telling Jesus of his servant who is ill, and Jesus expressing his willingness to come and cure him, says, “Lord, I am not worthy to have you enter under my roof; only say the word and my servant will be healed.”

Only say the word.

Advent is a season of entreating the Word to say the word, of asking the Spoken to speak comfort and joy, health and life, love and mercy. But I fear that, with all the noise in my life, I may not be able to hear this word when it comes in a still, small voice, in the cry of a babe.

This Advent, my prayer is that I might bring personal determination to the centurion’s prayer, which the Catholic faithful claim for our own at each Mass just before receiving Christ, and that I may sacrifice the empty ease of noise for the unsettling silence—eagerly listening for the word, that my soul may be healed.

History and the Christian

One of my growing convictions is that we, as human beings, are undeniably historically contingent: what has come before us—culture, language, philosophy, etc.—has contributed to us—to the very makeup of who we are.

My time in Evangelicalism had a strange interaction with this assertion. On the one hand, it stressed the absolute necessity for faith of the historical Jesus: his life, death, and resurrection. And rightly so, as orthodox Christianity is unabashedly forthright about the necessity of the historicity of its claims, as in the ancient creeds. But what Evangelicalism failed to convey, and only rarely acknowledged, was the ongoing influence of history on and within the life of the Church, and how that influence affected the faith. In lauding the Bible alone (rather than the alongside the Tradition of the Church) as the only reliable authority on divine revelation, Evangelicalism tenaciously clings to a strange and extreme interpretation of that medieval humanist cry, “Ad fontes!” (“To the sources!”) Rather than looking to Scripture and the early Fathers to correct and guide the admittedly sometimes far-reaching speculation of Scholastic theology, contemporary Evangelicalism, like its neighbor, Fundamentalism, can often rest content with only chapter-and-verse for a bed. Of course, while exegesis is often seen as necessary, there is little admission of the continuing historical role of hermeneutics, except insofar as the individual student of the Bible arrives at the “correct” interpretation of the Scriptures through prayer and diligence. As the bumper sticker read, “God said it, I believe it, that settles it.”

The beauty I’ve found in embracing a sacramental practice of the Christian faith is that history becomes the ally to faith it is intended to be, without diminishing the centrality of the Scriptures. The Eucharist which shapes our very being, for example, is resolutely tied to history: it is at once linked with Calvary and the Parousia, but inasmuch as it is entrusted to the historical Church, it also ministers throughout the ages, and that ministry shapes what it is today. Moreover, the whole Church is present at each Eucharist: the Church Triumphant (those in heaven, as signified by the censing of the altar), the Church Suffering (the souls being made ready for heaven in Purgatory), and the Church Militant (the Church of our day, fighting the good fight). The historicity of St. Paul, St. Perpetua, St. Augustine, St. Anselm, St. Francis, St. Thérèse, Blessed Kateri Tekakwitha, and Blessed Teresa of Calcutta has played—and still plays—a part in how they now celebrate the Mass, present with us. Far from being historically selective, and not at all denying history, the Eucharist converges and manifests the historicity of Christianity in our very midst. And we, as historical beings, partake!

Judgment Day: Maybe Today, Maybe Tomorrow

May 21^st, 2011—the date that “graced” billboards across the nation as the date of the Biblical Day of Judgment—has come and gone. The world did not end. Judgment Day has not commenced. All of the hullabaloo that was made over the date on Facebook, on morning radio shows, in casual conversation, and even, notably, by major international news organizations (e.g. the BBC) will likely quickly die out and the public’s attention will move on.

I have wrestled with how best to respond to the phenomenon of the prominence of this prediction. As a theologian and scholar, I disagreed with Harold Camping’s numerological methodology of interpretation of the Scriptures. I did not expect Judgment Day to come on the 21^st—well, no more so than on another day. And therein lies the rub. As a Christian I was dismayed at the easy target Camping’s prediction made for would be mockers and scoffers of Christianity in general, yet I hold an adherence to the general principles which lie behind it.

It is incontrovertible that, according to the Bible, there will indeed come a time of judgment, often represented by what the Old and New Testaments call “the Day of the Lord/Lord Jesus” (e.g. OT: Isa. 13:6, 9; 58:13; Jer. 46:10; Ezek. 13:5; 30:3; Joel 1:15; 2:1, 11, 31; 3:14; Amos 5:18, 20; Obad. 1:15; Zeph. 1:7, 14; Zech. 14:1; Mal. 4:5; NT: Acts 2:20; 1 Co. 5:5; 2 Co. 1:14; 1 Thess. 5:2; 2 Thess. 2:2; 2 Pet. 3:10). What’s more, both the Apostles’ and the Nicene Creed speak of Jesus returning to judge.

Equally, people are urged to be prepared for the coming of this Day (e.g. Matt. 25). To bolster this urgency of preparedness, the Scriptures highlight the imminence and unknowability of Jesus’ return. Essentially, Mr. Camping’s campaign sought to dispel apathy and increase faithful response by naming a date for Judgment Day. The Scriptures, by not naming a day, are not seeking to waylay urgency but rather to intensify it: “You don’t know the day or the hour, so be ready now,” is their message.

So, while I found no validity in Camping’s specific prediction, I sought not to belittle the concepts behind his teaching. I sought not to defend, but neither to mock. Moreover, I will endeavor to live in great anticipation of the Lord’s imminent return today (May 22^nd, 2011) and every day. Maranatha!