And it was night.

A number of years ago, I was part of a week-long class on presenting a dramatized reading of Scripture. We got to pick the passage we wanted to present, and I selected John 9, the account of the healing of the man born blind.

One of Jesus' lines in the passage was always intriguing and a bit mysterious to me: We must work the works of him who sent me while it is day; night comes, when no one can work (John 9:4). While I wasn't totally "in the dark" about the implications, I admit to being a little puzzled. When, exactly, would night come when no one can work? Didn't Jesus, light of the world, promise to be with his Church always, to the very end of the age? Wasn't the Daystar himself to be eternally with us?

The obvious answer, I thought, was Jesus' death, burial, and descent into hell. For that is when the bridegroom was not with us. But I was only surmising.

The Gospel reading for Mass today, Tuesday of Holy Week, shed a confirmatory light on this. As I listened, it caught me in an entirely new way:

Reclining at table with his disciples, Jesus was deeply troubled and testified, “Amen, amen, I say to you, one of you will betray me.”...After Judas took the morsel, Satan entered him. So Jesus said to him, “What you are going to do, do quickly.”...So Judas took the morsel and left at once. And it was night.

And it was night. Not just a statement about time of day, but a jarring statement about the state of the cosmos.

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The word "night" in the Gospel of John occurs infrequently, but in revealing fashion:

Nicodemus admitting at night that no one can work Jesus' works without God.

• John 3:2 This man [Nicodemus] came to Jesus by night and said to him, “Rabbi, we know that you are a teacher come from God; for no one can do these signs that you do, unless God is with him.” [emphasis added]

Jesus echoing his statement in John 9, that walking in the night is useless.

• John 11:10 But if any one walks in the night, he stumbles, because the light is not in him.

Nicodemus again coming "at night"--when Jesus had died--to prepare his body for burial.

• John 19:39 Nicodemus also, who had at first come to him by night, came bringing a mixture of myrrh and aloes, about a hundred pounds’ weight.

Peter and the other apostles unsuccessful in their work before seeing the Resurrected Christ (still in their night).

• John 21:3 Simon Peter said to them, “I am going fishing.” They said to him, “We will go with you.” They went out and got into the boat; but that night they caught nothing.

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Of course, the liturgy of the Sacred Triduum leads us to this as well, from the darkness of the vigil kept after the Holy Thursday Mass of the Lord's Supper, through the striking absence of candles (except at veneration of the Cross and distribution of Communion) on Good Friday of the Lord's Passion, to the utter darkness at the beginning of the Easter Vigil in the Holy Night.

Thanks be to God that the light of Christ banishes the darkness to enlighten and empower us to work his works--into the Eternal Day!

The Virtues of Eyelids

Amongst the things Jesus preached in that preeminent, if chillingly surgical, discourse we know as the Sermon on the Mount, is the line, If your right eye causes you to sin, pluck it out and throw it away; it is better that you lose one of your members than that your whole body be thrown into hell (Mt. 5:29). This line follows immediately after his admonition against looking at a woman lustfully. 

Though I have moved in a number of Christian circles of various stripes for a majority of my 44 years, I have yet to encounter even one monoptic Christ-follower. Even fundamentalists and biblical literalists seem to have backed off from the literal interpretation of this instruction (unless, of course, they never lust…but that is a matter for another day). And this is right and just, for Jesus does not instruct self-mutilation, but rather outlines in striking hyperbole the need to avoid occasions of sin. And yes, the eye can be a ready vehicle for sin to enter the body, as Jesus again points out later in the same Sermon (see Mt. 6:22-23).

While it is reasonably certain that we are not to take an ice-pick to the baby blues (or browns, or greens, or hazels, etc.), we can still mount a ready defense against the lust (or greed, or envy, or anger, etc.) of the eye: indeed, a physical defense. Eyes, you see, wonderful gift that they are, come equipped with lids. With truly minimal effort, we can stave off all sorts of optical occasions of offense…simply by closing our eyes. I duly intend to work at making this practice part of my spiritual discipline.

Closing one’s eyes in order to see? Yes. Much like silence being the prerequisite to hearing God’s voice, in true divine-economy fashion, opting for blindness readily becomes the vehicle for divinely given sight (see Jn. 9:39ff.).

Making an Enemy of Death

When it comes to preparing for death, very many respected and intelligent--as well as devoutly Christian--people have proposed the virtue of "making friends with death." I believe I do understand the sentiment--to put away all fear of death and embrace it (as one would a friend) as an inevitable and natural reality. I also see the pastoral value of such a sentiment.

But the Scriptures portray death in a much different way: death is the enemy--the final enemy, in fact, to be destroyed by Christ. Death is the "wages of sin," and only enters the natural order when catalyzed by blatant disobedience of the God who is life itself. Further, Jesus came that we may have life, and have it in abundance...to take away the sting of death. 

In this Lenten season, now halfway gone, I propose we be careful not to make death too close a friend. Is death inevitable? Yes. Is it natural? It is now, yes. But living as creatures united to Christ and his death through baptism, we are called to live the heavenly reality in the here-and-now. We are to be blessed (and to receive comfort) by mourning sin and death. Because of the friend we have in Jesus, death, still the enemy, is made supremely impotent. Christ's perfect love, evermore being perfected in our hearts, drives out the fear of death. Indeed, Jesus' own death on our behalf transforms death from being a terrible end to being merely a transition to a new beginning--from being the hopeless dead end to being the entrance to eternal life. As Christians, our role is not so much to become friends with death as it is to laugh in its face, for it has been exposed as what it truly is--the powerless enemy of Almighty God.

Angelus Domini nuntiavit Mariae

     Today is the great Solemnity of the Annunciation of the Lord, commemorating the visit the Archangel Gabriel paid to the Blessed Virgin Mary, announcing to her the privilege she would have, given her consent, of bearing the Son of God to the world.
     I am captivated by the Great Mystery of the scene: a heavenly messenger visits a lowly young woman (girl, really) essentially to bring her laud and seek her cooperation with God--her permission, one might even say--in bringing about the Incarnation: the cardinal event of human history and the salvation of the world. The humble servant nature of God is revealed not only in the Word-made-flesh, but also in the very act of the Annunciation itself.  

Our loving Father seeks

our permission for,

our cooperation with, 

his work in our lives.

     And when that cooperation, that permission, is given, and the unbridled love of God is let loose in our lives, things happen! Redemption! Transformation! Salvation! Behold, New Creation! 
     So, if today you hear his voice, harden not your hearts. Rather, fiat! ...be it done unto me according to thy word.

A Life of Lent

I have heard from many a devout Catholic that Lent is their favorite liturgical season. At first, this assertion seems counter-intuitive. Why would one prefer a season of penitence, abstinence, and discipline (like Lent) to one of celebration, exultation, and abundance (like Easter)? After seeking to engage the practices of Lent ever more fully each successive year, I think I’m beginning to understand.

The season of Lent, with its discipline, is a time of intentionally, mindfully resisting the innate human tendency of pridefully casting God aside and humbly letting go of those things which inhibit our perfected relationship with God—bad habits and stubborn sins, yes! These should be the first to go. But also any obstacle, even “good” things, anything that would seek to take the life-giving place of God in our lives. This is the intent, the spirit, of Lenten fasting and abstinence.

To identify these obstacles in one’s life, one need only ask: What is it that I can’t live without? If your mind, like mine, is flooded with ideas (coffee, chocolate, ale, Netflix, Facebook, my car, my iPad…), indeed, if your answer is anything other than “God,” “Jesus,” or “the Most Holy Eucharist,” then God has graciously given us suggestions for Lenten abstinence.

This may seem extreme. It may appear as if I am saying that living Lent is tantamount to living like cloistered monks and nuns. If you are thinking that, let me reassure you: that’s exactly what I’m saying…at least inasmuch as religious sisters and brothers take vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience.

By way of explanation, it’s worth taking a moment to reflect on what virtues we are cultivating through our Lenten abstinence. To be sure, there are many, but three that rise to the fore are detachment, holiness, and love…virtues which coincide particularly well with the traditional core Lenten practices of fasting, prayer, and almsgiving. Now consider how religious vows coincide to these Lenten practices and to Lenten virtues:

·         Poverty – to eradicate the attachment to worldly goods. Money is not my Lord.

·         Chastity – to master one’s desires and direct them to God. My desires are not my Lord.

·         Obedience – to forsake the worship of the self-God and to learn humility. My will is not my Lord.

Hence, we have a diagram that looks something like this:

Fasting---Chastity---Detachment

Prayer---Obedience---Holiness

Almsgiving---Poverty---Love

If the correspondence seems somewhat forced, I would argue it’s because of the intimate interrelation of each of the disciplines, vows, and virtues: they all work together to cultivate Christlikeness.

Scripturally, I find Hebrews 13 to be a great witness to all of this:

Hebrews 13: 1 Let brotherly love continue. 2 Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares. 3 Remember those who are in prison…and those who are ill-treated…5 Keep your life free from love of money, and be content with what you have …16 Do not neglect to do good and to share what you have… [almsgiving; poverty; love]

Hebrews 13:4 Let marriage be held in honor among all, and let the marriage bed be undefiled…9…it is well that the heart be strengthened by grace, not by foods…14 For here we have no lasting city, but we seek the city that is to come. [fasting; chastity; detachment]

Hebrews 13:7 Remember your leaders, those who spoke to you the word of God; consider the outcome of their life, and imitate their faith ...17 Obey your leaders and submit to them; for they are keeping watch over your souls …Let them do this joyfully, and not sadly, for that would be of no advantage to you. [prayer; obedience; holiness]

So, why a post on Lenten disciplines on the brink of Holy Week, so near the end of Lent? Of course, monks and nuns do not take their vows only for Lent, any more than the author of Hebrews intended that his words be observed only during Lent! No. The author of Hebrews, those who take religious vows, and yes, my devout brothers and sisters who favor Lent above all—they all understand the Great Lent…which is none other than our earthly life! Just as Lent is the gestation period for the Easter Triduum, Lenten discipline practiced throughout our lives forms us, remakes us into the image of Christ, and thus prepares us to live in the eternal Kingdom of God—to live united, in Christ, with the God who is love. Spending our days here on earth in living out the disciplines of Lent is actually equivalent to receiving the life—life abundant!—that God gives. And this is exactly what God wishes for us and from us: an earthly life dedicated to God by gratefully receiving the life that God gives!

This is what Lent is all about.

This is what Catholicism is all about.

This is what a personal relationship with Jesus is all about.

This is what faith is all about.

Therefore the author of Hebrews can say:

…let us also [like those who came before us] lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus the pioneer and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God.

When Easter arrives, let us celebrate and feast, in anticipation of being eternally united with God through Christ. But throughout our earthly lives, let us cultivate the spirit of Lent in our thoughts, words, and actions, that we might humbly be incorporated into the pioneer and perfecter of our faith and thus receive life abundant.

Saint Anselm of Canterbury

Today, April 21, is the feast day of Saint Anselm of Canterbury (c. 1033 - 21 Apr 1109), the saint I chose for my Confirmation name.

Anselm appeals for many reasons. Perhaps chief among them is his motto of fides quaerens intellectum, ("faith seeking understanding"), which posits the priority of faith in the comprehension of the divine. In our yet modernistic age, we tend to employ a more scientific methodology in diverse areas of comprehension, including religious: an intellectual examination of objective evidence will supposedly bring us to the best conclusion.

To be sure, this method is not to be discarded. Christian apologetics presents evidence to be reasoned through to persuade people toward Christian faith. Saint Thomas Aquinas asserts that a reasoned examination of the natural order should lead us to the acknowledgement of God. Saint Anselm himself is famous for his ontological proof of the existence of God.

But since the Enlightenment, the pendulum has swung decidedly away from fideism (or authoritarianism, but that is a different post) toward rationalism and scientism. The challenge for the Church today is to maintain the beneficial aspects of the application of reason while offering greater, and hopefully persuasive, emphasis on the roles of the living out of faith and Apostolic authority.

Saint Anselm's fides quaerens intellectum offers the appropriate prioritization: the fullest human understanding of God absolutely requires the setting of a lived relationship of faith with God. Though Anselm is more greatly remembered for his intellectual writings, we must never forget that it was his life as a monk, a prior, an archbishop--a life of prayer, of devotion, of faith--that provided the soil from which such understanding could grow.

Saint Anselm, ora pro nobis!

Philosophical Reflections: "It Can Happen" by Yes

Having the right music playing when you’re huffing and puffing at the gym can make a tremendous difference. In the mishmash of musical albums and genres on my iPod, I’ve found myself coming back again and again to the Yes album 91025 (released in 1983), and specifically to the song “It Can Happen.” There’s just something about that particular song that I can’t seem to get enough of as I’m sweating it up on the elliptical machine. It’s one of those songs that, once it begins to fade, I go back and restart. Of course, given who I am, when such an anomalous habit takes shape, I have to wonder why. Why does “It Can Happen” so captivate me?

Is it the lyrics? I don’t think so. To be honest, I’ve only just now looked carefully at them, and though there are a few flashes of poetic promise, I don’t find myself gripped as if they’ve finally put some deeply held, yet elusive truth into words for me. It seems a bit more like they’ve paired some tangentially related, abstract phrases in an effort to appear deep and esoteric.

Is it the tempo? The beat? Well, to be sure, these things help in getting through my workout. And there is something about a bass cranking out repeated quarter notes on the tonic in a driving rock-and-roll song that connects with my spirit. Still, it’s not that alone.

A magazine article I read a couple of years back introduced me to the musical representation of philosophical, theological, and metaphysical concepts through the way the composer (the article was speaking of J. S. Bach) utilized dissonance and resolution: an extended period without resolution set the listener up to yearn for the return to the root chord, which, even with vast departures from it, seems to stick in the residual memory. When resolution comes (if, indeed, it does), it is like a fulfillment of the very yearnings the composer has created within us through dissonance.

Believe it or not, this is what I find in “It Can Happen.” In fact, it is the repeated return to resolution—to the base key—in the song that I find myself greatly anticipating through the wandering verses and solos. But when it comes, it comes full-on, each time better than the last: the aforementioned driving tonic bass notes, the complementary harmonies (vocal and instrumental)…it’s like coming home after a long journey, it’s a resolution to disparate, even seemingly irresolvable, tensions.

And of course, this gels well with my worldview. Saint Thomas Aquinas put forth an exitus-reditus schema to creation: all things flow out from God and are drawn back into God. The consummation of all things will be marked by a unity—a union, in fact—of God and man through Christ (cf. Ephesians 1:7-10).

Were these types of things intended by Yes in composing and performing the song? Doubtful. Still, the song speaks to me in this way…and whether such a metaphysical statement is consciously intended or not, given the way our universe is structured, It Can Happen! See what you think…

A Reflection for Advent, 2011

As Christmas draws ever nearer and the shopping fervor kicks into high gear, we tend to hear more religious messages dissuading us from our rampant consumerism and reminding us of the “Reason for the Season.” And this is as it should be, given how we are often easily taken in by the mad dash to make sure everyone on our gift list is accounted for, not to mention making sure we’ve put the finishing touches on our own gift list! Surely the gift God gave to humankind in the birth of Jesus is incomparable, and it is all too easily lost in our overly commercialized holiday celebrations.

But lately, especially in this season of Advent, I’ve been reflecting on the whole idea of longing. Often accompanying the admonitions of fellow Christians is the offering of assurance that all of our deepest longings are filled not in those things which fill our stockings, but in Him who fills our hearts. Well, I would say, yes and no.

I can, without reservation, say along with Saint Augustine that “Our hearts are restless until they rest in Thee.” I hold that human beings have an innate longing for God which we try to fill with a variety of things which seem to promise happiness—power, fame, sensual pleasure, and yes, material possessions. Each and all of these end up being vain pursuits, never delivering true peace for the soul. In this regard, I agree with those brothers and sisters of mine I’ve mentioned above: a reconciled relationship with God, made possible through the One born in Bethlehem is what we truly seek, and entering into such a relationship squelches the potency of these earthly longings.

I would hasten to add, however, that that is not the end of the story. Beginning and deepening a relationship with God decidedly does not mark the end of all our longings. Instead, as we walk with God and as our wills are conformed ever more greatly to His, we find that our longings change. While our longings for those false lures to happiness decrease, other longings appear and increase: the very longings of God. These include longings for peace, for reconciled human relationships, for an end to wars, violence, and injustice, for suffering to cease, for no more sickness, dying, and death, and for a deep, profound love to be shared between all who are made in their Creator’s image.

Contrary to what I used to think, these longings cannot be passed over with a blind optimism which merely imagines either the day we individually pass on into the life everlasting and everything is as it should be, or when Jesus triumphantly returns and sets things right. Instead, these are precisely the longings that come to inhabit our thoughts, our prayers, our very lives. We pray “thy kingdom come, thy will be done,” and we mean right here and right now. What’s more, we also mean in us and through us. We are both the object and the instrument of that prayer’s answer.

Longing for the things God longs for in no way diminishes our hope in the resurrection or desire for the return of Christ. Rather, it prepares us for it by stirring us to greater partnership with, and deeper dependence upon, God. May this Advent see our hearts ache for God’s kingdom to come, his will to be done.

“Graciously grant us peace in our days.”