Keeping God's Law

In thinking a little more about the importance of the writings of Saint Paul for grasping what Jesus teaches us about the Law, it's good to look at another key passage from his Letter to the Galatians. The passage is found in the fifth chapter of Galatians. The passage begins with verse 13 and goes to the end of the chapter: verse 26.

Overall the passage is about the essence of Christian freedom. Hence, it begins with "For you were called for freedom... But do not use this freedom as an opportunity for the flesh; rather, serve one another through love" (Gal 5:13). In its essence, Christian freedom is freedom for and not freedom from. This is borne out by the number of passages in Paul's letters in which he addresses how Christians are to deal with suffering.

It is in verse 14 that Paul writes what is relevant to our relationship to the Law: "For the whole law is fulfilled in one statement, namely, 'You shall love your neighbor as yourself'" (Gal 5:14). This a rare instance when the apostle seems to be quoting the words of Jesus.

Making rules is a very human tendency. It is not necessarily a bad one. After all, loving my neighbor as I love myself is kind of vague and ambiguous. On the other hand, there is no clear-cut answer that fits every situation. This is where Paul's often overlooked insistence that Christians must rely on the Holy Spirit's guidance comes into play.

It is in this very passage that Paul enumerates the gifts of the Spirit: "love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control" (Gal 5:22-23). And so, as a Christian, in any and all situations, I am to speak and act under the influence of the Spirit. To act in Spirit-filled ways is what it means to keep God's Law because it is how I discern how to love this person in this situation, which is how I keep God's Law.

Year B Twenty-second Sunday in Ordinary Time

Readings: Deut 4:1-2-6-8; Ps 15:2-5; James 1:17-18.21b-22.27; Mark 7:1-8.14-15.21-23

In any honest reading of the Gospels, it’s hard to miss that Jesus wasn’t terribly hung up on rules. Any attentive reader would also notice that he seemed to have a pretty big problem with people who were all about keeping and enforcing the rules. He really took issue with those who worried about what other people were doing vis-à-vis the rules.

Even today, those to whom we refer as “Hasidic” Jews seek to observe 613 mitzvot. Mizvot means word, or rule. The 613 mitzvot are prescriptions and proscriptions- dos and donts- derived from the Law and handed on via the Mishnah, the Talmud, as well as through practice. As Catholics, we are in no position to criticize because we have plenty of rules of our own!

Rules are often hard to keep. I think all of us, once in a while, feel like breaking a rule or two just because there are rules. This impulse is not necessarily a bad one. Rules are also hard to enforce. Anyone who is a parent, a teacher, a supervisor, a police officer, etc. knows this. It's safe to say that rules are a pain in the neck for everyone!

If you paid attention to today’s readings, especially our first reading from Deuteronomy and our Gospel, you might be experiencing a bit of whiplash. In our first reading, we heard Moses telling the Israelites about the importance of scrupulously preserving, handing on, and keeping the whole Law. In our Gospel, Jesus doesn’t seem nearly as concerned with such scrupulosity. This tells us something important: Jesus not a new Moses!

Saint Paul insisted that the Law was given in order to demonstrate our inability to keep it. In his Letter to the Galatians he asks, “Why, then, the law?”¹ He answers by saying that all it did was add transgressions “until the descendant came to whom the promise had been made.”² This descendant, the only one who kept the Law in letter and in spirit is Jesus. Paul notes that “if a law had been given that could bring life, then righteousness would in reality come from the law.”³ But righteousness comes from and through Jesus Christ. Thanks be to God!

Now, Jesus doesn’t say that we shouldn’t have rules. What he rejects- he is not the only ancient Jewish teacher to do so- are rules that are observed with little or no thought as to why one observes them. He also grasps, as any truly observant Jewish person does, that not all rules are of equal importance.

What Jesus wants to focus attention on is the reason for the Law and the rules that flow from it. He tells us elsewhere that the roots of the entire Law are the two great commandments: loving God with all your whole being and loving your neighbor as you love yourself.⁴ God’s Law has no other purpose than how to realize these.

Let’s face it, most of the time, it’s easier to keep a list of rules than to love another person as you love yourself. This is especially true if it’s someone you might not like or, even harder, when it comes to someone who doesn’t like you!

In our Gospel, Jesus is insistent that our motivation to keep rules, ideally, should come from within and not have to be imposed on us from without. And so, he challenges us to examine our hearts. This means thinking about how my behavior affects others, whether what I do is for the common good or if I only consider what I think is good for me. Thinking about others is how Christians should always think about everything because this is what it means to love your neighbor as you love yourself.

The Act of Contrition, which we say in confession, begins with these words: “My God, I am sorry for my sins with all my heart. In choosing to wrong and failing to do good I have sinned against you, whom I should love above all things.” What is sin but my failure to love God with my whole heart and/or to love my neighbor as I love myself? Put another way, what is sinning except loving myself more than God and other people?

In God’s kingdom, there will be no need to make or enforce rules because those who dwell there, by God’s merciful forgiveness of their many failures to love and by their striving to follow Jesus, will be perfected in love.

For someone who has experienced the love of God given to her through Jesus Christ by the power of the Holy Spirit, her deepest desire is to love God and to love others the way God loves them in Jesus. This desire is the work of the Holy Spirit. Among the gifts of the Holy Spirit are patience, kindness, gentleness, and love.

There are means and ends. Means are the ways you achieve your ends. Ends are goals, those things you want to happen. The difference between a goal and a wish is that you do things to realize a goal, whereas wishes remain wishes because you don't do anything to make them come true. To become like Jesus is the main goal of every true Christian.

So, if you want to love God and love other people like Christ loves them, what you do and what you say matters. It also matters how you do what you do and how you say what you say. This is why our second reading from the Letter of James urges us to be doers of the word and not just hearers.

You’ve probably heard someone say or maybe you’ve read online that sitting in church doesn’t make you a Christian any more than standing in a garage makes you a car. This is true. Does that mean going to Mass isn’t important? No! It means that if coming to church doesn’t shape and form you, help convert, that is, change you, then it’s safe to say you’re missing the point.

Mass comes from the Latin word missa. Missa means to be dismissed or, in context, to be sent. An apostle is one who is sent. Being sent forth at the end of Mass is part of what it means for the Church to be apostolic.

At the end of Mass, we are all sent forth with something like these words: Go in peace, glorifying the Lord by your life. Another way of putting this is, You’ve heard God’s word, now go out and love.

---

1 Galatians 3:19.^↩
2 Galatians 3:19.^↩
3 Galatians 3:21.^↩
4 Mark 12:30-31.^↩

"These eyes are not thy only paradise"

Today is the last Friday in August. Let Fall begin! The days are noticeably shorter and the overnight temperatures blessedly cooler. Our sky here along the Wasatch Front is still filled with smoke from fires to the west of us. The smoke is high-up but it gives evenings an end-of-the-world tint. When I think back over the last year-and-a-half, I can honestly say that I never thought I'd live through what we are now living through. It's weird and, I'll say it, scary.

It's been great to have been able to serve at the first two Masses for our parish school this year. I preached at our Mass this morning. Because I am only going to rework my homily slightly for Sunday, I am not going to post it until then.

One of the advantages of preaching for more than 17 years is that I've stopped overthinking the readings for the most part. While each set of readings in the Sunday lectionary can be taken in a variety of directions, it's useful to find the kernel of meaning I think my parish community could benefit from. I am not going to lie. I enjoy preaching. What I enjoy most about it is the preparation.

In my role as Director of the Office of the Diaconate for my diocese, I am busily engaged with a wonderful group of collaborators in selecting applicants for our next diaconate formation class. It's a lengthy process and more involved than I had guessed. We're getting there. The plan is to begin in November.

As for the rest, I have taken far too little time to read the past few weeks. I always feel a void when I'm reading. I need to knuckle down and finish the 4 books I am somewhere in the process of reading.

One of the signs I am too busy is when I start having the recurring thought of quitting everything, staying home and working on my house my yard, and reading. Call it what you want- self-care, pacing myself, recognizing and living within my limits- but I need to get back to setting and maintaining boundaries. Since Fridays are penitential days, I guess that's my confession for today.

I don't feel like I've posted a proper, heartfelt Friday traditio for a while, I wanted to do that today. Looking back, over the history of the Καθολικός διάκονος Friday traditio, I've only ever posted three songs by The Cure. One of those, "Lovesong," was a very nice cover. Another is no longer available. This week I came across a live version of what is probably the band's best-known song, "Just Like Heaven." After listening to it three times in a row, thought Friday traditio for sure. But, then, I am a sucker for a great bass line.

Hearing "Just Like Heaven" this week made me think that many people have someone like Dante's Beatrice. My next thought was that our Beatrices are highly idealized versions of a real person for whom we perhaps feel an immediate and deep attraction. What I mean is that we take someone to whom we are very attracted and ascribe to that person all we want and a lot of what we need to this person. This idealistic distortion can both inspire and depress. After all, ideals only exist for us to fall short of them.

When one considers it was likely the case that Dante only met Beatrice Portinari twice in his life, the first time when they were both 9 and again 9 years later when they were 18, the point I am trying to make becomes clearer. In any case, those are the thoughts that brought us this week's traditio.

While the everlasting pleasure, that did full
On Beatrice shine, with second view
From her fair countenance my gladden'd soul
Contented; vanquishing me with a beam
Of her soft smile, she spake: "Turn thee, and list.
These eyes are not thy only Paradise" (Paradiso Canto XVIII)

Ephesians 5, marriage, & fundamental equality of spouses

Reading: Ephesians 5:21-32

For my reflection on the readings for his Twenty-first Sunday in Ordinary Time, I am going to focus on the New Testament reading from the Letter to the Ephesians. My guess is that whoever preached at your parish this weekend probably passed over this reading in silence. If the preacher didn't ignore it, he may have made a slight allusion to it to bolster a point. Of course, there is the possibility that it was misunderstood and then communicated in an inaccurate and less than helpful way. In my view, this is one of those lectionary passages for which it is important to use to the extended version. Understandably, the repetitive use of the English word "subordination" is disconcerting for a lot of people, women especially but some men, too, including me.

The first thing to point out is that Ephesians is generally not considered to be one of the seven authentically Pauline letters. In other words, the scholarly consensus, with some notable exceptions, holds that this letter was not written by Saint Paul himself. Hence, it is considered a deutero-Pauline composition. "Deutero," in Greek, means "second," as in Deutero-Canonical books. The Deutero-Canonical books are those books held by Catholics, Orthodox, and some Protestants to be inspired and so are considered scriptural. These books, such as Sirach, Judith, Baruch, Tobit, etc., are not recognized as belonging to scripture by many Christians.

Because they were indisputably written later than the rest of what Christians call the "Old Testament" and written mostly in Greek, not Hebrew, these books are called by those who hold them to be inspired as a "second canon." In the same way, the deutero-Pauline letters were perhaps written by followers of Paul but not the apostle himself. However, Christians agree that these deutero-Pauline letters are inspired and so belong in the Bible. For Christians, Ephesians and the other deutero-Pauline letters are scriptural.

Some would suggest that the passage from Ephesians that constitutes today's New Testament reading is proof that this letter was not written by Saint Paul. Judging from those letters universally held to be written by the apostle himself, when compared with the passage under consideration, Paul, it would seem, had a more egalitarian and less hierarchical view of marriage and family than what we find in Ephesians.

This passage from the fifth chapter of Ephesians, along with others both in Ephesians and in other of the deutero-Pauline letters, seems to be derived somewhat from (Greco-)Roman household codes. This particular passage, it could be also be argued, departs somewhat from authentically Pauline Christology and ecclesiology. Nonetheless, the passage is built on a foundation of an egalitarian understanding of marriage.

The Church's current Code of Canon Law recognizes the equality of spouses: "The matrimonial covenant, by which a man and a woman establish between themselves a partnership of the whole of life..." (Canon 1055 §1). Partners are equals.

Similarly, the passage from Ephesians that concerns us starts with this exhortation: "Be subordinate to one another out of reverence for Christ" (Eph 5:21). The word translated from Greek into English by the phrase "Be subordinate to" transliterates as hupotassomenoi. Indeed, it means "to be subject to." Foundationally then, for Christians and Christian spouses subordination is mutual. The rest of the passage seeks to explain how this mutual subordination works for the purpose of making an analogy.

In what follows, it would seem that the inspired author places a greater burden on the husband than on the wife. In considering this passage, we must never lose sight of how it is that Christ leads the Church. He leads us kenotically, that is, in a self-emptying and selfless way, not in a domineering tin-pot dictator, do-what-I-say, my-way-or-the-highway kind of way. To relate, let alone lead, in any other way is a rejection of the fundamental equality mutual subordination for Christ's sake requires of Christians and Christian spouses.

In this context, it also seems important to point out that the phrase "he himself the savior of the body" refers to Christ, not to the husband in this passage. Now, the husband is to give himself wholly to his wife in imitation of Christ. But our imitation, even when sincerely attempted, is only ever a pale imitation of Christ and, while it can perhaps faciliate salvation, is not ultimately efficacious for salvation. Only Christ's passion, death, and resurrection saves our bodies and our souls.

Jumping to the end of the passage, I think there are two additional things worth noting. First, is that the inspired author explicitly cited what I call the Ur verse in scripture regarding marriage. It is the same verse invoked by Jesus in his disputation about marriage and divorce in the parallel passages found in Mark 10:1-12 and Matthew 19:1-12. The Ur verse is Genesis 2:24: "That is why a man leaves his father and mother and clings to his wife, and the two of them become one body." What always strikes me about this verse is that it seems to assume that the woman is already prepared to receive the man and that it is the man who might otherwise lack the maturity and perhaps the strength to leave his parents.

Secondly, our Ephesians passage ends with the inspired author admitting that what he is trying to describe "is a great mystery" (Eph 5:32). Words always fall short of the mystery. What the author attempted is a description of Christ's relation to the Church using marriage as an analogy. Analogies, as they say, always limp. Take any analogy (i.e., x is like y) and if you pull the thread far enough the similarity disappears and you are left with two dissimilar things. To say something is like something else is not to assert an identity (i.e., x is y or vice-versa) but seeking to identify similarities for the purpose of giving an example of something that might otherwise result in lack of comprehension. Therefore, along with any similarities, an analogy also implies from the get-go some dissimilarities.

At least from a Catholic perspective, Christian marriage is intended to be a sacramental (i.e., visible and tangible) sign of Christ's relationship to his bride, the Church. When people (Christian and non-Christian alike) see married Christians- how they relate to each other, how they relate to others, the tone and tenor of their household, etc.- it should give the observer a concrete idea- albeit one that falls short of the reality to which is points as a sign- of Christ's commitment to the Church. This brings us back to the necessity of that fundamental equality of spouses.

Solemnity of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary

Readings: Rev. 11:19a.12:1-6a.10ab; Ps 40:10-12.16; 1 Cor 15:20-27

Today we celebrate the bodily assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary into heaven. In the Creed, we profess that Jesus Christ is “consubstantial with the Father.” Because he was incarnate by the Spirit’s power through the Virgin Mary, Christ is also consubstantial with us. This is our hope.

Among the many allusions found in our first reading from the Book of Revelation, we find one to Christ’s own Ascension into heaven. When referring to the “woman clothed with the sun,” the inspired author writes that “Her child was caught up to God and his throne.”¹ Keep in mind what the two men dressed in white told Jesus’s disciples as they stood looking up as he rose into the sky: “This Jesus who has been taken up from you into heaven will return in the same way as you have seen him going into heaven.”²

Jesus will not return only to depart again. In the next-to-last chapter of Revelation, we learn that the City of God, “a new Jerusalem,” will come “down out of heaven from God.”³ As this vision is described in the inspired text, a voice from the throne of God says, “Behold, God’s dwelling is with the human race. He will dwell with them and they will be his people and God himself will always be with them [as their God].”⁴

Jesus Christ is Emmanuel, God with us.⁵ God dwells with us both now and evermore because of the fiat, the emphatic “Yes!” of Mary of Nazareth. Her “Yes!” to God is beautifully articulated in her Magnificat.

Jesus being truly human and truly divine is one of the paradoxes that constitute the fundamentals of Christian orthodoxy. Mary, virgin and mother, is another fundamental paradox. The former very much depends on the latter. Today’s solemnity readily brings to mind the mysteries of the Blessed Virgin’s Holy Rosary.

The Magnificat, which is the heart of our Gospel today, recalls the Rosary’s very first mystery, the first Joyful Mystery- the Annunciation. The fruit of this mystery is humility. The Virgin Mary’s humility is well-expressed in the opening words of this powerful canticle:

My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord;
my spirit rejoices in God my Savior
for he has looked with favor on his lowly servant⁶

Mary’s Assumption is related to her Son’s Ascension. Jesus’s Ascension is the second Glorious Mystery of the Rosary. The fruit of contemplating this mystery is hope. As the Mother of God herself experienced through her Son’s passion and death, hope lies beyond optimism.

Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary, by Bartolomé Esteban Murillo, ca. 1680

Vaclav Havel observed, “Hope is an orientation of the spirit, an orientation of the heart. It transcends the world that is immediately experienced and is anchored somewhere beyond its horizons.” I think the witness of Saint Maximilian Kolbe, whose feast the Church celebrated yesterday, gives us a concrete example of what Havel meant by his assertion that hope is anchored beyond the horizon of immediate experience. How else could Saint Maximilian forfeit his own life to save a fellow prisoner?

The Blessed Virgin’s Assumption is the fourth of the Rosary’s Glorious Mysteries. The fruit of this mystery is the grace of a happy death. I recently experienced the death of a close friend. His death reminded me that nothing seems more hopeless than death. A few days after Kyle’s funeral, I read this by theologian Father David Tracy:

our beloved dead, whose fates no one really knows, are painfully invisible to us now. Indeed, the dead possess a unique form of invisibility: the dead are presently absent and absently present. When Dante first experiences the underworld and sees so many dead persons he once knew well in life, he exclaims, 'I did not know that death had undone so many’⁷

Father Tracy ends his meditation with “We all know the feeling.”⁸ “Hopelessness,” Havel insisted, introducing yet another paradox, “is the very soil that nourishes human hope.”

If you consider all four sets of the mysteries that constitute the Most Holy Rosary of the Blessed Virgin Mary in order, the final mystery, the fifth Glorious Mystery, is Mary’s Coronation as Queen of Heaven. Her status as Queen of Heaven is also referenced in our Revelation reading: “on her head a crown of twelve stars.”⁹ One of the many titles of Mary, the Mother of God, is Star of Sea. She is a beacon of hope as we sail the tumultuous sea of life.

The fruit of the mystery of the Blessed Virgin’s heavenly Coronation is trust in her intercession. I want to conclude by reciting the Memorare. If you know it, I invite you to join me:

Remember, O most blessed Virgin Mary,
that never was it known that anyone who fled to thy protection,
implored thy help, or sought thy intercession was left unaided.


Inspired by this confidence, I fly unto thee, O Virgin of virgins, my mother;
to thee I come, before thee I stand, sinful and sorrowful.
O Mother of the Word Incarnate, despise not my petitions,
but in thy mercy hear and answer me

Veni Sancte Spiritus, veni per Mariam. Amen.

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1 Revelation 12:1; 12:5.^↩
2 Acts 1:11.^↩
3 Revelation 21:2.^↩
4 Revelation 21:3.^↩
5 Matthew 1:23.^↩
6 Luke 1:46-48.^↩
7 David Tracy, Fragments: The Existential Situation of Our Time, Collected Essays, Vol 1., 36.^↩
8 Ibid.^↩
9 Revelation 12:1.^↩

"Why think, when we can play"

Ah, so many things to write about. My re-reading of the Iliad alongside Pat Barker's first novel about women in the Trojan War: The Silence of the Girls. Barker just published her second novel on the same subject: The Women of Troy. I am also still engaged with Gerhard Ebeling's lectures on Luther and the first volume of David Tracy's selected essays: Fragments: Our Existential Situation. Additionally, I am still making my through George Pattison's wonderful book A Short Course in Christian Doctrine.

Helen of Troy, by Evelyn De Morgan, 1898

Another thing on my mind today is a letter written this week by Bishop Robert McElroy of San Diego to his priests. In his letter, Bishop McElroy asks his priests not to sign onto the Colorado statement. The Colorado statement is a document issued by the bishops of Colorado that many, including myself, find defective when it comes to conveying Church teaching in its totality. You can read more about the statement here. I think the fifth paragraph of Bishop McElroy's letter succinctly articulates addresses the relevant issues.

Like most things these days, this is a point of contention among bishops in the United States. It seems pretty clear to me that, while some Catholics may well determine they cannot receive the vaccine in good conscience, they cannot refuse to do so based on objective Church teaching on the matter. In other words, Catholics faced with a vaccine mandate, like many healthcare workers and others who intteract with the public and/or vulnerable people, they don't have the ground to seek a religious exemption.

Nonetheless, those who feel they cannot be vaccinated in good conscience still have a moral obligation to seek the common good and out of concern for others take appropriate measures to reduce transmission of the virus. What this means is that those living in areas of high SARs transmission who feel they cannot be vaccinated should either isolate and/or wear masks indoors in public places.

For example, most weekdays I spend in a federal government building. Because I am in an area with a high SARS transmission rate, I have to wear a mask in the building regardless of whether or not I am vaccinated. This is likely due to difficulties, both legal and practical, in verfying vaccination. When I am in my office with the door closed, I can dispense with my mask. Do I have to wear a mask? No. My refusal to do so, however, prevents me entering the building and the effects spial from there. Yes, choices have consequences.

Catholic social teaching is not libertarian in its fundamental orientation. Rather, it is oriented toward the common good. The common good prescinds from the fact that no person is an island unto him/herself. We live in society. Hence, Catholics should recognize the common good and seek it without having to be legally compelled to do so. At root, the Christian conception of freedom is freedom for not freedom from.

This is not to say the Church is or should be indifferent about legitmate matters of individual freedom. In this instance, Catholics are free to act in accord with the common good by either being vaccinated or wearing a mask indoors in public places. Protecting others is a moral obligation. This is fundamental to loving your neighbor as you love yourself, is it not?

That is my take on the matter. As always, take it for what it's worth. I would refer interested persons to my Integrity Notes for this blog.

Perhaps a bit incongruently, our traditio for this Nineteenth Friday in Ordinary Time is "Ballerina Out of Control" by The Ocean Blue.

I will raise you up & other existential difficulties

Ephesians 4:30-5:2; John 6:41-51

There are few trickier questions in the realm of philosophical metaphysics than identity. This is certainly true of so-called "personal identity." One of the best Christian approaches to identity remains Orthodox theologian John Zizioulas' Being As Communion: Studies in Personhood and the Church. As all intelligent approaches to the metaphysical issue of identity recognize, one person is no person. In other words, in a vacuum, in an imagined individual universe, there is no identity.

Worthwhile theological/philosophical takes on identity also realize that every identity in some way contains its own negation. In short, to borrow a much-used phrase: something is what it is and not something else. While this may appear to rebut my assertion, it does not. Its not being something else is an important component in making something what it is. In the present cultural moment of "advanced" Western societies, we are struggling mightily with identity, especially when it comes to sex and gender. As a result, many people, especially many young people, experience crises of identity.

Don't worry, this post is not an attempt to untangle the Gordian knot of sex and gender. When attempted there seem to be two basic approaches, both of which often strike me as ideological. First, some continue to insist on the strict binary view: there is male and female. Ideologized takes on this binary insist that traditional gender roles "naturally" arise from sexual differences. Second, those who seek to make sexual identity entirely plastic and who see no connection whatsoever between traditional gender roles and biological sex also seem to miss the mark. Yes, I realize that the phrase "biological sex" is problematic because there is a lot more to biology than meets the eye, chemistry to give just one example.

My point in starting my reflection on this week's readings by bringing into relief the complicated nature of personal identity by way of gender identity is just to show that it is a complicated affair with many different cultural, scientific, personal, and social components. Among the cultural and social components is theology. Not only but also Christian theology. I guess I should mention here something that should not be controversial but, due to ideology, it is. Namely, that the New Testament, our uniquely Christian scriptures, are at best ambivalent about marriage, procreation, and sexuality in general.

At least when it comes to its fundamental aspects (i.e., what it makes it what it is and not something else), Christian orthodoxy is no less complicated. In its Christian mode, orthodoxy consists of a series of paradoxes, that is, seeming contradictions: three and one, human and divine, virgin and mother, to stick with the most basic dogmas. The key to Christian orthodoxy, therefore, is holding seemingly disparate things in tension. It was G.K. Chesterton who observed, "A heresy is a fragment of the truth that is exaggerated at the expense of the rest of the truth."

The fundamental theological issue at stake in today's Gospel from the sixth chapter of Saint John's Gospel is what later came to be known as the hypostatic union. The hypostatic union refers to the uniting of two natures- divine and human- in the one person of Jesus Christ. This goes to the core of who Jesus Christ is. Today's Gospel brings this to the fore when those listening to Jesus's audacious claims say, in effect: "Hey, wait a minute! How can you say that you came down from heaven when your parents are Joseph and Mary? We know who you are. Yet you claim to be God?"

The audaciousness of Jesus's claim is mostly lost on us because, for us, they are old hat. Part of how you read the Gospels well is by putting yourself in the place of those who are hearing Jesus for the first time. This requires knowing something about their milieu. It is also important to recognize that in reading any of the canonical Gospels you are not reading something that was written in "real time."

John's Gospel is arguably the most literary of the Gospels and probably written the latest. Nonetheless, the inspired author wants to convey the startling effect of Jesus saying "I am God." It seems clear that, even in John's Gospel, it is not intuitively obvious to the casual observer that Jesus is the Son of God (True God from True God) in the flesh. Hence, these people are understandably incredulous about his claims not just to be "the bread of life," the food that makes those who eat it immortal, but God in the flesh! All this before getting to his giving them his flesh to eat and his blood to drink, which would be front and center next Sunday if we were not celebrating the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary.

I don't mind sharing (again) that the recent death of my friend Kyle has really knocked me off balance. Grief carries a gravity all its own. One question the loss of someone near and dear to me prompts is one I am sure is not unique to me: Is clinging to a belief in life beyond death, so-called "life eternal," just way getting through the night? When I am being honest, part of my grief is having to confront my own mortality. When I factor in my own mortality, this night remains a sleepless one! As John Donne observed in Meditation XVII of his Devotions Upon Emergent Occasions:

And perchance I may thinke my selfe so much better than I am, as that they who are about mee, and see my state, may have caused it [the Church bell] totoll for mee, and I know not that

Who is this man, this Jesus from far-off Nazareth who speaks to us mainly through ancient texts preserved and handed on? Jesus himself states that to recognize him as the one sent by the Father, the one who came down from heaven, the bread of life who will raise us up on the last day requires something of a miracle. What else can he mean when he tells them, "No one can come to me unless the Father who sent me draw him..."?

We easily lose sight of our oft-professed belief that faith is a gift from God. I don't know about you, but I have to believe faith is a gift God desires to give to everyone. But not being in the business of coercion or manipulation, God is content to offer the gift and let it be received, ignored (for now perhaps), or rejected. In an article some time ago for Church Times, Anglican bishop David Wilbourne recalled an interview playwright Dennis Potter gave to Melvyn Bragg when Potter was close to death. In Wilbourne's words, Bragg sought to dismiss "faith as nothing but a bandage around the wound." “No,” replied Potter, "it is the wound; faith is the wound.” Sooner or later love wounds us all, even if the wound is not inflicted until my loved one dies.

I also have to believe that God is merciful to those who, in good conscience, cannot receive the gift. You see, to be raised on the last day, as nice as that sounds, is not a demonstrable belief. While the desire to live forever seems to be a very strong human desire expressed well by Woody Allen, who once quipped, "I don't want to achieve immortality through my work. I want to achieve it by not dying. Living forever is at best a hope but often only a wish. How a wish becomes hope is through experience. In this regard, experience means being inflicted with a wound: no cross, no resurrection.

I am currently reading Catholic theologian David Tracy's book Fragments: The Existential Situation of Our Time: Selected Essays, Volume 1. In his essay "The Ultimate Invisible: The Infinite," he captures well what I am trying to express:

Moreover, our beloved dead, whose fates no one really knows, are painfully invisible to us now. Indeed, the dead possess a unique form of invisibility: the dead are presently absent and absently present. When Dante first experiences the underworld and sees so many dead persons he once knew well in life, he exclaims, 'I did not know that death had undone so many.' We all know the feeling (pg 36)

Wishing is not bad. Wishes can be the seeds of genuine hope when planted in reality and watered by experience. Holy communion, in this metaphor, can perhaps be thought of as fertilizer that nourishes hope.

It makes little sense to mention orthodoxy without mentioning orthopraxis. All the orthopraxis we need can be found in our short reading from the deutero-Pauline Letter to the Ephesians:

And be kind to one another, compassionate, forgiving one another as God has forgiven you in Christ.

So be imitators of God, as beloved children, and live in love, as Christ loved us and handed himself over for us as a sacrificial offering to God for a fragrant aroma

Don't live this way to attain a reward. Your own efforts merit you nothing anyway. Another fundamental paradox of Christianity, I believe, was identified by Martin Luther and captured by him in the Latin phrase simul iustus et peccator. Translated, this means something like I am at the same time justified (by Christ) and a sinner.

Because I am justified, I am free. As Paul writes to the Christians of ancient Galatia, it is for freedom that Christ set you free (Galatians 5:1). Hence, you are free to live in the manner indicated by the inspired author of Ephesians because it is the kind of person (hopefully) you want to be and as a contribution to the kind of society in which you long to live. Isn't it hard to believe that the small mustard seed produces such a large plant?

"Deacons Are Catechists"

Rather than a traditio, today I am posting my article on deacons as catechists. If traditio refers to something that is handed on, meaning "to echo" or "to resound," catechesis is the process of handing on.

My article on deacons ("Deacons Are Catechists") is a part of series on catechesis appearing in our diocesan newspaper, The Intermountain Catholic, in the the lead up to our annual Pastoral Congress. Our Director of Faith Formation, Susan Northway, began the series with her article "The Bishop as Catechist."

For the purpose of suitability for a newspaper article, the very beginning of my article was edited. Below is the article in its entirety.

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It is tempting to start by asserting by stating that through their reception of the sacrament of orders all clerics are catechists. Since this is a true statement, it would be an appropriate beginning for a brief consideration of deacons as catechists. According to the Code of Canon Law, along with bishops and priests, deacons are clergy (Canon 266 §1). While it would be an error to dismiss the grace conferred by ordination, it seems important in this context to point to the years of intense formation all clergy undergo preparing for ordination.

According to the most recent edition of the USCCB’s National Directory for the Formation, Ministry, and Life of Permanent Deacons in the United States, those called to serve the Church and the world permanently as deacons, initial formation is just shy of six years. Given this, it should be safe for the bishop under whom they serve and the People of God the bishop sends them to serve to assume that permanent deacons are capable teachers of our Catholic faith.

It will be interesting to see how the Church moves forward in its desire to institute both women and men into the minor orders of lector and acolyte. It will also be interesting to see whether the newly constituted minor order of catechist will be conferred on those preparing for ordination in addition to laypeople. Either way, the ability to effectively communicate the faith remains a core competency for all the ordained.

According to the Second Vatican Council's Dogmatic Constitution on the Church, Lumen Gentium, a deacon “in communion with the bishop and his group of priests... serve in the diaconate of the liturgy, of the word, and of charity to the people of God.” One aspect of the diaconate of the word is the call to “the catechesis of the faithful of all stages of Christian living” (Directory for the Ministry and Life of Permanent Deacons, sec. 25).

In addition to preaching at liturgical celebrations, deacons need to be involved in catechetical programs at the diocesan and parish level. Because catechesis is an important component of evangelization, deacons catechize by how they conduct themselves at home, in their professional lives, and by their active participation in civic life, especially “where public opinion is formed and ethical norms are applied.” (Directory for the Ministry and Life of Permanent Deacons, sec. 26). Involvement in these matters, which is part of the diaconal call, requires deacons to constantly study the faith.

Me, teaching years ago at The Cathedral of the Madeleine

The diaconate of the word can also be considered as a ministry of charity. Engaged as they are in serving the sick, those in prison, including at-risk young people, as well as the homebound, many deacons are uniquely situated to speak to others about the love God gives us in and through Christ Jesus when prompted to do so by Spirit. As the call of those whom the Church deems to be the first deacons amply demonstrates, deacons must be Spirit-filled (see Acts 6:3). Catechesis, after all, means to echo or resound the teaching of Christ and the apostles.

The vast majority of permanent deacons throughout the world, in the United States and in the Diocese of Salt Lake City are married. Because of this, deacons are uniquely called to simultaneously live out the sacraments at the service of communion: holy matrimony and holy orders. Deacon Owen Cummings dubbed these “the diaconal sacraments.”

Most married permanent deacons are also parents. Like all Christian parents, deacons with children, along with their spouses, have responsibility for being the first and main teachers of the faith. This helps them understand firsthand the challenges and opportunities involved with imparting an understanding of Christian faith to the hearts and minds of young people.

Being married clerics also ideally situates many deacons, often alongside their spouses, to prepare couples for marriage. Deacons and their wives should be involved in parish and diocesan marriage enrichment programs as both participants and presenters. Preparing parents for the baptism of infants and small children is also a fruitful catechetical service.

When done well, advocating canonically for those engaged in a marriage annulment process is a chance to offer compassionate pastoral care. Additionally, serving as a canonical advocate for someone involved in an often painful, sometimes lengthy, and far too often incomprehensible annulment process presents an opportunity to assist them in attaining a deeper understanding of and greater appreciation for the sacrament of matrimony.

“In his person,” noted theologian Herbert Vorgrimler, “the deacon makes it clear that the liturgy must have consequences in the world with all its needs, and that work in the world that is done in a spirit of charity has a spiritual dimension.” Through their charitable service, preaching, and teaching deacons are catechists.

Learning Christ through the sacraments

In my last post on today's Gospel, I mentioned in passing the close connection between the sacraments of penance and Eucharist. I thought I would offer a further word or two about that vital connection. It is important to start with the fact that it is difficult to exaggerate the centrality of the sacraments for Catholic faith and life.

In our New Testament reading for this Eighteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time, Year B of the Sunday lectionary, we hear the Christians of ancient Ephesus being reminded that Christ came to liberate them from the futility of their minds. As I grasp it, this is something along the lines of these lyrics written by Bob Marley: "liberate yourselves from mental slavery, none but ourselves can free our minds." In strictly Christian terms, it is Christ who liberates our minds by the power of the Holy Spirit. This reminder, at least in English, takes the form of the phrase, "that is not how you learned Christ."

How do you learn Christ? Well, being mainly mystagogical, Christians learn faith by participating in the Church's liturgy. As the suffix -urgy indicates, we learn by doing not merely by being told. -Urgy comes from the Greek word meaning "work" or, perhaps more appropriate to this context, "to do." This is why active participation in the liturgy is vitally important. Christian liturgy was never intended to be a spectacle most Christian just passively observe.

Active participation in the liturgy is an act of faith. It is how you do the work of God, which is believing in the One he sent, Jesus Christ. By your participation, you acknowledge the Lord's real presence in and through the celebration. Hopefully, this allows you experience his presence in various ways.

The phrase "the Church's liturgy" refers to all her formal acts of worship, especially the sacraments. Every sacrament is administered by means of a liturgy. This includes the sacrament of penance. Being the liturgy of liturgies, at the center of the Church's worship is the Eucharistic Liturgy, or the Mass.

I understand how impersonal just going to Mass can sometimes seem, especially in parishes where community lacks. But the sacrament of penance is supremely personal. When celebrated in its usual form (one-on-one with the priest), going to confession is intensely personal. Given what happens in the sacrament, it may be the most personal thing in the world, at least for those who conscientiously participate in it. Like all the sacraments, going to confession is an encounter with Christ and an opportunity to experience Divine Mercy for yourself.

Picking up (again) the words we all say together before receiving communion, words that echo those uttered by a Roman centurion in Saint Matthew's Gospel who sought healing for his much-loved servant from Jesus, "Lord I am not worthy...only say the word and my soul shall be healed," it is in the sacrament of penance, often appropriately called "reconciliation," that we personally receive Jesus's healing word. The healing word of Jesus gives us pardon and peace. It also frees us to receive the Bread of Life.

It is customary for many Catholics to cross themselves when the priest says the prayer of absolution at the end of the penitential rite that occurs at the beginning of Mass. The main reason this is not called for in the rubrics is that it is not a major or sacramental pardon. The major pardon, the healing word, as it were, is sacramentally given and received in the sacrament of penance.

When situated properly, the confessional(s) in a church is somewhere between the baptismal font, which should be at the main entrance, and the altar. Being something of an extension of baptism, penance connects the font to the altar. Another way to think about it is that the confessional is an aid station on our journey from the font to the altar, giving us the succor we need to live according to our baptism.

As I mentioned in my last post, Jesus always says the healing word if we, like Matthew's centurion, will but ask. The Lord died and rose to say God's healing word to you. Keep in mind that you are never worthy to receive holy communion on your own merits, no one is!

Today my pastor used Preface VII of the Sundays in Ordinary Time. The heart of this preface makes the point beautifully:

For you [God] so loved the world
that in your mercy you sent us the Redeemer,
to live like us in all things but sin,
so that you might love in us what you loved in your Son,
by whose obedience we have been restored to those gifts of yours
that, by sinning, we had lost in disobedience (emboldening and italicization mine)

It is Jesus's obedience, not your own, that makes you worthy, as Eucharistic Prayer II states it, "to be in [God's] presence and minister to [him]." Never forget, what you receive is nothing other than Christ himself under the signs (yes, signs) of bread and wine.

What work needed doing, Jesus accomplished on the cross. The word "liturgy" is of Greek origin. It refers both to work done on behalf of the public and work engaged in by the public. By your active participation in the Church's liturgy, you participate in the work Christ did on your behalf, a work you are called to extend by living the new life you received in baptism, which includes making recourse as often as necessary to the sacrament of penance. This is how you learn Christ.

Opus Dei- the work of God

John 6:24-35

My reflection on the readings for this Eighteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time is going to be brief. Like last week, I am only going to comment on the Gospel reading. As I mentioned previously, during Year B of the Sunday lectionary, in pretty decent continuity with the Marcan narrative, our Gospel readings for the next several Sundays are taken from the sixth chapter of the Gospel According to Saint John. These five weeks are interrupted this year on the fourth Sunday due to the Solemnity of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary falling on that Sunday. According to the ordering of the liturgical year, this solemnity supersedes the Twentieth Sunday in Ordinary Time.

Last week our Gospel was about Jesus's miraculous feeding of the 5,000. This week's reading tells of the immediate aftermath of that miracle. After chiding them for perhaps following him only to receive a free meal, Jesus urges those in the crowd not to "work for food that perishes but for the food that endures for eternal life." In the same breath, he tells them that "the Son of Man" will "give" them this food. Well, food that is given is not worked for, unlike the free beer and pizza offered by a friend after you've helped him move.

The Lord's exhortation to work for the food that gives eternal life is not lost on the people he exhorted. They ask: "What can we do to accomplish the works of God?" Jesus responded by telling them: "This is the work of God, that you believe in the one he sent." Believing that Jesus is the Christ is the work of God, the opus Dei.

Those who were listening knew that Jesus was asserting that he himself is the One God has sent. Predictably, they wanted a sign, some proof that would help them in their unbelief. But they had already received the sign. The food for which Jesus gave thanks and with which they were all fed was the sign. John's Gospel makes this abundantly clear when, after hearing about the bread "which comes down from heaven and gives life to the world" they implore Jesus to give them this bread, he tells them: "I am the bread of life; whoever comes to me will never hunger, and whoever believes in me will never thirst."

There is a reason, just before receiving communion, everyone who is about to commune, including the priest, echoing the words of the Roman centurion who, in Matthew's Gospel, sought healing for his beloved servant from Jesus, says together: "Lord, I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof; but only say the word and my soul shall be healed." Here's the thing, Jesus always says the healing word. Do you hear it? If you hear it, you believe it, if you believe it you receive it.

As Jesus made clear in last week's reading from the sixth chapter of John's Gospel, the Eucharist is not an exchange, not a quid pro quo, not a this-for-that proposition, not "You can receive communion because you've been good, you've earned it." I think it is helpful here to mention in passing the close relationship between the Eucharist and the Sacrament of Penance, a connection that is in danger of being broken and that needs to be better taught, understood, and practiced.

At the end of the day, I worry more about people who think they're worthy to receive communion, especially those who feel they can expaiate on the unworthiness of others, than I am about someone receiving communion unworthily (again, who is worthy?). One is only worthy because Jesus says the healing word. And so, for those who engage in the work of God, the healing word is "Jesus."