"How can you say, 'follow me' when I don’t even know where you are?"

Jude Simpson is simply great and her video recitation of her poem Not cut out for religion is our Καθολικός διάκονος Friday treat! Please note the ironic tone of this lovely poem. You can find the text of the poem on the rejesus website. Several people, who are apparently Christians, judging from their comments on YouTube, missed her point entirely. This is a nice follow-up to my nebulous God post.

A nebulous God post

Last night I taught the second of three RCIA Inquiry classes. These are classes I teach over the summer for those folks who express an interest in beginning formation to become Catholic in September. After discussing the Triune nature of God in our first session, we discussed revelation last night. We began with what is fundamental. Knowing about Msgr. Luigi Giussani makes this task easier. So, we discussed those ways God seeks to be known by us that are prior to Scripture, or anything else. We dealt with three: the universal desire for transcendence, creation, and the human person. Of course, these three link together and overlap. One way in which they do so is via faith and reason.

Then, we moved to God's particular revelation in history beginning with Abraham and Sarah and the nation of Israel and culminating in the Incarnation of Jesus Christ, through whom this covenant, which takes the form "I will be your God and you will be my people," is extended to the whole human race. It bears noting in this context the necessity of Judaism for Christianity. In order to understand, to interpret we have to have a context. Jesus Christ's context is Israel. This brings me to a post by Rocco over at Whispers that is resounding throughout the Catholic neighborhood of the blogosphere that I tend to inhabit. It is about the funeral for Jean-Marie Cardinal Lustiger and is entitled Kaddish for the Cardinal. Because Cardinal Lustiger saw his conversion to Christianity as the fulfillment of the covenant he entered at birth as a Jew, he never forsook being Jewish. It was his dying wish that Jewish relatives recite Kaddish on his behalf prior to his funeral Mass. During his lifetime, even while cardinal archbishop of Paris, he could sometimes be seen in the main synagogue of Paris reciting Kaddish for his mother who, along with St. Teresa Benedicta of the Cross, was murdered in a Nazi concentration camp.

I'm not really sure that I have "point" this morning. If I do it is that God is with us always, even if we don't perceive God's often unobtrusive presence. God is with us in suffering, in sadness, in uncertainty. God is our companion on the way always and without exception. The challenge of the spiritual life is not to find God, but discern God's abiding presence, and to ultimately become like Christ, or Christ-like. Often this companionship is a silent accompanying. The reason why the poem "Footprints in the Sand" is so popular and so meaningful for so many is that it articulates our experience, or at least our hope, of God's accompanying us. At the same time, just as imperceptibly, God is holding it all together for us and for the world that God, who is love, created out of love, for love (1 Jn 4,8-16).

In St. John's Gospel we read of the Incarnation of the Son of God, the Logos: "What came to be through him was life, and this life was the light of the human race; the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it" (Jn 1,3b-5). This is good news, indeed. It is a message we need to not just hear, but heed. In other words, God is not a fixer, a genie we summon when things get tough, who magically, with a nod of his head, makes it all better. Isn't this one of the main points of Jesus' temptations in the wilderness, of his drinking the cup that he prayed would pass from him? Are we, his disciples, greater than the master we freely choose to follow because we love him? If Jesus had not drained the cup of his passion and death, if he had not emptied himself for us, the greatness of God, which to us is paradox and mystery, could not have been shown. We are to imitate Jesus, to incarnate him in our own lives and in our life together, which means the daily and painful dying to self.

Today is Friday, a day of recollection, a day of penance, a day on which we observe and remember Jesus' death on the Cross. If we do nothing else on this day we are to abstain from the meat of warm-blooded animals, pray more, and give charitably. In doing so may we all come to see more clearly not just that God is with us, but how, in what manner, God is present. May we live in the confidence that if God is with us nothing and nobody, in the end, will stand against us.

"But now in Christ Jesus you who once were far off have become near by the blood of Christ. For he is our peace, he who made both one and broke down the dividing wall of enmity, through his flesh, abolishing the law with its commandments and legal claims, that he might create in himself one new person in place of the two, thus establishing peace, and might reconcile both with God, in one body, through the cross, putting that enmity to death by it" (Eph. 2,13-16).

St. Teresa Benedicta of the Cross

In keeping with what has proven to be in many ways and for many reasons a long, sad week, it bears noting that today is the anniversary of the death of St. Teresa Benedicta of the Cross (i.e., Edith Stein). Rather than write anything, which I am not really up for, I refer you Sr. Edith's post over on Monastic Musings entitled Edith Stein, 1891 - 9 August 1942.

I also want to draw attention to a quote from Balthasar over on Deep Furrows, which begins, "When God demands of us something difficult, we often seek to be aided in our compliance by motives that rob the action of its whole value." To read whole thing, follow the link.

St. Teresa Benedicta of the Cross- pray for us!

Mass tommorrow for trapped miners

"On behalf of the Catholics of Utah, I wish to express our prayerful support for the miners, their families and colleagues during this most difficult time.

Tomorrow afternoon at 5:15 p.m. I will celebrate Mass in the Cathedral of the Madeleine for the miners and their families, as well as for all those who are working so hard and courageously on their behalf. We also pray for the people of Huntington who are so deeply affected by the collapse of the Crandall Canyon Mine.

May the patron of our Huntington Mission, the Archangel Raphael, bring healing and strength to all involved.

+Bishop John C. Wester
Bishop of Salt Lake City"

I just posted this to The Cathedral of the Madeleine blog, The People of St. Mary Magdalene. For those of you who are local, please come and let us join together in prayer tomorrow evening for the miners, their families, and those working so hard to rescue them! For those of you who are not, please add these men to your prayers, for their survival and for comfort and strength to their families.

Never forgetting means always remembering

Today we mark the sad anniversary of the dropping of the second atomic bomb on the Japanese city of Nagasaki. The anniversary of the dropping of the first bomb on the city of Hiroshima was yesterday. Let us never forget! Also, let us not forget, as the teacher and the psalmist reminded us Sunday, our life here is transitory. We are limited, contingent beings.

Apropos of a day of remembrance, Into Dust.

In my other post today (linked to above- click on the word "forget") I wrote:
" One thing families do, albeit with far less frequency than they used to, out of love, is remember. We are in danger of forgetting. One sign of this is that on Memorial Day, instead of visiting the graves of our beloved dead, we recreate, we go on trips, we go to the movies, etc. In other words, we seek distractions instead of dealing with reality. Forgetting has consequences." Just to give an example in order to demonstrate that I am not writing about some lofty, abstract concept with no bearing on life, I have an uncle Lamar. He was a decorated World War II veteran who fought bravely in the Pacific theater. He was my Dad's oldest half-brother. He was badly wounded in the war, having lost two fingers of his right hand. More than the physical wounds and the resulting disabilities, he was spiritually and psychologically devastated by what he experienced as a young soldier. He died an alcoholic before I was born. If not for my grandma, who was Lamar's step-mother, my Dad and his sisters and brothers telling us about Lamar, who never married and, hence, died childless, who would remember him?

We must also remember, especially in light of the grave subject-matter of this post, that mature Christian faith is hopeful. Hence, we should not leave this subject desparing. I draw attention to something Gregory Glenn wrote yesterday for the Feast of the Transfiguration of the Lord: "this altogether reliable prophetic message of Jesus Christ still rings true: that we are created for love, and we are most like our Creator when we are engaged in love that pours itself out, in our homes, schools and places of work" (Awaiting the Morning Star).

In a homily, given during a Mass concelebrated with Swiss bishops last November, our Holy Father, Pope Benedict XVI, concluded his homily by highlighting the fact that problems "cannot be resolved if God is not placed at the center, if God does not become visible in the world once more, if He does not become a determining force in our lives, and if He does not, through us, decisively enter the world. It is my belief that the destiny of the world today, in its current dramatic situation, depends upon this: whether God - the God of Jesus Christ - exists and is recognized as such, or whether He disappears. Our concern is that He should remain present." Put simply, it is up to us, His Body, to make him present.

Of Bernanos and other things

Over on Deep Furrows you will find what is described as "an excerpt from a satirical sermon by Georges Bernanos." The post is The Sermon of an Agnostic on the Feast of St. Thérèse [of Lisieux]. Here is an excerpt:

"My dear brothers. I keep on saying the same thing, because it always is the same thing. Had you followed that saint instead of applauding, Europe would never have known the Reformation, nor the religious wars, nor this horrible Spanish Crusade. Saint Francis was calling to you, but death did not pick and choose: death descended on us all. The danger is the same today."

Jean-Marie Cardinal Lustiger

Today is the Feast of the Transfiguration of the Lord. As Greg Glenn reminded me, in the post to which I link, today also marks the death of much maligned, but very courageous and, to my mind, even saintly, Pope Paul VI. Rest in peace Papa Montini! Sadly, we also mark the dropping of the first atomic bomb on the city of Hiroshima. Jean-Marie Cardinal Lustiger died yesterday. Many of you may not know who he is. I cannot imagine a more fitting tribute than that written by George Weigel over on the Observations and Contentions, the First Things blog. Marking these three events (i.e., the deaths of Paul VI and Cardinal Lustiger and the dropping of the first atomic bomb) should give us all pause to consider the words of the Qoheleth and our Lord from yesterday.

Year C, Eighteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Readings: Eccles. 1,2. 2,21-23; Ps. 90,3-6. 12-14.17; Col. 3,1-5.9-11; Luke 12,13-21

Summed up in one word today’s readings are about detachment, detachment from things that do not matter. This is a challenge for us because we live a culture obsessed with things that truly do not matter. In a world in which wars are being fought on a massive scale, in which injustice breeds violence, in which people starve daily and preventable and treatable diseases kill tens of thousands, especially on the forgotten continent of Africa, a world in which human activity is having a deleterious effect on the planet’s environment, we remain concerned about the travails, the ups-and-downs of celebrities. Instead of concerning ourselves with the injustices in our society, our broken and practically non-existent immigration system, the growing gap between the rich and the poor, the tens of millions who go without health care, in true escapist fashion we often allow ourselves to be distracted, we seek distractions, we look for anything to take our minds off what St. Paul calls “what is above” (Col. 3,1).

In the first verse of our first reading from Ecclesiastes the word for vanity is used five times. In Hebrew this frequent usage in the verse stands out even more because in its original language the verse consists of only eight words. The word literally means breath or vapor. Therefore, it refers to that which is transitory, lacks substance, or, put as bluntly as it is meant, that which is meaningless. In our three year lectionary cycle we read from the Book of Ecclesiastes, or, to use its Hebrew designation, Qoheleth, meaning one who teaches and preaches to the assembly, only this once.

Among those things the teacher tells us are meaningless are things that are considered in the rest of Hebrew Wisdom literature to be meaningful, like working hard and enjoying the fruits of our labor. The man in the example used by Qoheleth "labored with wisdom and knowledge and skill" (Eccles. 2,21). For the teacher, however, this is precisely where the transitory nature of life is revealed. We die and another, perhaps less deserving person, reaps the rewards of our hard work! So, if these meritorious activities ultimately prove meaningless, how much more is this true about those things that not only do not ultimately matter, but do not even matter right now?

This is enough to almost drive us to despair. Paradoxically, nothing could be further from the truth or the intent of this observation. Our Psalm today summarizes well the point Qoheleth seeks to make: "Teach us to number our days aright, that we may gain wisdom of heart" (Ps. 90,12). In order to gain wisdom of heart we must realize two things. First, we must acknowledge the reality from which we most seek to distract ourselves, that we will die. As a result of the first realization, we come to see that we must live a life that matters. What matters is not the measurable success of our endeavors, but that our endeavors have value in and of themselves, just as each person has inherent value. Therefore, this what that matters is transformed into a who. Other people are who matter, be they our spouse, our child, our parent, our sibling, our co-worker, our fellow parishioner, our friend, the stranger we encounter, and in a special and challenging way, the person in need, the poor and the oppressed. Possessing wisdom of heart means devoting ourselves to others without worrying about achieving pre-determined outcomes, or, put more traditionally, serving others without counting the cost or calculating the return. Satisfaction is to be found in the labor itself, not in the rewards of our labor.

We see this in our second reading from St. Paul. When the apostle discusses "what is above," he is not talking about being distracted from the here and now. He is dealing with the reality that in baptism we died and rose to new life. It bears reminding that eternal life does not begin after mortal death, it begins at baptism. What dies is our old way of being. In the Our Father we pray week after week, "thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is heaven" (Matt. 6,10). What the apostle is talking about is ushering in the Reign of God. This, my sisters and brothers, is nothing less than the mission of the Church, the mission entrusted to us by Christ, it is the reason we are gathered here right now.

From this letter to the Colossians we glean very practical advice about how to live for others by dying to self. We bring about God’s will by forsaking lust, greed (which Paul equates with idolatry), dishonesty, indeed, all evil desires. Just in case there is any doubt that what matters in life is being other-centered and not self-centered, Paul tells us at the beginning of this passage that in baptism our "life is hidden with Christ in God" (Col. 3,3). Then, to mop up any resistance, at the end of our reading we are told that Christ overcomes all that divides, be it wealth, social status, or ethnicity, in order that Christ might be "all and in all" (Col. 3,11).

God asks the man in Jesus’ parable from today’s Gospel, who worked so hard to store up treasure on earth: "You fool, this night your life will be demanded of you; and the things you have prepared, to whom will they belong" (Luke 12,20)? After this parable our Lord gives us a warning: "Thus will it be for all who store up treasure for themselves but are not rich in what matters to God" (Luke 12,21). What matters to God are people, not things.

Today, dear friends, in our gathering, we have heard God’s voice, may we harden not our hearts and "May the favor of the Lord our God be ours" and may God "Prosper the work of our hands" (Ps. 90,17). As Qoheleth shows us, paradox is an inescapable reality of the spiritual life. The ultimate paradox, taught us by our Lord himself, is that only the person who loses his/her life for his sake will save it. The true master of death, the wise Albus Dumbledore says to Harry Potter, "does not seek to run away from Death. He accepts that he must die, and understands that there are far, far worse things in the living world than dying" (Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, pg. 721). The true master of death, Jesus Christ, shows us that it is only by dying to self that we live forever!