Love and prophecy

Readings: Jer 1:4-5.17-19; Ps 71:1-6.15-17; 1 Cor 13:4-13; Luke 4:21-30

A prophet tells believers what they do not want to hear. It is not the function of a prophet to foretell the future. However, biblical prophecy does sometimes spell out the natural consequences of the failure to heed the prophetic word. Biblical prophecy is about calling believers back to their covenant with God.

It usually takes the form of stark reminders, like the ones Jesus uses in today's Gospel. In our first reading from Jeremiah, we encounter a passage that is often applied universally:

Before I formed you in the womb I knew you,
            before you were born I dedicated you,
            a prophet to the nations I appointed you

Whether or not this passage applies to everyone is not explicitly set out in it and cannot really be implied or extrapolated from it. This is God telling Jeremiah that he- Jeremiah- was born to wear the prophetic mantle. God then spells out to him what a heavy mantle it is.

Jesus, the prophet of prophets, in today's Gospel, tells his fellow Nazarenes what they do not want to hear. Jesus will not perform miracles on demand to prove to them that he is more than Joseph's son, the guy who grew up in Nazareth and who, seemingly, wasn't all that special. Rather, Jesus, holding up the widow of Zarephath and Naaman the Syrian, both non-Israelites, as examples of God's works, indicates that his mission and God's covenant are universal.

So infuriated were the Nazarenes at his refusal to do trick and what they no doubt perceived to be Jesus taunting them, that they sought to violently kill him. Of course, this is what utimately happened to Jesus when he arrived in Jerusalem proclaiming essentially the same prophetic message. Much of what the prophets castigated Israel for was their lack of love. Israel was often upbraided for their failure to care for widows and orphans, the rich exploiting the poor, as well as their mistreatment of foreigners in their midst.

If we don't let Jesus' teaching challenge us we are just like the Nazarenes. The result of our hardened hearts is that Jesus passes through our midst and goes away. You heed God's Spirit or the Spirit departs.

The Gospel is perennially challenging. Its challenge is the challenge to love. Love isn't necessarily some sappy, syrupy, soggy emotion. Love, agape is a choice, usually the hard choice. "Love," to quote an old Don Francisco song, "is not a feeling/It's an act of your will."

In our reading from Paul's First Letter to the Corinthians, the apostle makes clear that love is paramount. Considering the three so-called theological virtues, hope is the flower of faith and love is their fruit. So, if you refuse to love, you lack faith. It is as simple as that. Some of the most dangerous statements begin with the words, "I am a Christian but..." Following the disjunction is often a justification for behaving in an un-Christian manner.

It isn't easy to love your enemies. It isn't easy to do good to them, to pray for them, to ask God to bless them and not curse them. It's much easier to love those who love me and hate those who hate me. But the Lord himself says that if I only do that then I am just like everyone else and the cycle of an eye for an eye and tooth for a tooth goes on, and on, and on. Or, as Paul calls such a one: a banging gong or clashing cymbal.

How much time do you spend brooding over an injury rather than bearing the wrong patiently? How hard is it to trust God? How easy is it to try to play God, exacting vengeance, taking matters into your own hands, muttering threats and recriminations? Jesus' most prophetic act was being crucified.

To be holy is to love perfectly. Yes, there are times we need to speak to the truth in love but those times must be delicately discerned and be Spirit-led, AND happen in the context of a loving relationship.

Bending back Jeremiah 1:5 and connecting it to the other two readings, I think Timothy Radcliffe in his still indispensable book What Is the Point of Being a Christian?, does a good job of bending Jeremiah 1:5 back around, thus connecting it to the Gospel and our reading from First Corinthians, when he insists that we have

nothing to say about morality until our listeners have glimpsed God’s delight in their existence. People often come to us carrying heavy burdens, with lives not in accord with the Church’s teaching, the fruit of complex histories. We have nothing to say at all until people know that God rejoices in their very existence, which is why they exist at all

Let's face it, there are few things more unwelcome in life than unsolicited advice or freely offered guidance. Such undertakings are anti-prophetic. Fewer things are more welcome than genuine care and concern, a listening ear and a sympathetic heart.

Reading and writing or Writing and reading

Since about the beginning of this year, I have been keeping a diary. I've been handwriting anywhere from half a page to two pages a day. I think I am finally at that time of life when I can do this honestly. Writing is a way to make sense of the world, of one's life.

Last night I finished the second of Philip Roth's so-called "Nemeses" novels. Roth, who died in 2018, wrote these four, relatively short, novels between 2006-2010. The first novel, Everyman, was (certainly for Roth), a rather tender story. Indignation, the second nemesis book, is not so tender and more in the literary vein Roth tended to mine. The ending of Indignation is nothing short of a crescendo! Since my local library does not hold the third book, The Humbling, on it shelves, I ordered a used copy.

I also finished Any Frykolm's book on Saint Mary of Egypt, Wild Woman: A Footnote, the Desert, and My Quest for an Elusive Saint, all but her translation of Saint Sophornus' text, which I plan to read this weekend. In addition to The Humbling, next up is Matthew Rose's A World After Liberalism: Philosophers of the Far Right, published last year by Yale University Press.

I am also engaging Gerhard Ebeling's The Truth of the Gospel: An Exposition of Galatians. Ebeling's competently exegetical theological commentary on this important New Testament text, which is one of the undisputed authentic Pauline texts, is wonderful and very dense. This comes on the heels of finishing a re-reading of Luke's Gospel.

Since I know you're dying to know, the fourth of Roth's Nemeses novels is entitled...wait...for...it... Nemesis. I think reading Roth helps in keeping a diary. While Roth would not be happy with this observation, I must point out that I find his work, at least most of those I've read, including Everyman and Indignation, not religious exactly, but deeply and poignantly Jewish in the best possible way, a good way, a deeply good way.

Both in Everyman and Sabbath's Theater, Roth wrote amazing scenes that take place in rundown Jewish cemeteries. For those of us who are religious, Roth urges us not so much to take what we believe more seriously but to allow our religious beliefs to come into contact with reality. This can't do anything except aid us in losing any remnant of smug certainty and moral superiority.

What else am I going to choose for today's traditio other than Yazoo's (Yaz for short) "Nobody's Diary"?

Ordination anniversary

Friday I did not post a traditio. There are two reasons why I didn't. First, life trumps blogging. Last week, especially Friday, I was too busy. Second, I realized that the eighteenth anniversary of my ordination is today. Therefore, I figured I would post something today to mark the occasion in lieu of my usual Friday post.

On Saturday, 24 January 2004, in The Cathedral of the Madeleine, along with twenty-three classmates, I was ordained a deacon by then-Bishop George Niederauer. I served the first eleven-and-a-half years at the same cathedral. In May 2015, I was reassigned, by then-Bishop John Wester, to Saint Olaf Parish in Bountiful, Utah, where I live. In March 2020, I was appointed as the Director of the Office of the Diaconate for the Diocese of Salt Lake City by our current bishop, Oscar Solis. As Director, I am responsible both for permanent deacons and for the formation of new deacons.

On 22 January, we began Aspirancy for 10 ten aspiring deacons. Thus far, mine has been an active ministry liturgically, cathechetically, and in charitable outreach. I have no plans to slow down.

Of the twenty-four men with whom I was ordained, seven are dead. One is living and presumably still serving in another diocese. Five are retired from active ministry and three are semi-active/retired. This leaves one-third of us still in active ministry.

I wrote both my master's thesis and my doctoral thesis on aspects of the diaconate. I think deacons need to understand our order at a very deep level. This is not merely an academic exercise but is essential to good diaconal ministry. In short, as one of the three offices that together make up the sacrament of orders, the diaconate, along with the episcopate and presbyterate, is a full and equal order. Yes, section twenty-nine of Vatican Council II's Dogmatic Constitution on the Church (Lumen Gentium) points out that deacons are at the lower end of the hierarchy.

Being a "sacred ordering," hierarchy is not about power. In a similar sense, one can say that the Holy Spirit is at the lower end of the hierarchy of the Most Holy Trinity- I am not equating the diaconate with the Holy Spirit- though, given the relationship between diaconal ordination and the sacrament of confirmation, it wouldn't be far-fetched. In a manner akin to how the Holy Spirit is "co-equal" with the Father and the Son, the diaconate is, to use the subtitle of James Barnett's excellent book The Diaconate, we are "a full and equal order.

It is both my pleasure and my privilege to be a deacon. Being a deacon also challenges me daily in all aspects of my life to imitate Christ, who came to serve and not to be served. Diakonia, which I like to think of as selfless service to others in Christ's name, is inherent to being a Christian.

I hope and pray for many more years of service both to the Church and, an equally important aspect of the diaconate, the world on behalf of the Church, which is to say on behalf of Jesus Christ, who is, was, and ever shall be the Deacon.

Word of God Sunday: Gospel implications

Three years ago, the year before the start of COVID Time, Pope Francis designated that Third Sunday in Ordinary Time as Word of God Sunday. To my mind, two things are indispensable for a Christian: prayer and reading the Bible. So important are these that we should set aside time to do both daily. One of the great achievements of the Second Vatican Council (there are many, most of which we take for granted today) is the encouragement to read the scriptures both individually and together.

I can say unequivocally that when I feel myself flagging a bit, turning to the scriptures usually revives me. I just finished re-reading the Gospel According to Saint Luke. I have read this inspired text I don't how many times. Each day I read a chapter. Each day was a revelation. For Christians, the Gospels constitute the heart of Sacred Scripture. I tell people who seem intimidated by the Bible to start with one of the Gospels. I usually recommend Mark, due to its brevity. I tell them to just read it, maybe a chapter or two a day, like you would read anything else. I urge them to write down questions that arise as they read the text.

In today's Gospel, Jesus gives what amounts to a very short homily. Of course, you have to be Jesus to preach like that. I'm pretty sure the impact of what he said on the congregation is something we mostly miss. Quite explicitly, he tells the people of his home village, "I am the Messiah." I am the one to whom this passage from Isaiah refers. Shocking! All of these folks, most of whom were probably related to Jesus in some way, had known Jesus all his life. It would appear that he didn't really stand out, at least not enough for people to say, "Hey, he might be the Messiah, the Anointed One of God."

Because we've never known him any other way, while we might not be shocked at Jesus' claim to be the Messiah, his Messianic proclamation is no less radical. So, it's important for us to take the words of Isaiah, which refer to Jesus, to heart. By invoking these, Jesus tells us what the Gospel is in its very essence. First, it is "glad tidings for the poor." Second, the Gospel is "liberty to captives." Further, the Gospel brings sight to the blind and freedom for the oppressed. These are the Gospel, the Good News.

What Jesus does is proclaims a Jubilee. This is set forth in the Law (see Leviticus 25:8-22). To my knowledge, there is no record of Israel, even during the united monarchy, having a Jubilee: far too radical!

How are these things to be accomplished? Well, in a limited way by Jesus during his relatively short ministry. In an unlimited way by his followers, his disciples, those who make up the Church, the ekklesia. Of course, in our reading from Paul's First Letter to the Corinthians, we see the Church referred using a metaphor to the body. In light of the Eucharist, what Paul posits here is surely more than a metaphor, even if it is quite apt.

Take one example: "liberty for captives." This past week the Catholic Church in the United States, as it does annually in January, had a big Respect for Life push. Coming as it does each year on the anniversary of the Supreme Court's decision in Roe v. Wade, the emphasis tends to be on abortion. Don't get me wrong, I think abortion is wrong and I am disheartened by continued efforts to make it more available at any point during pregnancy, which brings up the ugly specter of outright infanticide.

Right now, here in Utah, our state legislature is in session. The Utah Legislature is on the verge of outlawing the death penalty. While I would be lying to say I haven't heard anything about this and the need for Catholics to support this legislative push, I haven't heard much, especially given the crucial stage this legislation is at presently. On the other hand, if Roe is overturned, which will only have the effect of allowing states to legislate on abortion, at least in the absence of federal legislation, Utah will undoubtedly be a state that will all but eliminate abortion, legally.

As to glad tidings for the poor, it's important not to fetishize the poor. We need to seek to assist them materially, to help people out of poverty, and to prevent people from falling into poverty. If you're going to advocate against abortion, you need to be concerned about the mother and child post-birth. This brings up issues like access to healthcare, affordable housing, food assistance, to name just the most basic. I take Jesus' words that we will always have the poor with us as something of an indictment.

In our reading from Nehemiah today, we hear the exhortation: "Go, eat rich foods and drink sweet drinks, and allot portions to those who had nothing prepared for today is holy to our LORD." [emboldening emphasis mine]. Everyday we do this is a day "holy to our LORD."

I could go into other tangential issues, like immigration, criminal justice reform, race relations, etc., all of which the Catholic Church has well-developed teaching about, but I won't apart from mentioning them.

If the word of God doesn't form us and inform what we do, then it is not Good News for us or anyone else.

Mary & Simone: inimitable women

Reading is perhaps my greatest pleasure. Walking is a close second. Third, well, use your imagination...

While I read a lot, I suppose, I don't read nearly as much as I think I should or as much as I want to. Above all, I love being an undisciplined reader. As I grow older, I realize there is a warp and a woof, a trajectory, a natural coherence to what I read, when I read it, and the sequencing of what I read. I have never liked to read anything assigned to me. Given that, it's amazing I earned a doctorate. Trust me, while I am somewhat proud of my achievement, I don't put too much stock in the title "doctor." For those who poo-poo holding a Doctor of Ministry, I would bring my painfully researched 220-page dissertation to their attention. Yes, I am threatening t have you read it!

18th Century Russian Icon of Saint Mary of Egypt

As an example of "natural coherence," last night I finished Robert Zaretsky's excellent The Subversive Simone Weil: A Life in Five Ideas On the heels of that, this morning I started Amy Frykolm's book on Saint Mary of Egypt- Wild Woman: A Footnote, the Desert, and My Quest for an Elusive Saint. The coherence between these books, between these two truly wild women- though I suspect Weil would take great umbrage at being called "wild"- is that both lived lives that really can't be replicated and certainly not lives you would recommend to anyone. Considering this, perhaps rather than "wild," their lives should be called extraordinary, or, better, yet: inimitable. I think Weil would be at least alright with the latter adjective.

In the Preface of Wild Woman, Frykolm cites literary critic David Jasper, who wrote this about Mary of Egypt:

Mary of Egypt's silent life... teaches little or nothing, but in the act of reading it provokes puzzlement and a demand to be taken seriously. It has a harshness which claims no validity by any external standard and no possibility of reenactment- hers is not a life actually to be lived- but it makes its excessive demands in ways that are socially disruptive and destabilizing pgs 11-12)

I like very much that Frykolm includes what is for many an uncomfortable fact that Sophronius' text includes: Mary is said to have liked sex, really liked sex.

Leaving home and going to the city of Alexandria, Mary engaged in prostitution. While there were quite probably other factors in play, the story, as it is handed on, seems intent on telling us that it was was not only out of necessity. "She liked sex so much," Frykolm writes, "that she didn't even [always?] charge money for it... even though she could have used the money" (pg 6).

There are several explanations as to why Sophronius' text deal with sex the way it does- one way is to denigrate it, but Frykolm, without dismissing other possible reasons, settles on desire, Mary's insatiable desire, which is what led her to the Holy Land where she had her encounter at the church and with icon of the Blessed Virgin Mary in the church's courtyard. This strikes me as a good explanation.

Simone Weil

Both women had what might be, albeit somewhat pathetically, described as "Christian conversion" experiences. Mary's experience occurred on the Feast of the Holy Cross at the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem. Weil had three profound experiences: one in Portugal, one in Assisi (not at Saint Francis's Basilica, but in a church), and the third at the Benedictine monastery of Solesmes when she was experiencing one of her crushing migraines. Would that more Christian conversions were socially disruptive and destabilizing, like Jesus's own ministry, about which I am currently reading via The Gospel According to Saint Luke.

While Weil's non-silent rather vocal and literary life was far from silent- though writings could've easily never come to light (what a shame that would be)- her life, too, makes "excessive demands in ways that are socially disruptive and [potentially[ de-stabilizing." Zaretsky begins his comments on Weil's inimitability, by quoting her friend, Simone Pétrement, who asked: "Who would not be ashamed of oneself in Simone's presence, seeing the life she led?" He follows this by admitting "This has often been my experience with Weil." Reading Weil, he continues, "is always a revelation and a reproach." Elaborating, Zaretsky admits

I have never met, and will never meet, the expectations she had of herself and others. But, to be honest, I have also felt at times the irritation and impatience that many who met her also felt, exasperated by her extreme character, confused not just by some of her philosophical ideals, but also by her insistence upon enacting them in our lives. "What I cannot stand," she told her students, "is compromise" (pg 158)

But compromise we (I) do and often.

Year C Second Sunday in Ordinary Time

Readings: Isa 62:1-5; Ps 96:1-3.7-10; 1 Cor 12:4-11; John 2:1-11

In the time between Christmas and Lent, we observe a short period of Ordinary Time. In terms of the liturgical year, the word “ordinary” is not contrasted with extraordinary. As extraordinary as our observances of Christmas and Easter are, the word “ordinary” in the phrase “Ordinary Time,” comes from the term “ordinal.” Ordinal, in turn, refers to a position in a series.

Today, for example, is the Second Sunday in (not of) Ordinary Time. Hence, it is the Second Sunday in a series of thirty-three or thirty-four Sundays, depending on the year. Of course, Christian life revolves around Sunday, the Lord’s Day. On Sunday we gather around the Lord’s table to hear his word and, together, commune with, through, and in him before being sent forth to glorify him by our lives.

Because the bread and wine are transformed by the Holy Spirit into Christ’s body and blood, this same Spirit makes those of us who partake of it the Body of Christ. Through our communion in his mystical body- the Eucharist- the Spirit makes us the Lord’s verum corpus, his true body. Most powerfully, it is through our participation in the sacraments that we are filled with the Holy Spirit.

Our Gospel reading today is from the second chapter of John’s Gospel. In the Synoptic Gospels (i.e., Matthew, Mark, and Luke), Jesus’ public ministry begins with his baptism by John in the River Jordan. But the Wedding Feast at Cana marks the beginning of his public ministry in John. Jumping to the end of Jesus’ earthly ministry in John, to what is often called his “high priestly prayer,” the Lord, praying to the Father in the power of the Holy Spirit, says:

And I have given them the glory you gave me, so that they may be one, as we are one, I in them and you in me, that they may be brought to perfection as one…¹

The questions this passage prompts are concrete: How does the Father come to be in the Son? How does Jesus come to be in us? By the power of their Holy Spirit. Most specifically how Christ comes to be in us, uniting us, making us one, is through the Eucharist.

In our reading from his First Letter to the Corinthians, Saint Paul points out that by virtue of our baptism, confirmation, and participation in the Eucharist we all have spiritual gifts. We are to put the gifts God has given us into service. Different people have different gifts but these diverse gifts are given by the same Spirit. Remember, the Christian word for service is diakonia. Just as there is a priesthood of all the baptized, there is a diaconate of all the baptized.

It is by discerning and putting our God-given spiritual gifts into service that God, to cite our reading from Isaiah, rejoices in his people. Being a Christian is not about keeping the faith. Rather, faith is something we share. When not shared, it diminishes. We most powerfully share the faith by sharing our gifts in the service of others. Worship that does not lead to service is not Christian worship.

In this vein, it seems important to note that Jesus, in today’s Gospel, did not seem overly eager to start his public ministry. He was initially resistant. But start he did, at the behest of his mother. This passage serves as a great example of how our Blessed Mother intercedes on our behalf, which is why this episode is the second Luminous mystery of the Rosary. The fruit of this mystery is “to Jesus through Mary.”

If one were to look at all the times Mary speaks throughout all four Gospels, the ordinal of what she says, if you will, her words to the servants in today’s Gospel are her final words: “Do whatever he tells you.”²

What Jesus’s mother says to the servants, she says to us by extension. Mary always points us to Jesus. So, as her beloved children, let us often go to Jesus through her intercession. It is also in John’s Gospel where we encounter the dramatic episode in which Jesus, hanging on the cross, says to his mother, with reference to the beloved disciple: “Woman, behold your son.”³ Then, to the beloved disciple, who represents all his disciples, with reference to Mary: “Behold your mother.”⁴

As I mentioned on New Year’s Day, the Church, our Teacher and Mother, has given us so many beautiful ways to pray to the Virgin Mary. Foremost among these are her Holy Rosary, the Angelus, and the Memorare. Learn these prayers by praying them. These can easily be found online or in any basic book of Catholic prayers. If you’re praying about a particularly difficult situation, I urge you to make a novena to Our Lady Undoer of Knots.

Because through baptism we are God’s children, we have Mary for our Mother. So, as her beloved children, let us often seek her intercession. If Mary was so concerned about running out of wine at a wedding, how much more concerned is she about you, her child, who lives in a world that daily damages your soul?

I will conclude with the first part of the final prayer said each day of the novena to Our Lady Undoer of Knots:

Virgin Mary, Mother of fair love, Mother who never refuses to come to the aid of a child in need, Mother whose hands never cease to serve your beloved children because they are moved by the divine love and immense mercy that exists in your heart, cast your compassionate eyes upon me and see the snarl of knots that exist in my life.

You know very well how desperate I am, my pain and how I am bound by these knots.

Mary, Mother to whom God entrusted the undoing of the knots in the lives of His children, I entrust into your hands the ribbon of my life

---

1 John 17:22-23..^↩
2 John 2:5.^↩
3 John 19:26.^↩
4 John 19:27.^↩

Forgiveness revisited

It's funny to me that Monday's post kicked up a stir on social media. But then, the Lord's Prayer is not as straightforward as we Christians tend to think it is. TO give just a glimpse of the complications involved, I offer David Bentley Hart's article "A Prayer for the Poor."

Beyond that, there are the differences between Matthew's version of this prayer and Luke's (see Matthew 6:12 and Luke 11:4). Above all, Luke's is much shorter. But when it comes to the felt need of the one praying it to forgive others, both versions tie the pray-er's willingness to forgive to being forgiven. One little difference, in the original Greek is that Luke's version uses hamartias ("misses") in the first instance- usually translated as "sins" in the NT- and opheilonti (one owing- debtor) in the second- translated as "all who are indebted to us." Matthew uses "debt" for both.

Of course, God not only stands always ready to forgive us but, in and through Christ, we're always already forgiven! Hence, the onus of forgiveness is willingly taken up by the person who prays after the manner taught by Jesus himself. In other words, how can I, in good conscience, ask the Father to forgive me if I am not willing to forgive others? The simple answer is, I can't.

Forgiving as many times as someone offends me, praying for and doing good to my enemies, not seeking to get even or ahead, are some of the most difficult of Jesus' teachings. Like with the Lord's teaching on wealth, we almost reflexively seek to attenuate these teachings. Saint Paul writes about these things as engaging in the agon, the struggle. Any war or battle a Christian fights, as Saint Benedict, who uses martial imagery in this regard (and only in this regard), notes, is an internal one.

Again, what I wrote arose from a prayer experience I had had the previous day. I don't write about those things often. I hadn't done so in a while. I was reminded about why I don't. I still think one of the evils we pray to be delivered from in the Lord's Prayer is the evil of not standing ready to forgive. As with all things I post here, to paraphrase The Dude, that's just like my opinion, man. So, you can take it or leave it.

I took a three-day break from social media this week. I needed it and enjoyed it. Finding a good way to engage remains a struggle for me. Less is better than more, just as some is better than none.

Our traditio for this second week of 2022 is an oldie and a goodie: Simple Minds' "Alive and Kicking." Why? Because, by the grace of God, I am alive and kicking.

On the grace of forgiveness & the work it entails

"forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us and lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil." These are words that Christians pray all the time, daily even. Currently, I am having an interior struggle, the specifics of which I am not going to bore you with. As I prayed the first Our Father of Our Lady's Rosary yesterday, it dawned on me that perhaps the evil to which we are tempted is not to forgive those who trespass against. More, specifically, perhaps the evil to which I am tempted is not to forgive those who have trespassed against me.

I certainly think that is a useful and not wholly inaccurate way of understanding these two clauses, which in Engish translation, together form an independent clause as part of the Our Father. Hard-heartedness is real. Many days, I would rather not forgive. I would rather get even or perhaps prevail, triumph. Other times, it seems weirdly good to hold onto my grudges and resentments. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know refusing to forgive is like drinking poison and waiting for the other person to die. I guess I'll just add the observation that it is a slow death.

Forgiveness is work, sometimes hard work. Forgiveness is grace. Just as we can only love because we are first loved, we can forgive only because we are first forgiven. More than that, before we can really be forgiven we must forgive. Isn't this why Jesus, in the Lord's Prayer, makes this conditional? Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against. This conditional is found in Greek. In his indispensable, no-frills, translation of the New Testament, David Bentley Hart renders it thus: "And excuse us our debts, just as we have excused our debtors."

So, we can only forgive because we've been forgiven and we must forgive to be forgiven. What this indicates to me is the ongoing nature of transformation. As Paul urges, we must be willing to engage in the agon, the struggle. Grace and effort are not mutually exclusive. It's important to keep in mind that grace is given for my effort, not earned as a result of it.

On the Lord's baptism

At least for Roman Catholics in the United States, the liturgical season of Christmas ends today. Today is the Feast of the Baptism of the Lord. For some reason today it seems easier to take a broader view.

At what might be called a "macro" level, along with the Nativity and the adoration of the magi, Jesus' baptism can be seen as an Epiphany, a manifestation of the divine. Jesus' baptism, because the Father and the Spirit appear on the scene, it is truly a manifestation of the triune nature of God: Father, Son, and Spirit. Not just a manifestation but an theophany.

It is an assertion that goes back to patristic times that through his baptism, the Lord sanctified not just water, but the whole of creation.

While it is utterly obvious, is that to be baptized (as well as to suffer and die), Jesus had to be incarnated, that is, he had to have a body. This is the whole thing when it comes to sacramentality, is it not? After all, as you can tell by the suffix -urgy, liturgy is something you do, enact, perform, etc., as opposed to just something you think. Every sacrament is administered and received through a liturgy, a rite. Every sacramental rite includes an epiclesis, a "calling down." It is the Holy Spirit who is called down.

In baptism, the epiclesis occurs when the celebrant calls the Spirit down on/into the water, which is done while putting a hand into the water, touching it. But because Trinity refers to one God in three (divine) persons, where one is present the other two are as well. It is in this holy water that we are baptized "in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit." Given that baptism by complete immersion remains and will likely always remain the premier way to be baptized, in baptism we are immersed, plunged into the very life of God- Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, a life characterized by unity, the result of agape.

Among its several meanings, baptism is a rebirth. But it is rebirth through dying, being buried, and rising with Christ to new life. More than a birth, baptism is a resurrection.

Baptism, along with confirmation, which is closely associated with baptism and that, in a sense, can be said to "complete" baptism, not orders, not matrimony, is the fundamental sacrament of the Christian life. I deeply believe that the synodal process in which the Church is currently engaged is aimed at highlighting this truth and bringing the reality of ecclesial life more in line with it.

The final part of the final Intercession for Morning Prayer for this feast, the Church prays to Christ that he will "renew the spirit of adoption among the royal priesthood of the baptized."

As to Jesus' own baptism, I think what Karl Barth wrote in the second part of the fourth volume of his magisterial Church Dogmatics, shows well the Lord's solidarity with us in his baptism:

No one who came to the Jordan was as laden and as afflicted as He. No one was as needy. No one so utterly human, because so fellow-human. No one confessed his sins so sincerely, so truly as his own, without side-glances at others. He stands alone in this, He who was elected and ordained from all eternity to partake of the sin of all in His own person, to bear its shame and curse in the place of all, to be the man responsible for all, and as such, wholly theirs, to live and act and suffer. This is what Jesus began to do when He had Himself baptized by John with all the others. This was the opening of His history as the salvation history of all the others

Epiphany: being troubled by the Incarnation

Yesterday, 6 January, most Roman Catholics around the world celebrated Epiphany. Epiphany, of course, is a celebration of the magi finding and offering homage to the infant Jesus, "the newborn king." It is from the three gifts that we extrapolate 3 magi. Tradition has even bestowed on the magi names: Caspar, Melchior, and Balthasar.

Adoration of the Magiy, unfinished painting by Leonardo Da Vinci, ca, 1481

The three gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh are symbolic of Jesus's divinity, royalty, and humanity respectively. Because they represent "the nations" (i.e., non-Jewish peoples of the world), the three magi are often depicted as black, Asian, and white. Just as in Acts 10 we read about the so-called "Pentecost of the Gentiles," Matthew's account of the magi coming from the nations to worship the King of Israel, who is also the Lord of the Universe, can perhaps be viewed as "Christmas of the Gentiles."

In many traditionally Catholic countries, Epiphany is understood as "Little Christmas." It is a day on which gifts are exchanged.

In pondering the Gospel reading for Epiphany, I am struck by the end of Matthew 2:3. The beginning of the verse notes that Herod "was greatly troubled" by the prospect of the birth of a male child who might have a legitimate claim to his throne. But the second part of the verse points out that "all Jerusalem" was greatly troubled with him. Why?

One answer to that question is the prospect of change, especially radical change, let alone the revolutionary change Jesus came to bring, is usually not very welcome. After all, the status quo is what we know.

It has been noted that the Incarnation of the Son of God “is so earth-shattering that it enacts something akin to the psychoanalytic concept of trauma” on the world (John Milbank, Slavoj Zizek, Creston Davis, Paul’s New Moment: Continental Philosophy and the Future of Christian Theology . Grand Rapids: Brazos Press, 7).

If not greatly troubled, perhaps we might do well to let ourselves be at least somewhat troubled by the radical and revolutionary nature of Christ's coming in time, to let ourselves in on the traumatic, often depicted as merely dramatic, implications of the Incarnation.

Before I forget (again): A Happy, Blessed, Joyful Christmas to all my old calendar Orthodox friends!

Maybe a bit too predictably, our traditio for this first Friday of 2022 is the choir of King's College Cambridge singing "We Three Kings of Orient Are."

Humility as a New Year begins

The greater and more complete thy knowledge, the more severely shalt thou be judged, unless thou hast lived holily. Therefore be not lifted up by any skill or knowledge that thou hast; but rather fear concerning the knowledge which is given to thee. If it seemeth to thee that thou knowest many things, and understandest them well, know also that there are many more things which thou knowest not. Be not high-minded, but rather confess thine ignorance. Why desirest thou to lift thyself above another, when there are found many more learned and more skilled in the Scripture than thou? If thou wilt know and learn anything with profit, love to be thyself unknown and to be counted for nothing.

That is the highest and most profitable lesson, when a man truly knoweth and judgeth lowly of himself. To account nothing of one's self, and to think always kindly and highly of others, this is great and perfect wisdom. Even shouldest thou see thy neighbor sin openly or grievously, yet thou oughtest not to reckon thyself better than he, for thou knowest not how long thou shalt keep thine integrity. All of us are weak and frail; hold thou no man more frail than thyself The Imitation of Christ Book I Chapter II Sections 3-4

Becoming human in the poor circumstances he did, Jesus surely did not regard equality with God as something to be held onto (Philippians 2:6). He became a marginal person, among marginal people. He lived in an out-of-the-way village, etc.

In January 2018 and January of last year, on that day shortly after New Year's Day, the day before you have to get back to what we like to call "real" life, I posted something from the spiritual classic The Imitation of Christ. On 3 January 2018, I was up late due to the anxiety I felt about returning to my regular routine. As I read a few things seeking help to relieve my anxieties, I found a website featuring Thomas á Kempis' classic spiritual text. After reading it, I composed a post that nothing but what I read and found comforting: a post. Afterward, I was able to go to bed.

Last 3 January, thinking back on 2020 and trying to muster the strength to face 2021, which, at least for me, proved to be a far more difficult year than 2020, I recalled that snowy night a year prior. And so, once again, posted something from á Kempis' spiritual masterpiece. Tonight, as I pray for the strength, the hope, to start 2022, like a lot of people, I feel anxious about what lies ahead.

And so, this Sunday night, as darkness descends, albeit with a lovely sunset, I pray for the humility necessary to fully understand with true wisdom that is Jesus Christ.

Peace to all who read this as you embark on the voyage of 2022. Remember, Christmas is a celebration of Emmanuel, God-with-us. Remembering that God is with us is how you keep Christmas alive all year. As Pope Francis said today in his first Angelus message of this New Year: "God loves to dwell among us."

Learning to see: a brief "take" on (a too?) early Epiphany

As I mentioned in an earlier post, liturgically speaking, the Christmas season this year seemed like a four-car pile-up: Christmas, Holy Family, Mary, Mother of God, and Epiphany all in about a week. I mention this not only because it is exhausting (but in that good way) but because I wonder how much of the great mystery of God's Incarnation we can really take in during such a short period.

If I could ask the U.S. bishops to do anything at all, my requests would have nothing to do with political matters. I would humbly petition them to put Epiphany back on the fixed date of 6 January, when nearly all other Roman Catholics throughout the world observe it, thus giving us back the 12 Days of Christmas. I would ask them- though this is done regionally (largely in the Western states, I think), not nationally, to restore Ascension Thursday instead of putting it on the Fourth Sunday of Easter.

This year, I guess the magi took the freeway instead of the scenic route to the dwelling in Bethlehem! This reminds me of the words to the song "Run Rudolf Run," written by Johnny Marks and originally made popular by Chuck Berry, but for those of my generation, Bryan Adams' version, which appeared on the very first A Very Special Christmas album, is perhaps best known: "Run, run Rudolph, Santa's got to make it to town/Santa make him hurry, tell him he can take the freeway down/Run, run Rudolph 'cause I'm reelin' like a merry-go-round." Substitute some really quick camels and/or dromedaires for Rudolf and magi for Santa and you can see what I mean.

What struck me this year about Epiphany arises from the Prayer after Communion for Mass during the Day, found in the Roman Missal:

Go before us with heavenly light, O Lord,
always and everywhere,
that we may perceive with clear sight
and revere with true affection
the mystery in which you have willed us to participate.
Through Christ our Lord

In Saint Matthew's account of the Visitation of the Magi, apart from being led to their destination by the star, their encounter seemed quite ordinary: "they saw the child with Mary his mother" (Matthew 2:11). Despite the ordinariness of the inspired author's description of this encounter, he points out that the Magi, nonetheless, "prostrated themselves and did him homage" and then offered their gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh (Matthew 2:11).

This pericope (i.e., episode, as it were), is chock full of symbolism and rife for allegory. For example, the gifts are said to be indicative of Jesus' divinity (frankincense), his royal kingship (gold), and, because it was often used on the bodies of the dead, myrrh for his humanity. But the prostration and the gifts, in a word, their homage arose in what might've appeared to many in an ordinary dwelling and directed toward the ordinary child of an ordinary mother.

It seems to me that a message of Epiphany is the importance, perhaps even the necessity, of seeing reality through ordinary appearances. This means engaging reality according to all the factors that constitute it. Therefore, we must learn to see Christ in his many appearances. As Saint Teresa of Calcutta noted, Christ often appears to us in the distressing disguise of the beggar, the dying, the poor down-and-out person, etc. It is only when learn to truly see these events become an encounter, an Epiphany.

Like the magi, we must learn to discern, to follow the star, to heed the dream, to see God in the ordinary circumstances in which we daily live, move, and have our being. Too often we walk around wondering, "Where is God?" Both the simple and the complicated answer to this question is "More often than you think, God is right in front of you." But you must have eyes to truly see.

It is by gaining spiritual sight that you "revere with true affection the mystery in which [God has] willed us to participate." This gets back to the practice of the basic spiritual disciplines: prayer, fasting, and almsgiving. I will point out, as I did yesterday, it is no accident that prayer comes first.

It is genuine prayer that prevents our practice of the discipline from becoming yet another instance of mistaking means for ends. It also bears noting that genuine prayer consists of a lot of silence, a lot of listening. Having ears to hear often results in the development of eyes to see.

Solemnity of Mary, Mother of God

Readings: Num 6:22-27; Ps 67:2-3.5-6.8; Gal 4:4-7; Luke 2:16-21

In truth, we can only call God “Father” because of Jesus Christ. It is only because of him that we call the Blessed Virgin Mary “our Mother.” Today, the first day of a New Year, the Church, which consists of those reborn through baptism as God’s sons and daughters, honors Mary, the Mother of God.

Mary is called “Mother of God” because, like Saint Paul, in our second reading, notes: “When the fullness of time had come, God sent his Son, born of a woman.”¹ What proof is there that we are God’s children? Paul asserts that the truth of this assertion is that God has sent the Holy Spirit into our hearts. So, just as “no one can say ‘Jesus is Lord,’ except by the holy Spirit,” no can cry our “Abba Father!” except by the same Spirit.²

Because we are God’s children through Christ, we are truly free. Freedom in a Christian sense is not freedom from but freedom for. In the chapter following the one from which our reading for this holy day is taken in his Letter to the Galatians Paul spells this out:

For you were called for freedom... But do not use this freedom as an opportunity for the flesh; rather, serve one another through love. For the whole law is fulfilled in one statement, namely, “You shall love your neighbor as yourself”³

At least in Christian terms, this is not just what freedom is for, lovingly serving one another is what it means to be truly free. Note that there is not an ounce of self-assertion in the Christian concept of freedom. This means something significant in terms of how we, as Christians, live our lives.

If having the Holy Spirit in our hearts constitutes the “proof” that we are God’s children, what does this look like? Paul does not leave us in the lurch. He writes that a heart filled with the Spirit produces the fruit of the Spirit. Accordingly, “the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control.”⁴ Indicating that producing the Spirit’s fruit is what it means to be truly free, he stresses, “Against such there is no law.”⁵

Because of her immaculateness, by a unique and singular grace, Mary is without sin. Hence, she is the model Christian disciple. Twice in the second chapter of Saint Luke’s Gospel- an action-packed chapter in which the Lord’s birth is written about, as well as his Presentation in the Temple, along with the episode we heard last Sunday, in which he went missing from the caravan and Mary and Joseph found him in the Temple- - we read that Mary kept her recollection of these events and reflected on them in her heart.⁶ This is the work of the Spirit, which produced in his fruit in abundance.

We can turn confidently to Mary, our Mother. As the opening words to The Beatles’ song “Let It Be” powerfully remind us:

When I find myself in times of trouble/
Mother Mary comes to me/
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be

Letting things be means trusting God entirely, as did Mary. It means giving everything and everyone, especially yourself, over to God over and over again. The Church, which is also our Mother and Teacher, gives us some wonderful, time-tested and proven ways to do this through the intercession of the Blessed Virgin Mary: the Angelus, the Memorare, and, perhaps most especially, our Blessed Mother’s Most Holy Rosary.

If the word spirituality refers to anything real, it refers to spiritual practices. Of course, generally, we’re spiritual in the sense that we’re human. Spirituality in the intentional means to the end of being more and more united with God, our Father. Traditionally among Christians (and certain others), spiritual practices are known as spiritual disciplines. There are three foundational spiritual disciplines, taught by Christ himself, that must be part of any genuine Christian spirituality: prayer, fasting, and almsgiving.

It is no accident that prayer is the first of the spiritual disciplines, the cornerstone of spirituality. Romano Guardini noted: “One cannot, in the long run, remain a Christian without praying, as one cannot live without breathing.”⁷ Prayer is a discipline because let’s face it, if you only prayed when you felt like it, how often would you really pray? It is important to take time to pray every day.

Traditionally, Catholics pray the Angelus three times a day: morning, noon, and evening. In Catholic areas, Church bells used to ring to remind everyone to stop and pray this lovely prayer. The Memorare can be said any time and is a way to pray throughout your day as well as to pray for other people. You can find these prayers easily online or in any basic book of Catholic prayers.

The Rosary is a form of prayer that can be prayed on the go, like when taking a walk, driving, or in a situation where you have to wait. Always carry a Rosary with you. But the Rosary can also be a meditative and contemplative form of prayer. “The Incarnation,” Fr. Vincent McNabb, who, not incidentally, was a member of the Dominican order, observed more than a century ago,

is the centre of all our spiritual life. One of the means by which it is made so is the Holy Rosary. There is hardly any way of arriving at some realisation of this great mystery equal to that of saying the Rosary. Nothing will impress it so much on your mind as going apart to dwell in thought, a little space each day, in Bethlehem, on Golgotha, on the Mount of the Ascension⁸

We are indebted to Pope St. John Paul II who, twenty years ago this year, noting the lacuna in the mysteries of the Holy Rosary, gave us the Luminous mysteries through which we can meditate on the major events of Jesus’s life.⁹ By praying the Rosary, like our Blessed Mother, you can reflect on Christ in your heart.

And so, in addition to, once again, urging you to pray the Rosary daily during 2022, I also urge you to learn and to pray the Angelus. If three times a day seems too much, consider pausing at Noon, taking a deep, recollecting breath, calling to mind an intention or two, and praying it. Finally, learn the Memorare and use it often to pray for others as well as for yourself. In these ways, through the intercession of our Blessed Mother, Mary, God will send the Holy Spirit into your heart. There, the Spirit will water and fertilize your heart, helping you to produce its fruit.

I’ll end by echoing our first reading with the words of our Responsorial: At the start of this New Year, “May God bless us all in his mercy.”

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1 Galatians 4:4.^↩
2 1 Corinthians 12:3; Galatians 4:6.^↩
3 Galatians 5:13-14.^↩
4 Galatians 5:22-23.^↩
5 Galatians 5:23.^↩
6 Luke 2:19.51^↩
7 Romano Guardini, The Art of Praying: The Principles and Methods of Christian Prayer. Sophia Institute Press: Manchester, 1985, 6.^↩
8 Michael Hennessy, “Fr. Vincent McNabb: A Voice of Contradiction,” Seattle Catholic, 29 April 2005.^↩
9 See Pope John Paul II, Apostolic Letter, The Rosary of the Virgin Mary [Rosarium Virginis Mariae], 16 October 2002.^↩