Fire on the earth

Readings: Jeremiah 36-4-6.8-10; Psalm 40:2-4.18; Hebrews 12:1-4; Luke 12:49-53

In observance of the twentieth anniversary of my little deacon blog, today's reflection on the Sunday readings is pretty short. Like our recent readings warning us against putting our hope in worldly wealth, today's Gospel is equally stirring and provocative. Homiletically, we like to attenuate, that is, soft pedal these difficult readings. It seems to me that the easier a teaching of Jesus is to understand the harder it is to live by.

First, following Christ comes at a cost. For some, it's very expensive!

The second is a corollary: following Jesus isn't always easy-peasy. Obedience to God means being faithful to God, which, in turn, requires you to put Him before and above all other people and things, including, if necessary, the closest members of your family. For Christians, water is thicker than blood.

Jeremiah in the cistern

Jeremiah experienced what it means to put God above all things more than once. In today's first reading, the prophet's fidelity to God looked like infidelity to his people and his country. And so, he was thrown into a cistern, landing in the mud. His rescue was far from miraculous. My friends, there is a cost.

In his book The Cost of Discipleship, Dietrich Bonhoeffer wrote: "Jesus is the only significance. Beside Jesus nothing has any significance. He alone matters." Far from being sentimental gibberish, this is a radical statement.

It has been noted Jesus + nothing= everything. Do you believe it? Like all worthwhile spiritual teachers, Bonhoeffer is a witness, one of those who comprise the ever growing cloud of witnesses. He didn't just write about but paid the cost of following Jesus Christ.

The Lord Jesus Christ took on flesh to set a fire on the earth. To shake things up. To change things by changing people through the power of the Holy Spirit.

True peace, lasting peace, the peace that passes all understanding is realized by following Christ. Our reading from the marvelous Letter to the Hebrews provides us an insight on this very thing: "For the sake of the joy that lay before him, [Jesus] endured the cross, despising its shame." Joy is the overcoming of sorrow.

Therefore, turning to Hebrews again, "let us rid ourselves of every burden and sin that clings to us and persevere in running the race that lies before us while keeping our eyes fixed on Jesus, the leader and perfecter of faith."

"You Just Walk on In"

Earlier this week I ran across the blog of the brother of someone with whom I attended high school. I know, "Luke, I am your father's brother's former roommate." But, I make connections where I am able. What can I say?

I am not going to name the person or the blog. Reading this person's reason for blogging, I was thrown back a bit on how confusing life often is and also back on my own reasons for continuing this very small-time online effort. Couple this with reading Kierkegaard and George Pattison on Kierkegaard and you have a invitation to just write something. So, here I go.

I don't write because I think I have it all figured out. I write to help me figure things out. Perhaps more acuurately, I write just see what my own viewpoint is after some reflection. The metaphor I have most often used to describe my own reason for blogging is that is has served me as a vehicle of growth over the years.

At least for me, growth is not a steady progression. It is more of a two-step. I am no expert in dancing. The only dance I ever really learned how to do was the polka: 1-2-3, turn; 1-2-3, turn, etc.

Seeking meaning is important. But this seeking is just that, seeking. Answers, for the most part, are provisional. What is it I seek? Well, truth, I suppose. Or, if you want to play amateur metaphysician: Truth.

Seeking the truth usually makes me realize how off my preconceptions are. By this, I don't mean always wrong, through sometimes they are. Usually very incomplete and somewhat myopic.

Used under the provisions of the Creative Commons License

Kierkegaard railed against the philsophical and theological systematizers of his day- Hegel being his chief but by no means only target. Kierkegaard priviledged reality over theory. Reality can't be confined to a system.

When I consider the pontificate of Jorge Bergoglio, I see this same dynamic at work. His approach is very Ignatian. Since he's a Jesuit, this should come as no surprise.

Religion can either broaden your view or narrow it. True religion, it seems to me, should broaden you, opening you up to people, to reality. Faith is not a shortcut to the truth. Anglican theologian John Macquarrie was very good on this point. At the root of a truly Catholic, that is, universal perspective, is the idea that faith and reason have the same source, namely God. And so, ultimately, the two cannot stand in opposition.

How one sees things is a matter of perspective. What premises lead you to your conclusions? What presuppositions to bring to the matter at hand? Are you willing to admit, especially to yourself, that you may be wrong or at least not entirely correct?

I suppose scripture and tradition, which, at least on a Catholic view, together constitute divine revelation stand in relation to each other in similar way as do faith and reason. Revelation constitutes the content of faith. And so, this is what Catholics bring to the table in the often dialectical encounter with reason.

Nonetheless, like Kierkegaard, I remain a convinced Christian, a Catholic Christian, albeit one with some noticeably Lutheran tendencies. Like, Kierkegaard, I am convinced that subjectivity, what might more poetically be called "the heart," is what matters most. This is not some unconditioned subjectivity, not by a long stretch!

Perhaps stretching things a bit (but only a bit), "heart" aligns with spirit as used by Paul. In this Pauline sense, spirit is opposed to flesh. In the apostle’s writings, flesh is not body. Spirit is not opposed to body. Together these form a God-created unity.

As Christians we're not dualists- although dualism has been a distorting feature of Christianity since its beginning. “Flesh” in these passages is a translation of the Greek word sarx. Greek for body is soma. Sarx, then, is something like an impulse, urge or craving as opposed to true desire- that for which you really and truly long.

Your heart is the criterion by which you judge. This requires ruthless honesty with yourself. This is hard because we are masters of self-deception. It is also difficult because the flesh exercises its pull on us in a variety of ways.

Our traditio for this final Friday of Lent is Brother Tom singing "Don't Knock." Next Friday, which is Good Friday, is not Lent. It is part of the Triduum, which is its own liturgical season.

Solemnity of Mary, the Mother of God

This is the first New Year's Day in several years that I haven't preached. In my homilies over the past few years for this Solemnity, I've encouraged those listening to commit to praying the Rosary everyday during the year. This means between today and 31 December praying 365 Rosaries of the Most Holy Rosary of the Blessed Virgin Mary. I renew that challenge today.

Lest this challenge amount to nothing more than the breath it takes to utter, it's a discipline I practice. I even go so far as to keep count of the number of Rosaries each year. For example, last year (2024), I recited 375. By "Rosary," I mean one complete set of mysteries (i.e. Joyful, Luminous, Sorrowful, Glorious), that is, 5 decades.

While I do at times pray the Rosary contemplatively (something I am going to strive to do more of this year), I usually pray it while walking. Most days, as I begin my recitation, I offer up several intentions. I pray from big to small, that is, for things in the world, an end to wars and violent conflicts, the safety of innocents caught in the hell that is war, for leaders, for my family, especially my children, for people who are sick, for those who are suffering, and certainly for those who ask me to pray for them for specific intentions.

I also say at least one Memorare each day. Usually, more than one. Besides, according to the Church, devotion to the Blessed Virgin Mary is an essential component of diaconal spirituality.

These devotions do not exhaust my prayer life. They do, however, enhance it greatly. Some days, in addition to Morning and Evening Prayer, these may well constitute my prayers. If so, that's just fine.

Photograph by Rev. Keith Littlejohn, Church of Saint Mary's, Goring-by-Sea, U.K.

The Blessed Virgin Mary is not merely Christotokos, she is Theotokos, not merely Christ-bearer, but God-bearer, the Mother of God. While the Son is consubtantial with the Father, He is also consubstantial with His mother and, through her, with us.

We venerate the saints, those men and women, varied as they are, who bear witness to Christ by their lives and now, in the presence of God, intercede for us. Seeking their intercession is an important part of our faith. As Fr. Tonino Lasconi, an Italian parish priest and author of numerous volumes on the renewal of catechesis, noted: "Without the saints, the faith vanishes."

Christians do not worship Mary. Worship, as the first commandment directs, is due to God and God alone. But we do not merely venerate our Blessed Mother either. In a similar way (since I've invoked the Decalogue), the fourth commandment that enjoins us to honor father and mother falls between the first three commandments about loving God and final six about loving our neighbor. You see, parents, even absent ones, occupy a unique place between God and other people. Just so, Mary, our Mother, occupies her own space between God and His saints.

While we do not worship Mary, we do pray to her. By so doing, we honor her in a fitting and unique way. I can think of no better way to start 2025 than assisting at Mass for this Solemnity and, yes, by praying the Most Holy Rosary of the Blessed Virgin Mary.

A Happy and Blessed New Year to you. Through the intercession of the Blessed Virgin Mary and all God's Saints, may you have a healthy and prosperous 2025.

Christian Metamorphosis

Readings: Gen 22:1-2.10-13.15-18; Ps 116:10.15-19; Rom 8:31b-34; Mark 9:2-10

Lent is about transformation, that is, metamorphosis.

The Eucharist is about transformation, that is metamorphosis.

Eucharistic transformation is not primarily about what we label "transubstantiation."

Mainly, Eucharistic transformation is about how our reception of Holy Communion makes us the Body of Christ. This is why the most important part of the eucharistic liturgy, the part to which it all builds, is the Communion Rite.

At the end of the day, the only convincing "proof" (or disproof) that our meager gifts of bread and wine become Christ's body and blood are the lives of those of us who partake of it. Does the change provoke a response?

Living a eucharistic life, which is living a life of thanksgiving, is to be an evangelist.

Apologetics is just apologetics. Nonetheless, apologetically speaking, if the Eucharist doesn't produce the effects it claims or any discernible effects at all, then no matter how elegant your theory (theology), how real can it be?

Metamorphosis is the Greek word translated as "transfigured" in our Gospel for today.

What if instead of beholding a vision that somehow exists outside of reality, or even outside of time (let's think in a quantum way), Jesus' "transfiguration," his metamorphosis, how Peter, James, and John see him in this encounter, is seeing him as he really is all the time?

In beholding Jesus on the mountain top, seeing also Moses and Elijah, and hearing the voice of the Father, I assert the three men are having an intense experience of reality, of the world.

What do I mean by "world" in this context?

Wittgenstein began his Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus with-

1. The world is everything that is the case.
    1.1 The world is the totality of facts, not of things.
          1.11 The world is determined by the facts, and by these being all the facts.
          1.12 For the totality of facts determines both what is the case, and also all that is                    not the case
         1.13 The facts in logical space are the world.

I agree with Dallas Willard, who was a philosophy professor as well as a great Christian spiritual teacher, when he insisted that not only do we interact with the material world mainly by means of our minds, but that "We bring the reality of God into our lives by making contact with him through our minds." Our actions, in turn, result from that contact (Life Without Lack: Living in the Fullness of Psalm 23, 8).

The Transfiguration of the Lord, by D. Nollet, 1694

For a Christian, that Jesus is the beloved Son of the Father is a fact, not a myth or merely a nifty-keen way to make sense of the world but only one of several equally viable options. While I suppose Jesus' Lordship is a fact both in the world and about the world, more importantly, it is the fact that constitutes the world.

To understand Jesus as Messiah is to revere him as Lord. In this pericope, the fact of Jesus' unique and divine Sonship is shown by there not being "anyone but Jesus alone" after the cloud lifted and the divine voice trailed off. This is meant to show that Jesus is the fulfillment of the Law (Moses) and the Prophets (Elijah). He is the full revelation of Father.

Because I don't want to make a mockery of Wittgenstein's careful thinking by quoting him inappropriately, far from acknowledging Jesus as Lord, Wittgenstein, citing Paul's insistence that "no one can say, 'Jesus is Lord,' except by the holy Spirit" (1 Cor 12:3), averred that that claim said "nothing" to him. Why did the philosopher balk at acknowledging Jesus as Lord? "Because I do not believe that he will come to judge me" (Culture and Value, 37).

Wittgenstein insisted that the idea of Jesus returning to judge the living and the dead, as Christians profess in the Creed, also said nothing to him. Jesus judging him, he continued, "could say something to me, only if I lived completely differently" (Ibid.). This is the crux of the matter, isn't it?

This metamorphosis that causes you to live completely differently does not result in you being changed into something or someone completely different. Rather, it is to be changed into someone completed. To become who God made and redeemed you to be is what it means to be sanctified.

The first lesson in what means to rise from the dead is understanding that first you must die.

"I urge you therefore, brothers, by the mercies of God, to offer your bodies as a living sacrifice..." (Rom 12:1). It is by so doing, by the grace of God, you start to "be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that you might discern what is the will of God, what is good and pleasing and perfect" (Rom 12:2).

How else can you offer yourself except through the Eucharist, in which we pray that Christ by the Spirit's power "make of us an eternal offering" to the Father? (Eucharistic Prayer II)

Taking a cue from Saint Ignatius of Loyola, this transfiguration requires you not only to discern what is good and pleasing and perfect but to endeavor to act on what you discern, no matter what it may be. We don't call Abraham our Father in faith for nothing.

Seeking and finding the newborn king

Reading: Isaiah 60:1-6; Psalm 72:1-2.7-8.10-13; Ephesians 3:2-3a.5-6; Matthew 2:1-12

This year the Church in the U.S. almost celebrated Epiphany on 6 January. We did if you count last night's Vigil. Close enough, I guess.

Here in the U.S., we have one more day of the liturgical season of Christmas. We bring this season to a close with tomorrow's celebration of the Feast of the Baptism of the Lord. I've grown fairly fond of ending Christmas in this quiet way.

In Matthew's account of the visit of the magi, these magoi, as they are designated in koine Greek, symbolize the fulfillment of the prophecy of Isaiah about people from every nation, not just Israel, "proclaiming the praises of the LORD." This, of course, fits nicely with what he heard in our second reading from the Letter to the Ephesians about the Gentiles being "coheirs" and "copartners," through Jesus Christ, in the one covenant God seeks to enter into with human beings- those he made in his own image.

In order to restore us to God's likeness, the Son, the second person of the Most Holy Trinity, took on our image, that is, entered space and time through the womb of the Blessed Virgin. He did this to reconcile all of creation with God.

It's interesting to pay attention to the journey of magi as Matthew sets it forth. Following a new star at its rising leads them to Jerusalem, to the court of King Herod. Their reason for following this particular star is that they believed it would not only lead them to "the king of the Jews," but to a "newborn" king.

It doesn't take much insight to realize a couple of things about their journey to that point. First, their search for the "newborn king of the Jews" had to be prompted by a familiarity with Jewish scriptures and they had to unferstand it rightly. Second, if you go all the way to the penultimate chapter of Saint Matthew's Gospel, after nailing Jesus to the cross, the Romans also nailed a sign with the charge that led to the Lord's crucifixion over his head: "This is Jesus, the King of the Jews" (Matthew 27:37). Rather than paying him homage, like the magi, the Romans were chiding the Jews. Unlike Herod, Caesar did not feel threatened by this nobody from Nazareth.

Following the star to find "the newborn king of the Jews," led the magi to Jerusalem, to the court of King Herod. It was because Herod inquired of the chief priests and scribes that he was able to direct these visitors from the East to Bethlehem. It's tempting to write "Bethlehem of Judea" to sound more biblical but as the oracle cited by Matthew from the prophet Micah indicates, Bethlehem is notable because it is the least of the cities of Judah. Jerusalem is the greatest.

This brings us to Herod's request that after finding the child and paying him homage, these astrologers would return to Jerusalem and let him know where to find the infant. Of course, far from desiring to pay homage to the newborn king, Herod wanted to kill a potential rival, thus nipping in the bud any potential challenge to his position and his power.

It was because the magi, apparently sensing something was amiss about Herod and his request, returned home another way, thus avoiding Jerusalem. If we stick with Matthew's narrative, this is what led to the martyrdom of the Holy Innocents. Because Herod did not know who this newborn king was or where to find him, except somewhere in Bethlehem, he ordered the slaughter of male children two years old and younger.

Herod had no desire to personally encounter this foretold king. In fact, he wanted to obliterate him.

In its ordinary meaning, an epiphany is a sudden revelation or insight. As such, genuine epiphanies cannot be manufactured or staged. However, like the magi we can attend to the manifest signs and seek the Lord. As Gerard Manley Hopkins insisted in his breathtaking poem As Kingfishers Catch Fire: "for Christ plays in ten thousand places, Lovely in limbs, and lovely in eyes not his. To the Father through the features of men's faces." In other words, the world is full to overflowing with potential epiphanies.

This brings us back to the magi. They didn't just accidentally stumble upon the newborn king of the Jews. They searched the scriptures and discerned the signs of the times and then deliberately set out to find him. We employ this same intentionality by practicing certain spiritual disciplines, like lectio divina and the Examen. Let's not forget, the fruit of the fifth Joyful Mystery of the Blessed Virgin's Holy Rosary (i.e., finding Jesus in the temple). As scripture elsewhere teaches: "whoever would draw near to God must believe that he exists and that he rewards those who seek him" (Hebrews 11:6).

Repenting, changing, believing

Readings: Wisdom 6:12-16; Psalm 63:2-8; 1 Thessalonians 4:13-18; Matthew 25:1-23

From some reports I read, an interesting discussion took place at the recently concluded Synod and synodality, at least in some English-speaking and Spanish-speaking groups. What was this discussion about? It was about Christ's call and how any genuine response to his call is an acknowledgment of one's need to repent. It should go without saying that Christ calls everyone and accepts everyone who responds to his call. We must not forget that a significant part of responding to Christ's call is the desire and determination to repent.

No doubt this discussion arose in the context of other discussions about the Church being for everyone. Again, Christ calls everyone, bar none. But, as the Lord himself expressed, not everyone responds to the call and even some who say "Lord, Lord" are not committed to repenting. And so, from the beginning, the Church has had hypocrites. Even hypocrites can and do repent.

To repent is to change, to be converted, to commit yourself to being more and more transformed into the likeness of Jesus Christ. This is nothing less than committing to dying in the hope of being reborn.

Contrition, being sorry for one's sins, is necessary but insufficient for repentance. To repent is to change. The fruit of the third Luminous Mystery of the Holy Rosary of the Blessed Virgin Mary is Jesus' proclamation of the Kingdom, which occurs after his 40 days in the desert fasting, praying, and being tempted by the devil. If we translate Jesus' proclamation of the kingdom literally, at least according to the Gospel of Mark, his message is in the continuous tense: "be repenting and be believing" (see Mark 1:15). I don't believe it is mere happenstance that repenting comes before believing. On this view, seeing isn't believing, doing is.

Life ends with death and not necessarily with Christ's return. This is what Saint Paul reminds the Christians of ancient Thessaloniki in our New Testament reading. They are dismayed because believers are dying and Jesus has not yet returned. He reminds them that while life ends with death, death ends with resurrection. In the meantime, this requires us to wait in joyful hope. What interests the Apostle ought to interest us. He is not interested in "the last day," in the end of time. Rather, he is interested in the time of the end. What's the difference?

In his short booklet The Mystery of Evil: Benedict XVI and the End of Days, philosopher Giorgio Agamben, referring to the above difference, writes what interests Paul is "the internal transformation of time that the messianic event [Christ's birth, life, death, resurrection, and ascension- the Paschal mystery] has produced once and for all, and the consequent transformation of the life of the faithful" (pg 14).

The Fourth Wise Virgin, from the series The Wise and Foolish Virgins, by Martin Schongauer, 1470-1491

Whether we're talking about the mystery of iniquity or the Paschal mystery, which are inextricably related and together comprise one mystery, in Greek a mysterion is a dramatic action, not something unknown and unknowable. This why the Greek word for sacrament is mystery. The liturgy is certainly dramatic action. The dramatic action of the mysterion is an apocalypse, an unveiling, a revelation that unfolds mystagogically we might say. It is a cosmic unfolding on an existential scale.

Today's readings are all about the transformation of our lives resulting from "the messianic event." According to the parable, as believers, we are all virgins waiting for the Bridegroom, who is Christ. Therefore, the question becomes whether you are a wise one or a foolish one. As regards the oil, I think perhaps this is an opportunity to consider grace.

Grace isn't magic. Even practicing the spiritual disciplines of prayer, fasting, and almsgiving does not magically make you holy or even necessarily holier, at least not in some idealistic or hagiographic way. But even when your practice serves the end to which these disciplines are the means, it isn't usually noticeable to you.

For most people what happens when you fast is that you get hungry. The question is what are you really hungry for? Perhaps more to this point is what happens when you abstain: you want that from which you are abstaining. I remember a number of years ago, two friends of mine who live near New York City met up to walk in the huge Way of the Cross that transits the Brooklyn Bridge each Good Friday. Good Friday, of course, is a day of fasting and abstinence. As they were making their way across the bridge, one friend said to the other, "I've never wanted a hamburger worse than I do right now."

Grace requires cooperation, consistent, persistent cooperation. This cooperation is an act of hope, hope that what I am doing or not doing is good and will bear fruit for the Kingdom. No matter how you want to parse it, faith without works is dead. Remember repenting before believing? Remember Jesus from last week's Gospel, do what they say and not what they do because they don't do what they say?

One way to view the virgins is that the foolish ones operate on the presumption of God's grace, which presumption bids them do nothing, whereas the wise virgins do not wait in that way.

As we near the end of one liturgical year and look forward to a new year of grace, it's important for each of us individually and for us as a Christian community to examine our consciences and our lives and recommit ourselves to following Christ, to letting the Holy Spirit transfigure us (the fourth Luminous Mystery of the Rosary is Jesus' Transfiguration and the fruit of that mystery is to desire holiness), recreating us evermore into the image of Christ, our Lord, whose Kingship we acknowledge.

Pooping in St. Paul's and the Incarnation

These days I rarely post more than twice a week, let alone twice in one day. What prompts me to put up a second post today is something that I just read. This something comes from Giles Fraser's book Chosen: Lost and Found Between Christianity and Judaism.

For those unfamiliar with Fraser, he is a priest of the Church of England. In addition to having a Jewish lineage on his Dad's side, his wife is an Israeli Jew. Hopefully, this little bit of background helps explain the subtitle of his book.

For those who remember back slightly more than a decade ago, the Occupy movement was big. In London, the movement occupied ground connected to Saint Paul's Cathedral. At that time Fraser was the Canon Chancellor of the Cathedral. Unlike a number of his clerical colleagues, Fraser was sympathetic to and somewhat supportive of Occupy's occupancy of the land around the cathedral.

Ultimately, the Church decided to team up with the City of London to forcibly evict Occupy, which led Fraser to resign from his position. His resignation led to a personal crisis. He went through a divorce, had life-threatening health issues, and had to find a new place of ministry. The first part of his book is about these events.

The second part of the book is a good (by no means perfect) account of the history of relations between Jews and Christians. He especially focuses on the early centuries of Christianity's existence. He is quite superb in discussing the role of the Temple in pre-Jewish Judaism. It was the Temple and not "orthodoxy" that held Israelites together.

Moving on from his discussion of the Jerusalem Temple, Fraser moves back to the joint decision by Saint Paul's Cathedral and the City of London to forcibly evict the Occupy occupiers from the vicinity of the cathedral. Citing a report given to London's Metropolitan Police, he notes the complaint that on a few occasions people had pooped inside the Cathedral. It is his subsequent treatment of this that prompted this post.

This morning I noted how really appalling were the circumstances of Jesus's birth, at least according to Saint Luke's account. No matter how historical this account may or may not be, the inspired author's point is that the Son of God became incarnate in the most "real" of circumstances. I went on to note that for Christ to be born in us, it has to happen in the messiness of our own lives to be real.

Fraser first points how effectively shitting insider the cathedral rallied public opinion in favor of forcibly removing the protestors. But, he correctly grasps, "At stake here was something surprisingly theological- in Christians terms, what is the proper relationship between a church and the messiness of the world?" (146) This is a great question in societies full of need in which churches sit on large swaths of prime real estate empty most of the time. It bears noting that the term "Emergent Church" was first coined by German Catholic theologian Johann Baptist Metz. What he addressed was the fact that, at least in most advanced Western societies, Christianity has become a largely bourgeois phenomenon (see The Emergent Church: The Future of Christianity in a Postbourgeois World).

Fraser goes on to ask: "Does the church seek to maintain and protect a cordoned-off sanctuary of purity, a pollution-free space for a pollution-free God? Or is the whole point of the incarnation that God becomes human, thus collapsing the barriers between the sacred and the profane, between God and shit?" (146-147) At least for me, these are rhetorical questions; the respective answers to which are No and Yes respectively. Further, when we consider the full and complete humanity of Jesus Christ, as insisted on by Christian orthodoxy, God evacuated his bowels the same way all human beings do. While in the flesh, God took dumps. While it isn't something one need fixate on, it does bear noting that denying this is denying Christ's full humanity,

Early on in the second part of Chosen, when considering how the Council of Nicea was intent to brighten and embolden the line of demarcation between nascent Rabbinic Judaism and the nascent Church, along with Spanish liberation theologian Jon Sobrino (specifically his essay "The Kingdom of God and the Theological Dimension of the Poor: The Jesuanic Principle," which can be found in the compilation Who Do You Say That I Am?: Confessing the Mystery of Christ, pages 109-145), Fraser notes how quickly Jesus's radical preaching and teaching about God's kingdom disappeared.

While this could serve as a springboard for my deep dislike of this least wonderful time of the year, I will limit myself to noting it passing and leaving both of my readers to ponder this for themselves.

Bearing the cross

Readings: Isa 50:5-9a; Ps 116:1-6.8-9; James 2:14-18; Mark 8:27-25

One way of taking up the cross is by bearing wrongs, even grievous wrongs, patiently. This is what it means, at least in part, to demonstrate faith by works. Just as forgiving doesn't mean forgetting, remembering does not mean refusing to forgive. While I am not going to develop it in this post, there is an important distinction that needs to be made between forgiveness and reconciliation.

Given that the twentieth anniversary of the horrific attacks on the World Trade Center in New York, the Pentagon in our nation's capital, and onboard United Flight 93 over Pennsylvania, falls today, I think as Christians it is important to let scripture remind us what it means to revere Jesus as the Christ, the Son of God.

To begin my reflection the way I did is in no way to diminish the evil of 9/11/01. I am certainly not in favor of forgetting those who were killed as they simply went about their daily lives. We can't forget the mothers who did not come home to their children, the husbands who didn't come home to their wives, sons and daughters who left behind bereft parents, dreams that were shattered, etc.

I certainly want to remember the sacrifice made, in too many instances, the ultimate sacrifice, by those first responders who rushed headlong into danger on 9/11, seeking to assist those in peril. Let's not forget those exposed to dust and fumes generated by the collapse of the towers who contracted diseases and who died painful and slower deaths.

Our first reading, taken from one of deutero-Isaiah's Servant Songs, gets to the heart of the matter:

I gave my back to those who beat me,
my cheeks to those who tore out my beard;
My face I did not hide
from insults and spitting

I think one of the perennial questions for Christian is something like- Is Jesus the Christ or not? Is the Lord GOD our help or isn't he? Do we put our faith and trust in God or take matters into our own hands, forgetting God by ignoring Jesus?

You see, those to whom these prophetic words were immediately addressed were Israelites exiled in Babylon. Jerusalem had been destroyed and Israel scattered. God had let a foreign power invade the holy land, destroy the Temple, and take many of the chosen people captive, thus impoverishing not only the worship of God but Israelite society and culture. There was no guarantee of their return and restoration. Yet, this is God's word to them during this time.

Genuinely prophetic words show us the difference between human and divine thinking. Also in deutero-Isaiah, we find these words: "For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, my thoughts higher than your thoughts (Isaiah 55:9).

To human thinking, like Peter's in light of Jesus's prediction of the Passion, prophetic words seem strange, counterintuitive, not fit for purpose, etc. In short, what God does (or does not seem to do) is not what I'd do!

Post-9/11, the world, it seems to me, has become more violent, not less so. The first fifth of the twenty-first century has not been a great historical era in terms of peace and prosperity throughout the world.

Bearing the cross means to feel the weight of evil but not to be crushed by it. In light of Saint Paul's insistence that vengeance is God's (Romans 12:19), to seek vengeance is to play God and to do so according to an all-too human conception of what being God means.

Pandemic evangelization or lack thereof: Advent is coming

There is so much happening right now. It's hard to take all it in. Sars-Cov-2 continues its unabated path through the populations of the majority of U.S. states, increasing hospital occupancy to alarming levels and leaving more people dead. The presidential election is winding down with election day next Tuesday and all that comes goes along with that. In short, it's easy to despair and be overwhelmed.

It will be interesting to see where the Church stands once we've made it through these trying times. As a member of the clergy, though not one who makes my living from my service, it is tempting to worry. But why worry? Worry solves nothing. Parishes and congregations that have simply gone into maintenance mode, a kind of ecclesiastical half-life, will be surprised when not close to everyone comes back. Whereas those that have actively reached out, adapted in creative ways, viewed what's happened as an opportunity will be just fine and perhaps even better off. Things will be different when the pandemic ends.

As Catholics, we talk about this thing called "the new evangelization" a lot. Yet, at least where I live, I see a lot of missed opportunities for evangelization. This moment is ripe for evangelization. How does my faith help me in times like these? How can a more holistic practice of my faith assist me when things are difficult, strange, stressful? How many parishes have attempted to teach people how to pray the Liturgy of the Hours, formed Zoom Rosary groups, conducted on-line Bible studies, discussed the USCCB's Forming Consciences for Faithful Citizenship during this election year? How many parishes have endeavored to teach parents how to conduct something like a children's Liturgy of the Word in their homes and/or recommended or helped with acquiring resources for these purposes? How much sharing of the practice of lectio divina, centering prayer, recommendation of useful apps, like 24/7 Prayer's Lectio 365 has occurred? How many of our clergy have a deep, consistent personal prayer life?

Livestreaming a Sunday Mass is great and probably something that should continue beyond the pandemic but it can't be all that is done. Even in this regard, how many parishes have worked on improving the production of their live-streamed Masses? How many have invested in better equipment, reviewed what they're doing, sought feedback, and made improvements? How many have developed social media strategies for outreach to encourage and help people?

Anyway, these are thoughts that have been running through my mind the past few weeks. Yes, it's easy to make recommendations. If I weren't working two jobs and still managing a certain amount of parish and pastoral ministry, I'd be better able to help with the execution of some of what needs to be done. I am past the age at which I think trying to do everything is a good idea. I am not worried. But I think that in the years following the pandemic dioceses will have to look at major realignments. For their part, parishes need to attend to adult faith formation and a much bigger portion of this formation needs to be focused on equipping people to practice their faith more holistically and practically.

What's bound to happen is that a lot of people who formerly attended Mass regularly and whose only practice of the faith was attending Mass every week or nearly every week (this is a lot of Catholics) will get used to not attending and, frankly, see very little difference in their lives as a result of not attending. This will be especially true of many people who've heard nothing from their parish during this period of time. I don't think it will be an angry response, it will simply be their new normal. Some will revert being Christmas and Easter church-goers and some will not even while perhaps continuing to identify as Catholics. Others will have perhaps discovered more support and uplift in other Christian communities, ones that have seized this time.

I know, a rather pessimistic picture but not entirely so. The pandemic with all its restrictions continues and will continue throughout the winter and into the Spring. There is Advent, Christmas, Lent, and likely Easter. What is the strategy beginning with, say, Advent, which starts in less than a month? Isn't this a major theme at the beginning of Advent: "Awake, arise, it's later than you think"? Parishes need to heed this call.

Strangely, I haven't been listening to a lot of music lately. So, choosing a traditio for the last Friday of October was a bit more challenging than usual. Because I love the Irish comedy Moone Boy, especially the Halloween episode, "Ghost Raft," which features this song, I chose to go with Enya's "Orinoco Flow" as done by Choir! Choir! Choir! There is a bit of bad language up-front. Won't it be wonderful when we can do things like this in-person again?

A political non-rant II

In "A political non-rant," earlier this week I said there was only one possible exception to my desire not to have any living president serve again. Who is that exception? Jimmy Carter. According to the off-the-shelf narrative, we're supposed to think that Carter was a terrible president but a great human being. I readily admit that when Carter left office the country was at low-ebb. It's easy to overlook that Carter inherited many problems. He came into office not long after our Vietnam debacle came to its humiliating end with the dramatic news footage of the evacuation of Saigon in 1975. He also served in the wake of Watergate, Nixon's resignation, and Ford's pardon of Nixon. who was likely guilty of committing felonies. In the chaos that succeeded the dramatic year of 1968 during which Dr. Martin Luther King and Senator Robert F. Kennedy were assassinated, the nation found itself adrift in rapidly changing times without the kind of leadership it needed. When he was elected in 1976, Jimmy Carter, who came out of nowhere to win the Democratic nomination and then the presidency, was seen as a breath of fresh air.

In what became known as his "Great Malaise" speech - it is called this despite the fact that he did not use the word "malaise" in the speech - Carter set out to diagnose the roots of the nation's crisis. The speech, given to the nation on 15 July 1979. It is probably better called Carter's "Crisis of Confidence" speech. I was reminded of this speech by an article in Sojourners by David Schwartz: "Revisiting Jimmy Carter’s Truth-Telling Sermon to Americans."

After Fourth of July, Carter went to Camp David for ten days to consider the problems facing the country and his own political problems. During his Camp David retreat, Carter read from the Bible, he read Christopher Lasch’s book The Culture of Narcissism and E.F. Schumacher’s Small Is Beautiful, which Schwartz describes as "a meditation on the value of local community and the problems of excessive consumption." Schumacher's book, at least in my view, is still a must read.

In addition to the reading, he consulted with religious leaders, business and union leaders, other politicians and assorted intellectuals. "By the end of his retreat," Schwartz observes, "Carter had concluded that the country faced more than a series of isolated problems. Collectively they comprised a fundamental cultural crisis."

In his speech to the nation Carter asserted, "In a nation that was proud of hard work, strong families, close-knit communities and our faith in God, too many of us now worship self-indulgence and consumption." The speech went over very well and saw Carter's support jump significantly nationwide.

Shortly after the speech, Carter, who was making changes in his personal life-style even while president, seeking to build on the momentum of his speech, massively reorganized his Cabinet. Rather than making changes incrementally, he sought rapid and wholesale change. This move, politically-speaking, was a miscalculation and ultimately spelled his electoral doom.

With Some years after leaving office, Carter, who was famous for being an practicing Baptist and committed Evangelical, left the Southern Baptist Convention (SBC) as it was being overtaken by the Fundamentalists. These same Fundamentalists who succeeded in taking over the SBC are the same group who quickly co-opted the term "Evangelical." Evangelicalism was initially conceived of after World War II as a solid middle way between fundamentalism and extreme theological liberalism. It is this same group who, due to their "complementarian" sexism, are currently in hot water as the SBC experiences its #MeToo moment. The façade of the brutishness known as fundamentalism has been stripped away.

While I readily acknowledge the overly simplistic nature of this assertion, the country basically ignored the hard truths Carter told us in his Crisis of Confidence speech by electing Ronald Reagan in 1980. The deregulation and militarization mania that characterized the Reagan years has led to a lot of bad consequences since. Without exception, since that time we have been governed by Republican and Democratic neo-conservatives. It seems to me that we were at something of a crossroads at the end of the 1970s and chose to go down one road, the one we've been moving down ever since, which I can't help but think has reached its terminus with our present situation. Let's not forget that since the 1980s we have built in an economy that lives or dies by consumer spending and consumer debt. This was a major cause of the 2008 collapse. Rather than take a lesson, we've set about rebuilding the same economy. The only constant in such an economy is that more and more wealth is distributed upward and the divide between haves and have-nots grows wider. And so, we lurch from one bubble to the next. It is significant to note that Reagan was elected with overwhelming "Evangelical" support, aided in a big way by the nascent Morality Majority, headed by a Fundamentalist who branded himself an Evangelical- Reverend Jerry Falwell. This brings me to another aspect of this post, the theological one.

In July of 2017 Fr Anthony Spadoro. S.J., editor of the quasi-official Jesuit monthly La Civilitá Cattolica (the contents of each issue are reviewed and approved by the Holy See's Secretariat of State prior to publication), along with Presbyterian minister Marcelo Figueroa, published an article on religion and politics in the United States: "Evangelical Fundamentalism and Catholic Integralism: A Surprising Ecumenism." This article caused a bit of a stir and outraged those Catholics who are part of the alliance Spadoro and Figueroa identify and criticize. While there was a lot of sputtering, among the several rebuttals I read there was really not a persuasive response. Just the other day, Spadoro and Figueroa marked the anniversary of their first article with a second one: "The Prosperity Gospel: Dangerous and Different."

Whereas in their first piece they identified and addressed the problem of Catholics participating in this Fundamentalist-led alliance as well as its implications and effects, in "The Prosperity Gospel," Spadoro and Figueroa seek the roots the problem. At the very beginning of their article, the authors write this about the Prosperity Gospel:

The "prosperity gospel" is a well-known theological current emerging from the neo-Pentecostal evangelical movements. At its heart is the belief that God wants his followers to have a prosperous life, that is, to be rich, healthy and happy. This type of Christianity places the well-being of the believer at the center of prayer, and turns God the Creator into someone who makes the thoughts and desires of believers come true.

"The risk of this form of religious anthropocentrism, which puts humans and their well-being at the center, is that it transforms God into a power at our service, the Church into a supermarket of faith, and religion into a utilitarian phenomenon that is eminently sensationalist and pragmatic"

This, of course, is not Christianity but its inverse. While being careful to distinguish the two as well as making an effort to see some positive in certain conceptions of the American Dream, the authors go on to link the Prosperity Gospel with the so-called "American Dream," seeing between them a symbiotic relationship. They also note how rapidly the Prosperity Gospel has gone global.

In a section of their article entitled A theology of the American Dream?, Spadoro and Figueroa cut-to-the-chase:

This theology [the theology of the American Dream] clearly serves the economic-political-philosophical concepts of a neo-liberal model. One of the conclusions made by exponents of this theological tradition is geopolitical and economic in nature, and tied to the place of origin of the prosperity gospel. It leads to the conclusion that the United States has grown as a nation under the blessing of the providential God of the Evangelical movement. Meanwhile, those who dwell south of the Rio Grande are sinking in poverty because the Catholic Church has a different, opposed vision exalting poverty. From political connotations, it is even possible to verify the link between these positions and the integralist and fundamentalist temptations.

In truth, one of the serious problems that the prosperity gospel brings is its perverse effect on the poor. In fact, it not only exasperates individualism and knocks down the sense of solidarity, but it pushes people to adopt a miracle-centered outlook, because faith alone – not social or political commitment – can procure prosperity. So the risk is that the poor who are fascinated by this pseudo-Gospel remain dazzled in a socio-political emptiness that easily allows other forces to shape their world, making them innocuous and defenseless. The prosperity gospel is not a cause of real change, a fundamental aspect of the vision that is innate to the social doctrine of the Church

To the critics who insist Spadoro and Figueroa lack an understanding of U.S. politics both domestic and global, these two articles show they have a deeper understanding than do most citizens and leaders of the U.S. Being a quasi-official publication of the Holy See, in addition to showing how the theology and politics of this alliance are at odds with the Gospel, they also highlight with specificity what Pope Francis, in his papal magisterium, addresses more generally.

If you want to hear about the mores that publicly matter, listen to Carter's "Crisis of Confidence Speech" for yourself (a link to a video of the speech is provided above or you can click here). Hey, Carter only served one term. So, he's not constitutionally ineligible to serve again. To date, the only president in our nation's history to serve two non-consecutive terms is Grover Cleveland, who served from 1885-1889 and again from 1893-1897. At 92, I don't think Jimmy Carter is inclined to seek a second term but he is something that most people in the U.S., Christian or not, do not know exists, or existed, in politics: a committed Christian who is not right-wing. Another exemplar of this was the late Republican Senator from Oregon, Mark O. Hatfield, who died in 2011.

Remembering Billy Graham with mixed emotions

For better and sometimes for worse, Billy Graham was a giant striding across the religious landscape of the United States. Graham passed away this past Tuesday, 21 February, at the age of 99. Like many religious figures who enjoy popular acclaim, Graham, at least for a time, came to believe in his own power and wisdom. This led him to become more wrapped up in politics and attempts to influence governance than any Christian leader ought to allow him/herself to be. The apex of Graham's political influence occurred during the disastrous presidency of Richard Nixon.

It seems to me that Graham learned from this experience and for the last roughly 45 years of his life he largely eschewed seeking the kind of influence he sought prior to and during the Nixon administration. In short, being that politically involved compromised his integrity and, in a serious way, his Christian faith. It this compromise with worldly power that many people will remember most about him. But it is clear to me that Graham learned from this and repented by changing the way he engaged.

Graham's change was not a dramatic shift. It was marked more by what he ceased doing than by what he did. His change entailed going back to what he was - an evangelist. A herald of the Good News of Jesus Christ. I must admit that I scoff at the idea that Graham was "America's pastor." I scoff for two reasons. The first reason, I've already mentioned: his attempts at pastoring presidents were pretty much disasters. Such attempts are inherently disastrous because more likely than not the would-be "pastor" is being played, that is, co-opted. In seeking "pastoral counsel," presidents and political leaders are generally looking for moral cover. Graham's 13-page letter urging President Nixon to bomb North Vietnam (see "A Prince of War Exposed") must certainly count as the nadir of his long career. My second reason for scoffing in Graham's case is that he was not a pastor, but an evangelist, which is a very different calling. If anything, a pastor must, at least to some extent, be an evangelist but evangelists in no wise require pastoral skills. Hence, I think Kenneth Woodward's "America's Preacher" is far more apt than "America's Pastor."

True pastoring requires the willingness to confront and challenge as well as the ability to comfort and console. The Church must maintain some distance and independence from worldly power if we are to remain true to our prophetic calling. To employ a worn out phrase, like the prophet Nathan (see 2 Samuel 12:1-25) and John the Baptist (Mark 6:17-29), the Church must always be able to speak the truth to power.

Rev. Billy Graham

On the positive side, I think about the reflections Bob Dylan shared about Billy Graham's ministry several years ago:

This guy was like rock 'n' roll personified — volatile, explosive. He had the hair, the tone, the elocution — when he spoke, he brought the storm down. Clouds parted. Souls got saved, sometimes 30 or 40,000 of them. If you ever went to a Billy Graham rally back then, you were changed forever," he said...

Nearly seven years ago, on a Sunday, I posted on Billy Graham (see "Christ can fill that cosmic void in your heart," which features a video of Graham preaching).

Reading David Gushee's recent memoir, Still Christian: Following Jesus Out of American Evangelicalism, I was reminded that "Evangelical" (with a capital "E") in the American context was, at least initially, a Protestant identity that sought to exist between the extremes of Fundamentalism and theological liberalism. Fundamentalism, based what were articulated as "the fundamentals in about 1920. To make a Catholic analogy, "the fundamentals" can be viewed as something akin to U.S. Protestantism's syllabus of errors. The fundamentals were formulated to combat theological liberalism. Gushee's point is that Evangelicalism was either high-jacked by Fundamentalists or was nothing but a thinly-veneered attempt to forward Fundamentalism under a more moderate guise.

Gushee, who, at least for a time, was a prominent voice among the Evangelical left, writes deftly in his memoir about being played and the compromise inherent in serving as a Christian religio-moral advisor to politicians and political movements.

There can be no doubt that Billy Graham, while an Evangelical, always remained somewhat rooted in his native fundamentalistim and so tilted towards the fundamentalist side of the Evangelical spectrum. His son, Franklin, is a fundamentalist and not an Evangelical in the least.

Among advanced Western societies, no nation builds myths like the United States. Billy Graham's death has led to no end of myth-making, of hagiography, about this legendary preacher, both in the religious and secular media. We seem to have a difficult time dealing with the complexity of reality, especially when it comes to a person whose public career spanned some 60 years. Like most people, including Christian leaders, Billy Graham leaves a complex and mixed (i.e., human) legacy.

Requiscat, Billy Graham, in pace.

Thoughts on the Lord's Epiphany

A few weeks back I was asked to provide some thoughts on Epiphany for a newspaper article from a contemporary Roman Catholic perspective. A surprising number of my thoughts made it into the piece: "Utah Christians still have one more Christmas gift to unwrap: Epiphany is this weekend." I liked the article very much. I did try to make it clear that making an Epiphany a moveable feast was not something done universally in the Roman Catholic Church.

Since today, 6 January, is the traditional date of Epiphany, the day after the Twelfth Day of Christ (Twelfth Night celebrations are making a bit of a comeback), I am sharing the entirety of what I provided for the piece.

The feast of the Lord’s Epiphany is the ancient Christian celebration of the visit of the gift-bearing [and distinctly Gentile] Magi to the Christ child, an event recounted in St. Matthew's Gospel (Matt. 2:1-12). In revealing himself to the Magi the Lord first manifested himself to the Gentile nations.

Historically, Epiphany has been of far more significance than it is today for Roman Catholics. But even now in many European and Latin American countries and among a number of Catholic émigré communities in the United States, Epiphany still carries far more significance than it does for most Roman Catholics in this country. In many cultures, Epiphany, not Christmas, remains the main day for exchanging gifts.

The primary reason that the Epiphany is not such a big deal among most U.S. Catholics is that since the liturgical reforms that followed the Second Vatican Council, in this country, Epiphany no longer marks the end of the liturgical season of Christmas. For Roman Catholics outside the U.S., Epiphany remains a feast fixed on 6 January that brings the season of Christmas to a close.

Traditionally and today among most Roman Catholics, as well as among Western Protestants who follow the liturgical calendar, the Twelve Days of Christmas began on 25 December and concluded on 5 January. 6 January was the Epiphany of the Lord. In other words, like Christmas, Epiphany has historically been and remains in most places a fixed feast. But for the Roman Catholic Church in the U.S., Epiphany is observed on the second Sunday after Christmas.

In the U.S., Christmas ends on the Feast of the Baptism of the Lord. During this liturgical year, which began on the First Sunday of Advent (3 December), the feast of the Lord’s Baptism occurs on Monday, 8 January 2018. Epiphany will be observed on Sunday, 7 January.

As a result of making Epiphany a moveable feast, apart from perhaps completing the Christmas creche by including the Magi and their camels in it, in most Roman Catholic churches and homes in the U.S., Epiphany tends to be a fairly low-key affair, as does the Feast of the Baptism of the Lord, which is not a holy day obligation, or a day of any particular celebrations.

For most of the years of our marriage, my wife and I have hosted an Epiphany party for our friends. During this celebration we incorporate a number Catholic Epiphany traditions: we have a King’s Cake that contains 3 coins, whoever receives a coin in their piece of cake gets to wear a crown bearing one of the traditional names of the Magi- Melchior, Caspar, and Balthasar; we ceremonially remove our tree from our house, which includes carol-singing; with the help of our friends, we bless our house for the coming year.

My friend, the fine young theologian Brandon Peterson, reminded me that for the people of Puerto Rico Epiphany remains a huge holiday, bigger than Christmas, which I think is great. When one thinks that at the heart of the Epiphany is God extending his Covenant from Israel to all of humanity in Christ, the Epiphany of the Christ child should be huge for us Gentile Christians. In the wake of last year, we can also stand being reminded that Puerto Ricans are U.S. citizens.

Our Annual Festival of All Hallows and All Souls*

Halloween was brought into being by the ancient Celts who lived in Ireland, Scotland, Wales and Brittany. The celebration precedes their conversion to Christianity. For the ancient ones, 1 November marked the beginning of a new year and the coming of winter.

Showing the requisite Celtic spirit, the night before the new year, the Celts celebrated the festival of Samhain, who, in their mythology, was lord of the dead. They believed that during this festival the souls of the dead—including ghosts, goblins, and witches—returned to mingle with the living. To scare away the ghosts, goblins, and witches, they would don masks and light bonfires and, in true Celtic form, drink fermented grain and distilled grain bevies (i.e., beer and whiskey).

When the Romans conquered the Celts, they added their own touches to Samhain. These customs included making centerpieces out of apples and nuts for Pomona, the Roman goddess of the orchards, bobbing for apples and drinking (hard) cider. So, where, you might ask, does the Christian aspect of the holiday begin?

In AD 835, likely as the result of the widespread nature of what began as a Celtic custom, Pope Gregory IV moved the celebration for all martyrs (later all saints) from 13 May to 1 November. For most Eastern Christians, All Saints is still observed in the late Spring or early Summer (the Sunday following Pentecost). Eventually, the night before All Saints became known as All Hallows Eve. In time the name was shortened to Halloween.

The custom of setting apart a day to intercede for our faithful departed dates to the eleventh century. It was begun at the Benedictine monastery of Cluny, France. In particular, it was the fifth abbot of the abbey, St. Odilo of Cluny, who started All Souls Day. Given the influence of Cluny, this custom spread to other Benedictine communities associated with Cluny. Before long commemorating the faithful departed on 2 November was practiced in several dioceses in France before spreading throughout the Western Church. It was quite late coming to Rome, where it was accepted in the fourteenth century.

All Souls Day brings to an end our annual three-day festival of the communio sanctorum, which was centuries in the making. This festival is just the beginning of the month during which we remember our beloved dead. Our month of remembrance ends with the observance of the feast of Christ the King. On this feast, the Church celebrates the end of time, when Christ will return to judge the living and the dead.

That's it for October. I am glad I started blogging again in earnest.

* This post first appeared yesterday on The Boy Monk blog.

"Do you believe in rock n' roll?" - a uniquely American eschaton

After three very light months of blogging, I though I'd begin September with a post. Since it is Friday, it is appropriate to post a traditio. What to hand-on is always the question. Yesterday evening, on the flight home from a business trip the airline provided me with free earbuds. After reading for most of the trip, I decided to find some music in the airplane's computerized entertainment system. I have to say, it was nice to look out the window of the plane and listen to music.

Of all the songs I listened to in the hour-and-a-half I was most struck by the song that was perhaps the oldest: Don McLean's "American Pie." While the song refers specifically to the 1959 plane crash that killed Buddy Holly, the Big Bopper, and Richie Valens. Of course that plane crash was symbolic.

For many years McLean resisted attempts to "explain" his song, insisting "that songwriters should make their statements and move on, maintaining a dignified silence." In 2015, in the auction notes for the original manuscript of the song, McLean wrote: "Basically in American Pie things are heading in the wrong direction. ... It [life] is becoming less idyllic. I don't know whether you consider that wrong or right but it is a morality song in a sense."

While decoded references, like Elvis as the king and Bob Dylan as the jester (a designation he apparently didn't like very much), the song in one sense is tied to an era, to "a generation lost in space." It is a great song, however, because it transcends the era. It is a song with a theology, one influenced by a certain strand of the death-of-God theology that became so prevalent in the late 1960s. McLean sings about faith, the silencing of Church bells, the Trinity heading for presumably the West Coast.

If the music ever really dies, we're in deep trouble. My suggestion? Find some time this weekend to sit and listen to some tunes.

"A Republic, if you can keep it"

Recently I have found myself moving in a different direction politically, but hopefully doing so more wisely than when I was younger. Like many people, I was raised to believe that the United States of America is exceptional, meaning that I believed our country was divinely founded and given a divine mission in history directly from God. I even believed that our constitution was divinely inspired. To state what I believe now in equally simple terms, while I don't believe our constitution is a divinely inspired document, or that the founding of the United States was in any way the equivalent of God choosing Israel- think of the ecclesiological implications of such a belief!- I think the United States was founded on fairly sound principles and, in the context of the times, the founding of our country was quite exceptional.

According to the diary of Dr. James McHenry, a delegate from Maryland to the Constitutional Convention of 1787, Ben Franklin was asked upon leaving Independence Hall on the last day of deliberations, "Well, Doctor, what have we got - a Republic or Monarchy?" To which Franklin replied, "A Republic, if you can keep it." Franklin's words are the title of Eric Metaxas latest book: If You Can Keep It: The Forgotten Promise of American Liberty. It's a book I haven't read and one that I am not sure I will read. I do plan to read Dr. Joseph Loconte's God, Locke, and Liberty: The Struggle for Religious Freedom in the West.

The form of liberal democracy that constitutes the United States of America is not without its downsides and weaknesses, many of which, along with certain strengths, were well-chronicled by Alexis de Tocqueville in the 19th century in his Democracy in America. There is a lot involved with keeping our Republic. I agree, however, with those who assert that losing it is a very real possibility, which is one more proof against attributing to the establishment of our nation more providence than it is due.

Liberal democracy is the result of historical developments in the West from which it is difficult, probably impossible, to turn back. As unrealistic as turning back is, some think it is desirable to do so. I have flirted with some of those notions, but I don't think it's even desirable to turn back, especially not to monarchy, which seems to be the rage among a certain subset of Orthodox and Catholic Christians. Christ is King, I grasp that reality. Of the two strands of thought pertaining to the monarchy in the Old Testament, which contrast can be most clearly seen by reading 1-2 Kings along with 1-2 Samuel in contrast to 1-2 Chronicles, I go with the Israelites being lambasted by the prophet Saul for wanting a king other than God, after the order of the surrounding nations (see 1 Samuel 8). It's the clear that the United States, which was the result of the historical developments previously invoked, was not established after the manner of post-conquest/pre-monarchic, tribal Israel.

So, for better and worse, it's the system we have and, as a citizen, making it work is something to which I feel I need to commit myself. The first way I commit myself to it is by adhering to what St. Paul encouraged members of the early Church to do, which was echoed by St. Justin in his First Apology, namely being a good citizen by striving to be a good Christian. This by no means requires me to water down what it means to follow Christ. I know it is almost always problematic to assert a consensus among a diverse group of people, but I think I am safe in asserting that the consensus among the founders of the United States of America was that keeping our republic requires a virtuous, educated, actively involved, not to mention religious citizenry.

Ben Franklin

Given how our government in the United States is formed and how it has evolved, being involved in politics in a meaningful way likely means party involvement, which is not to say that everyone must join a party. For example, as a member of the clergy, while I may lean one way or the other, avoiding partisan politics is something I am bound to do and for good reason, namely the unity of the Church. But even if you're going to vote, you'll likely vote for a member of one party or another, even if it's a third party. I think our republic would be enhanced by having a multi-party, instead of our current two-party, system.

I also believe we need engage more in local politics: municipal, county, state, even our neighborhood associations. We have a lot more discretion over our affairs than most people realize. These can perhaps be best described as liberties we're usually content to leave on the table. Instead, we choose to focus almost exclusively on national and international politics. I believe there is a very non-revolutionary way for citizens to take our country back. Right now, the most urgent matter for the Church is ensuring the full guarantee of religious liberty in the face of what I can only describe as a major assault across several fronts.

One of the keys to Christian involvement in political parties is by keeping the main thing the main thing. To state the matter inelegantly, in politics, the main thing is people. Hence, when party politics begin to depart from the fundamental basis of any political engagement for a Catholic: the inherent and ineradicable dignity of every human being, the Christian must challenge this. This allows us to have principled discussions about the common good, essentially seeking most, if not all, the same ends but perhaps differing when it comes to means, which can lead to principled compromise. I think both major parties need serious Catholic involvement, not the half-hearted, vote-seeking pandering we usually see from politicians. This election year is no different and both parties do it. How do we defend against this? By being wise as serpents and gentle as lambs. This is why, rather than telling us for whom we should vote, our Catholic bishops in the U.S. seek to form our consciences so that we can make good judgments for ourselves when voting. While it may pain me to say it, Ted Cruz was correct, you should vote your conscience. You should also seek to form your conscience. One book I would suggest that I've found useful is Daniel Schwindt's The Papist's Guide to America.

This also means presupposing that politics are provisional, not ultimate. As Christians, our home is the Church, from which we're sent out at the beginning of each week to glorify the Lord by our lives. At end of the day the most convincing evidence that the bread and wine are transformed into the body and blood of Christ is how much it transforms those of us who partake of it into the Body of Christ as made manifest by how we live. People of good faith can debate whether the United States was founded as a Christian nation. I tend to think not, at least not in any explicit sense. I do think our constitutional order depends on holding a transcendent view of human person, even if it is nebulously conceived. If Christians in the early centuries could live and thrive in an often hostile empire, how much more can we do so in our milieu?

I'll count this as my missing Fourth of July post.

Rejecting faith as a resource

I am not up to much mental heavy-lifting today, but I can't help but post something as the result of reading an article this morning in the on-line version of the Los Angeles Review of Books (LRB). The article, by Robert Zaretsky, is entitled "The Limits of Absurdity." Zaretsky reminded me that it was 70 years ago this month that my dear Camus made his one and only visit to the United States. While here he delivered an address that served as something of an outline to what I consider his magnum opus, L'Homme révolté, the English title of which is The Rebel: An Essay on Man in Revolt. Reading The Rebel as a twenty-something new convert was transformative for me. The other work of Camus that made a deep impression on me are some fragments of a talk he gave in 1948 to some Dominican friars at the Monastery of Latour-Maubourg. What was written down appears in an English language collection of Camus' essays - Resistance, Rebellion and Death - under the title "The Unbeliever and Christians."

In his New York lecture, "La crise de l’homme" (trans. "The Crisis of Man"), Camus proposed metaphysical, as opposed to political, revolt as the answer to the absurd predicament in which humanity found itself in the wake of the desolation wrought by the modern world (i.e., World War I, the Great Depression, and World War II, especially under the shadow of the mass murder of European Jews). In light of these bloody catastrophes and others, Camus felt everything and virtually everyone was discredited, which is why he insisted that only through such a rebellion could a person gain authenticity by living in solidarity with poor and oppressed of the world.

In his LRB piece, Zaretsky, Camus' biographer, noted:

In a world shorn of sense, [Camus] stated, too many people had concluded that whoever succeeded was right, and whatever was right was measured by success. For those who resisted this conclusion, for those unwilling to live in a world of victims and torturers, neither faith nor philosophy offered a resource. Instead, the only source of justification 'was in the very act of rebellion.' What we fought for, Camus concluded, 'was something common not just to us, but to all human beings. Namely, that man still had meaning'

Admittedly, the Church in 1945 was badly in need of reform. Many of the needed reforms would flow from the Second Vatican Council. Even Pope Pius XII, considered by too many as nothing more than a reactionary arch-conservative, grasped this and did a lot to initiate reforms between the end of the Second World War and his death in 1958.

I think perhaps Camus was too generic about what Zaretsky dismisses as "faith." Properly grasped, faith is not a "resource" upon which one relies, a mere coping mechanism. It especially bears noting on this Easter Monday that faith is faith in a person, Jesus Christ risen from the dead and already reigning at the Father's right hand, transforming the world from within by the power of the Holy Spirit. This transformation is the rebellion and revolution Jesus came to bring. Jesus' revolt is very much in line with what Camus suggests in The Rebel. In his LRB article, Zaretsky provides some evidence for this assertion by pointing out something that happened at the New York lecture:

At the end of his address, Camus invited the audience to join this rising tide of rebellion. “As for the American youths listening to us,” he announced, this generation of European rebels “respect the humanity that animates you and the freedom and happiness reflected in your faces. They expect from you what they expect from all people of good will: a loyal contribution to the dialogue they wish to establish in this world.” No sooner had he finished speaking than a Columbia official revealed that a burglar had broken into the ticket office and stole the evening’s earnings, all of which had been earmarked for orphanages in France. From the audience a voice suggested that everyone pay again on their way out; by the time the last person left the hall, there was more money in the register than the first time around

Camus once told his friend Paul Raffi- "Catholic thought always seems bittersweet to me. It seduces me then offends me. Undoubtedly, I lack what is essential." Perhaps it was because he viewed faith too generically, as a resource that allows a person to avoid the reality of a screwed up, broken down, world. It may well be the case that Camus' grasp of faith can be attributed to the Church's reductive and narrow proclamation of the Gospel at the time. It was right about this same time that this narrow, simplistic, and reductive proclamation was starting to be challenged by theologians like Henri De Lubac, Yves Congar, and Hans Urs Von Balthasar. Von Batthasar once described what is often termed neo-scholasticism as a pastry with a lot of dry crust.

My own experience has taught me that I do not "have" faith to provide me with simplistic answers to life's most vexing questions. I think it's faith that allows me to shout "Why?" in the assurance I'm not shouting the most human of questions into a void. I receive this assurance by seeing that between where I stand and the void stands the Cross of Christ.

Far from negating or obliterating the absurdity of the human condition, Christ's passion and death only serve to highlight our plight without in any way reducing it by making sense of it all. In other words, faith in Christ does not spare the believer from reality. Rather, faith in Christ forces the person possessed of it into a fatal collision with reality. It seems to me that The Rebel and "The Unbeliever and Christians" are necessary reading for anyone who is serious about anything remotely approximating what is termed "New Evangelization," much of which takes the form of religious propaganda. This is why, with Pope Francis, I still believe Bl. Pope Paul VI's Apostolic Exhortation Evangelii nuntiandi still serves as our blueprint for evangelization. Pope Francis' Apostolic Exhortation, which, like Paul VI's, came at the end of an Ordinary Synod of Bishops dedicated to evangelization, Evangelii gaudium, strikes me as a twenty-first century update.

In Evangelii gaudium Pope Francis wrote this about Christ's resurrection:

Christ’s resurrection is not an event of the past; it contains a vital power which has permeated this world. Where all seems to be dead, signs of the resurrection suddenly spring up. It is an irresistible force. Often it seems that God does not exist: all around us we see persistent injustice, evil, indifference and cruelty. But it is also true that in the midst of darkness something new always springs to life and sooner or later produces fruit (par. 276

Conversely, Camus, while being largely pessimistic, was insistent that it's important not to give in to despair. But he was unable to offer hope. As conceived by Camus, metaphysical rebellion did not end in victory, except the victory of living authentically, but was otherwise largely futile. I think he was correct when he asserted in The Myth of Sisyphus that only question that really matters is whether or not life is worth living. Beside this question, he insisted, "Everything else is child’s play; we must first of all answer the question." Indeed, we must.

I don't think the turn to faith can be merely pragmatic because such an approach sets aside the question of truth, which is an evasion of reality, even if "the truth" is always bigger than our ability to grasp it. Granted, in the first instance, turning to Christ might be a pragmatic move borne of desperation, but it must deepen. If it does not deepened, then faith rooted in pragmatism is like the seed in Jesus' parable that falls on rocky ground, where the soil is not deep. The seed that falls on rocky ground withers when the sun of life beats down on; it dies "for lack of roots" (Matt 13:5).

God, religion, freedom n' stuff

Last summer, I let myself become overwhelmed and weighed down by everything happening in the world. In response, I wrote what I called an "on-the-fly" post: "Being overwhelmed and stultified." My post was about the necessity of living my own life because I don't have another one available to me- as vexing as the purveyors of fantasy might find such an observation. More importantly, I wrote about true freedom, focusing on how important it is to experience it for yourself. If you don't, paraphrasing Seinfeld's "Soup Nazi," then there is no freedom for you.

Yesterday between Masses I spent time reading Lapsed Agnostic, John Waters' account of how he (re-)discovered faith as an adult. In the final chapter of the book, entitled "After Don't," Waters observed: "Religions generally teach us to think in terms of our duties towards God." Hence, for many people, especially in the West, our experience of religion, of church, is simply about adhering to a set of proscriptions (don'ts) and prescriptions (dos). Even though, apart from approximately 2 years in my early 20s, I have been a religious person virtually all my life, this is my experience too, both as a layman and now as a cleric.

Taking his cue from Msgr Luigi Giussani, founder of Communion & Liberation, Waters went on to point out that in conceiving of religion as a set of rules, or reducing "being religious" to adherence to such rules, we forget "that what defines our relationship with [God] is the knowledge of what He can do for us that we cannot do for ourselves." It is only this realization, which comes through experience, that religion ceases to be either fire insurance against the day of wrath, or a depressingly pragmatic existential move. I must note that Waters, wisely in my view, endorses faith as a pragmatic move at least in the beginning, advising his readers "fake it until you make it." C.S. Lewis advised much the same thing when it came the difficulties involved with loving one's neighbor.

Waters went on to insist that God's "most vital role" in our lives is to relieve us "of the responsibility" of taking His role upon ourselves. As a result, one can reach the liberating conclusion that what truly matters is not whether "I am sufficiently devout," let alone whether "God is pleased with my piety, but my awareness of the fact that I myself am not God." More than adherence to moral injunctions "or anxiety concerning the afterlife," the most persuasive argument for God, according to Waters, is "if God does not exist, I have an urgent need, in my own interest, to substitute for Him."

While Waters' observation may sound like a variation of Feuerbach's theme that if God did not exist we would need to invent him, it isn't really. I think Waters takes the temperature of the contemporary Western person more accurately. In my view, the difference is a matter of experience. Either I take the heavy burden of existence upon my shoulders, or I recognize the impossibility of so doing, even if only by being crushed under its weight. The experience of being crushed forces a question upon me. To be experienced, as it were, at least in the sense that Giussani meant it, requires me to attune myself more to reality as it presents itself to me and engaging it according to all the factors that together make it up. Stated in a simpler way, reality reaches out to me and so I must cultivate my awareness of it by paying attention, even if this reaching out sometimes consists of a slap to my face.

Giussani insisted that, when functioning properly, religion "proposes to man a question regarding everything he does, and thus becomes a much broader view than any other." The problem with people like the everything-old-is-new-again-atheists and those of a reductively empiricist bent of mind is that their view of reality is badly constrained, it's way too narrow, it simply ignores obvious aspects of reality.

Reading Lapsed Agnostic yesterday reminded me of a book, which contrasts with Waters as much as it coheres with him. The book is Unapologetic: Why, Despite Everything, Christianity Can Still Make Surprising Emotional Sense, by Francis Spufford, which I read about a year ago. The part of the book of which I was reminded is the second chapter, entitled "The Crack in Everything." One of the major points Spufford made in this chapter was, unlike it's parent and sibling (i.e., Judaism and Islam respectively), which bear more resemblance to each other than to being Christian, Christianity "isn't interested in coming up with a set of sustainable rules for living by." According to Spufford, Christianity "makes frankly impossible demands." Rather than insisting on specific repeatable actions, Christianity, he continued, "offers general but lunatic principles." Among other things, this is why there is a three volume set of conferences Luigi Giusanni delivered to aspiring members of Memores Domini entitled Is It Possible to Live This Way? Nonetheless, Christianity is taught and, therefore, understood by many Catholics and other Christians, as well as semi-Christian sectarians, as living by a set of sustainable, repeatable rules by which one gains merits, or de-merits, with the Almighty. It seems to me that it's a short trip from there to the nonsense of Joel Osteen or The Secret.

Having been raised LDS and still residing in Utah, I have met Catholics with a Mormon background who want to live Catholicism in what I can only describe as a Mormon manner, which is highly rule-bound. In one of the three books, apart from the Bible, Mormons revere as scripture, the Doctrine and Covenants, which consists largely of revelations Mormon founder Joseph Smith, Jr. claimed to receive directly from God, one can read - "There is a law, irrevocably decreed in heaven before the foundations of this world, upon which all blessings are predicated— And when we obtain any blessing from God, it is by obedience to that law upon which it is predicated" (130:20-21- emboldening and italicizing emphasis mine). The next verse states that God the Father "has a body of flesh and bones as tangible as man’s" (130:22), which lends credence to the so-called "Lorenzo Snow couplet" (i.e., "As man is, God once was, as God is, man may become" - see "Becoming 'like' God, or becoming Gods?").

According to this irrevocably decreed law, God only blesses us when we're obedient. So, while "God helps those who help themselves" is not in the Bible, it's certainly in the Doctrine and Covenants. So, Mormonism, like unbelief, insists that we must take on the role of God because, on a Mormon view, God is only a god. This constitutes but one reason why I am so happy that the only LDS convert to the Catholic faith being considered for sainthood, at least of whom I am aware, the Servant of God Cora Louise Evans, was a mystic. Since I am mining this vein, it bears noting that Giussani's sainthood cause is also under way.

In her forward to Giussani's book The Religious Sense, which I am re-reading as the result of reading Lapsed Agnostic, the late University of Chicago political philosopher, Jean Bethke Elshtain, wrote: "How sad it is that our quest for self-mastery and a widespread sense of emptiness and loss-of-meaning go hand-in-hand, yet we often fail to see the connection." More relevant to the point I am trying to make here, she noted, "Giusanni helps us to fit the broken pieces together by refusing seductive schemes and manipulations, including a quest for perfection that can only end in ashes and misery" (italicized and emboldening emphasis mine).

I come by my tendency towards rule-bound perfectionism quite honestly, but reality has a way of steering me back around. I am very glad that Pope Francis, on whom Giussani made an impact (see "Pope Francis moved by Msgr Giussani") has made a practice of calling out Catholics who want to live faith in such a constraining way. Many don't much like it and sometimes the many includes me. As a result, some don't much like him. Apparently it's easier to say the Pope is in error and keep on keepin' on. When it comes to living it's not so much the "what," but the method, the "how" to so live that leaves much to be desired. As Bl. Pope Paul VI noted, "Modern man listens more willingly to witnesses than to teachers, and if he does listen to teachers, it is because they are witnesses" (Evangelii nuntiandi, par. 41).