Year C Solemnity of Jesus Christ, King of the Universe

Readings: 2 Sam 5:1-3; Ps 122:1-; Col 1:12-20; Luke 23:35-43

In Samuel Beckett’s most famous work, the play Waiting for Godot, one of the two main characters, Vladimir, asks the other main character, Estragon, if he’s ever read the Bible. Estragon says: “I must’ve taken a look at it.”¹ Then Vladimir asks him if he remembers the Gospels. Specifically, he asks if he remembers the story of the two thieves. Estragon replies that he does not remember this story.²

My friends, we live in a time of forgetting. But one of the most important aspects of Christian faith is remembering. For example, throughout this month, the final month of the liturgical year, we’ve been remembering our beloved dead whose names are written in our Book of Remembrance at the foot of the chancel. Part of our remembering includes praying for them in the hope that God will remember and have mercy on them.

There is a part of each Eucharistic Prayer known as the anamnesis. Anamnesis, as you might’ve guessed, is a Greek word. In the account of the Last Supper found in Luke, when Jesus breaks the bread and gives it to his companions, he commands them “do this in memory of me.”³ In this verse, the word “memory” is the English translation of the appropriate form of the word anamnesis.

Not just in a certain section of the Eucharistic Prayer but throughout its entirety, the Mass is an exercise in anamnesis. For Christians, this means calling to mind God’s saving deeds. But anamnesis means more than simply remembering, is not passive. Rather, in each Eucharist, we call to mind in-order-to-make-present. By our active participation in Mass, we enter into the Paschal mystery of Christ’s birth, passion, death, and resurrection.

Today, the last Sunday of this liturgical year, the Roman Catholic Church celebrates the Solemnity of Jesus Christ, King of the Universe. This prompts the question, What kind of king is Jesus?

Jesus is not a tyrannical king. How could he be when his throne is the cross? To quote words from a contemporary worship song: “To see You high and lifted up/shining in the light of your glory/pour out your power and love/as we sing holy, holy, holy.”⁴ This is what we see each time we enter our parish Church. Seeing Jesus high and lifted up should fill us with awe, gratitude and love for such a marvelous Savior.

Jesus was not the Messiah the Jews of the Second Temple period expected. What they expected was a new King David, who would rally Israel, route the occupying Romans, and establish independent Jewish rule in the promised land with the law of God as the law of the land. This is not only an inaccurate understanding of Messiahship but one that is antithetical to the Gospel of Jesus Christ.

Like the prophet Samuel, through whom God castigated ancient Israel for demanding a king, Jesus explicitly rejected becoming an earthly ruler.⁵ Nothing could make this rejection clearer than the Lord enduring the taunts as he hung on the cross. The taunts mocked him for his powerlessness after claiming to be the Messiah. This seemed proof enough that this Jesus, this rabble-rouser from a Galilean backwater, was a fraud, an imposter, a pretender- his followers fools.

Saint Olaf Parish, Bountiful, Utah. Photo by author

Jesus’s clear, persistent, and adamant rejection of worldly power began when, just prior to the start of his public ministry, he resisted the temptation to be made ruler over “all the kingdoms of the world.”⁶ This is an important lesson for the Church in every age. The lowest ebbs in Church history are when we have forgotten this lesson. It is relevant now for those who pine away for the restoration of a lost Christendom. This is not to say that Christianity doesn’t have a political dimension. It does. What is important is not to compromise the Church’s prophetic call to speak truth to power, especially on behalf of the poor and marginalized.

To answer the question “What kind of king is Jesus?” in a positive way, we need to look no further than today’s Gospel. After rebuking the other thief, who makes the same demand of Jesus I suppose I might make in that situation, the so-called “good” thief, turns to the Lord and says: “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.”⁷

There’s that word “remember” again! The Greek word the inspired author of Luke puts in the mouth of the “good” thief is not anamnesis but it has pretty much the same meaning. The “good” thief, who recognizes the nature of Jesus’s kingship, makes his plea for the King not to forget him. Jesus demonstrates the kind of king he is- a gracious king, who is full of grace and truth- by promising this criminal eternal life.

The Church reveres the “good” thief, upon whom tradition has conferred the name Dismas, as a saint. Yes, a saint! By the grace of God, expressed as Jesus’s promise to remember and not forget him, this self-admitted criminal becomes a saint! My dear sisters and brothers, Dismas’s plea is our plea.

Returning to Waiting for Godot, Vladimir wonders why Jesus’s promise to save one of the thieves is found only in one of the four Gospels. This bothers him. His inference that because Jesus only explicitly “saves” one of the two thieves the other is damned also bothers him a great deal. The relevant question becomes, Is this an accurate inference?

Beckett wrote Waiting for Godot in 1948. In an interview he gave in 1956, he shared this line from Saint Augustine: “Do not despair, one of the thieves was saved. Do not presume, one of the thieves was damned.”⁸

Two weeks ago, I mentioned the Cistercian monks who were made martyrs in Algeria in 1996. As danger closed in on them, the youngest of the monks, who also served as abbot, Father Christian de Chergé, wrote a letter to his family in France. He told them to open it in the event of his death. After the Islamists announced they had killed the seven monks, Father Christian’s family publicly released the letter. The first paragraph demonstrates what it means to acknowledge Jesus Christ as King:

If it should happen one day—and it could be today—that I become a victim of the terrorism which now seems ready to encompass all the foreigners living in Algeria, I would like my community, my Church, my family, to remember that my life was given to God and to this country…I ask them to pray for me: for how could I be found worthy of such an offering? I ask them to be able to associate such a death with the many other deaths that were just as violent, but forgotten through indifference and anonymity⁹

In imitation of his King, Abbot Christian understood how important, how salvific, this act of remembering is.

The final two paragraphs of Father Christian's letter are addressed to his murderer. His final line expresses his faith in Jesus’s promise of life eternal: “And may we find each other, happy ‘good thieves,’ in Paradise, if it pleases God, the Father of us both. Amen.”¹⁰

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1 Waiting for Godot, Act I, in I Can’t Go On, I’ll Go On: A Samuel Beckett Reader, Ed. Richard W. Seaver, 374.^↩
2 Ibid.^↩
3 Luke 22:19.^↩
4 Michael W. Smith, “Open the Eyes of My Heart, Lord.” ^↩
5 1 Samuel 8:1-9; John 6:15. ^↩
6 See Luke 4:5-8..^↩
7 Luke 23:43.^↩
8 Dirk Van Hulle and Pim Verhulst, “Happy Birthday, Samuel Beckett,” on Bloomsbury Literary Studies blog, 13 April 2019.^↩
9 “Last Testament: A Letter from the Monk Tibhirine,” Trans. Monks of Mt. St. Bernard Abbey, in First Things.^↩
10 Ibid.^↩

"Teacher, when will this happen?"

In our Gospel for the penultimate Sunday of the liturgical year, the Sunday before our commemoration of the end-of-the-world as we know it, Jesus reminds us of the third law of thermodynamics: entropy. In particular, he speaks about the destruction of the Second Temple in Jerusalem, an event that occurred in 70 AD.

To many of those to whom these words are addressed- by the inspired author of Luke after the Temple's destruction by the Roman army led by Titus- this event undoubtedly seemed like the end of the world. This is relevant for us today because, by extension, Jesus points to the passing away of all things.

Jesus also predicts the opposition his followers will face in living and proclaiming the Gospel. The reason Christ's disciples face fierce opposition in every age is that his message does not seem like such good news to the rich and powerful. In our day, especially in the United States, this opposition includes attempts to co-opt "Christianity," seeking to put it in the service of the worldly power. Such efforts merely amount to one more manifestation of anti-Christ.

The prospect of the current order passing away, either collapsing under the weight of its inherent contradictions and injustice or by other means, frightens those invested in maintaining and perpetuating the status quo. In the face of all this, Jesus urges his followers not to be afraid. On the contrary, the realization of the reign of God is something to which Christians not only eagerly look forward but seek every day to help bring about. We call this "looking forward" hope. Hope lies beyond optimism.

Reflecting on a Saturday morning

As both my readers know, I did not post a Friday traditio yesterday. My reason for not posting one is that it was a busy week and a busy day. Life trumps blogging. Nonetheless, I readily admit to feeling a twang of guilt late yesterday afternoon for not putting one up but by that time I had no energy left. I realize that may sound ridiculous to either person reading this but blogging, writing, thinking, engaging are disciplines I find important to maintain. You see, disciplines, which are means, not ends in themselves, need to be done. I am one of those people who is either all in or not in at all. In a word, I am passionate.

It's funny, I used to lay into myself for being so passionate, really let myself have it: "Why can't I be more cool and detached, more deliberative?" One grace of growing older is that it's nice not only to become more and more okay with who I am and how I am but to actually embrace myself for it. I have come to see that Stoicism is often mistaken for Christianity. This is a mistake, plain and simple, one that leads to disaster pretty often. This is not to say Stoicism is without value. It is to say it needs to be seen for what it is and not mistaken for something else.

Is my passion sometimes misplaced? Sure. But this is a risk inherent in life. Counter-intuitively, since I've lightened up on myself I find it easier to be prudent, a bit more measured. I have also learned that wearing my heart on my sleeve can result in a wounded heart. Even when I used to see being passionate as a vice, I would sometimes think how gray, flat, and two-dimensional life would be were I not so passionate. My passion is a God-given gift. I am not sure why it took me so long to realize this. Like all gifts, it needs to be channeled for the good.

Thursday evening I attended a Bruce Cockburn concert with a very dear friend. She took me to this concert for my birthday. Yes, I have the most wonderful friends imaginable. I don't have a lot of friends. I have many, many friendly acquaintances, something for which I am also most grateful, but not a lot of friends. Anyway, she's been listening to Cockburn for awhile now. Given my love for the music of the late Mark Heard, who was friends with Bruce, she reasoned I would like Cockburn's music. Besides, an important part of our friendship over the years is our mutual love of music.

Boy, was she right! I sat in the concert thinking to myself: "How could I have missed Brice Cockburn's music all these years?!" I could think of at least 5 songs to post for a very late traditio but I am going with "Night Train" because it is a song that struck me in a particular way:

At 54 I am still waiting to hit that magic age when everything will become clear. All in all, this past week was a good birthday week. Another thing that took me a long time to realize is there are people who actually like me, that is, there are people who have known me for a long time (i.e., years and decades), who have hung with me through thick and thin, seen me at my best, worst, and most mediocre, and who inexplicably still love me, want to talk to me, spend time with me, etc. It's a kind of a miracle, really.

54 and rambling on (and on)

Today I turn 54. It hardly seems possible. On our wedding anniversary next June, I will be married to my lovely wife for half my life. I was thinking this morning that from birth to 27 seemed like it took an eternity but from 27-54 went by in a flash. Mortality can be a heavy weight to bear, which is why I am glad I spent a lot of time last week preparing to preach and thinking about the resurrection. Faith and the hope to which it gives birth is a gift from God.

I thank God for the gift of faith every day. I also ask God to help me share this gift with others in a Spirit-led, that is, a useful way. By "useful way," I mean a way the matters to the person with whom I share. Evangelism is not an exercise in being obnoxious- that is proselytism. The latter has nothing to do with bearing witness to the Good News.

I find myself feeling very grateful this morning. My life is very interesting these, forcing me to stay very engaged, sometimes more engaged than I'd like to be, truth be told. In the big scheme of things, this is a small complaint. I am gratified by the fact that, even at my age, my life still seems full of possibilities. True to form lately, I seem to be somewhat challenged when it comes to writing in a free-form manner- an endeavor at which I used to be quite proficient and relish opportunities.

Lest anyone think my life is perfect or ideal in any way, I have my struggles, my doubts, my wounds. I have bad habits, most of which flow from being very hard on myself and hard on others, especially those closest to me. I am thankful for a gracious spouse, who freely forgives my 70x7 and then some. I am amazed at the wonderful adults our three oldest children have become. I have no trouble stating that this is largely due to their mother. Having me as their dad is probably more of a hindrance than a help. But I love all 6 of my children so much it sometimes feels like my heart will explode.

I don't think I really grasped the tremendous importance of friendship until about the time I turned 50. This isn't because I didn't think I needed friends, it was mostly because I thought I wasn't very good friend material. Like most adult men in contemporary U.S. society, I just didn't seem to have the time or energy to cultivate and sustain friendships. Being insecure, I have a difficult time believing anyone actually likes me. But some people do like me, which amazes me and makes me grateful.

I am not one of those people who obsess over growing older but turning 50 made a big impact on me (see "On Turning 50"). Before my 50th birthday in 2015, I had already made some pretty big adjustments in my life. My birthday really helped me to chart a new mid-life course. It hasn't been all smooth sailing. I did not expect it to be. But life is much better living it head-on by recognizing my need, yes, need to be more compassionate, kind, patient, understanding, and forgiving. This began with how I dealt with myself, to state the matter oddly.

I love that my birthday is on the Feast of Saint Martin of Tours. Armistice Day was chosen because it is the feast of the saint who left military life, a life for which he seemed to be born, and war-making to follow Christ. As not only a veteran but a combat veteran, I can think of no better way to honor those who have served in the military than by making peace. As Pope Saint John Paul II noted, war is always the result of human failure.

While I am on the subject of milestones (birthdays are life's mile markers), I am amazed that Καθολικός διάκονος has been going for 14 years, 13 years in earnest. Blogging, despite being overtaken by other forms of digital communication, remains something fruitful for me. When I no longer find it useful personally, I will find a graceful way of bringing this weblog (there's a term you seldom hear anymore) to a close. But for now, I am happy to plot along, posting a few thoughts and a song on Friday, reflecting on scriptural readings for Sunday and most Solemnities, and sharing a thought or two along the way.

Year C Thirty-second Sunday in Ordinary Time

Readings: Macc.7:1-2.9-14; Ps 17:1.5-6.8.15; 2 Thess. 2:16-3:5; Luke 27-38

In our semi-continuous reading through Luke’s Gospel, Jesus and his disciples, after passing through Jericho, where they encountered Zacchaeus, finally reach Jerusalem. True to form, Jesus starts stirring up trouble.

Jesus was teaching about the reality of the resurrection. This is what causes the Sadducees to challenge him with a legal, or, in Jewish terms, a halakhic, conundrum. This challenge provides him with the chance to drop not one but two knowledge bombs.

First, without denigrating the divine institution of marriage, Jesus shows that it is a sign and symbol of something greater. The ultimate wedding, of course, is the Wedding Feast of the Lamb. In this marriage of divinity and humanity, Jesus is the groom and the Church is his bride. He is always faithful to his sometimes-straying spouse. Serving as both a sign and symbol of this eschatological reality, marriage, when lived as a God-given vocation, points beyond itself.¹

As Saint John Chrysostom observed: “When a husband and wife are united in marriage, they no longer seem like something earthly, but rather like the image of God himself.”² As the Catechism teaches- God “is neither man nor woman” because “God transcends the human distinction between the sexes.”³ Divine revelation confirms that it is woman and man together who constitute the image of God.⁴ Hence, it is not a coincidence that Sacred Scripture begins with the wedding in the Garden and culminates with the Wedding Feast of the Lamb.⁵

As Chrysostom further noted: “if a man and woman marry in order to be companions on the journey through earth to heaven, then their union will bring great joy to themselves and to others.”⁶ In the here and now, Christian marriage serves both salvific and evangelical purposes. While the bonds of affection we forge through the fires of life are not broken at death, they are thoroughly transformed by the love of God into something infinitely greater than we can imagine.

Second, Jesus turns to the Torah to demonstrate the reality of the resurrection. This is important because, unlike the Pharisees, who adhered to and taught both the written and oral law and who believed in the resurrection, the Sadducees, who made up the aristocratic priestly caste of Jerusalem, only accepted as scripture the first five books of the Old Testament, often referred to as the Torah.⁷

Sadducees explicitly rejected the oral law and held the prophets in low esteem. As a result, they were opposed to teachings not found in the Torah. They did not see the resurrection of the dead revealed in the Torah. Jesus, referring to Moses’s encounter with God in the burning bush, brilliantly demonstrates that resurrection is unmistakably found at the very heart of the Torah.⁸

Like many people, as a child, I learned to distinguish between Pharisees, who believed in the resurrection, and the Sadducees, who did not, by being taught that because they didn’t believe in the resurrection “they were sad, you see.”

Our first reading, taken from the Second Book of Maccabees, despite being composed before Christ, demonstrates precisely the fearlessness those who believe in the resurrection of the dead should have in the face of death. This reading put in me in mind of a scene from the French film Of Gods and Men.

Of Gods and Men is a biopic about the Cistercian martyrs of Algeria. These monks were abducted, tortured, and killed by Islamic extremists in the spring of 1996. In the scene, Brother Luc, who is a doctor as well as a monk providing medical services for the almost exclusively Muslim inhabitants of Tibhirine, tells his abbot that he is committed to remaining at the monastery despite the danger of being killed by Islamic extremists and by the Algerian army for helping Islamists wounded in the fighting.⁹

After noting that he helped wounded Nazis during World War II in France and would help even the devil were he to turn up in need of medical attention, Luc asserts: “I’m not scared of death. I am a free man.” A bit later in the film, Brother Luc is shown embracing a mural of Jesus on the cross, the true sign of his freedom.

In addition to Jesus’s journey to Jerusalem in the Synoptic Gospels (i.e., Matthew, Mark, and Luke), the Psalms provide us with the image of walking through the valley of the shadow of death, through which valley the Lord accompanies us.¹⁰ Taking its cue from Israel’s exodus from Egypt, the Letter to the Hebrews provides the image of the Church as God’s people on pilgrimage to the eternal city.¹¹ These images give us the template, the meta-narrative for the Church and the life of every follower of Jesus.

Of course, the most intense expression of reality is the Lord’s passage from death to life via his passion. To be a Christian is to experience that, at least in worldly terms, you win by losing. Being a Christian means experiencing that exaltation is achieved through abasement. You can only save your life by losing it.

As the Christians of ancient Thessaloniki are assured in our second reading, “the Lord is faithful.”¹² Because he is faithful, Christ “will strengthen you [against] and guard you from the evil one.”¹³ For your part, you must continually direct your heart to the love and God, no matter what you might be experiencing.

It is, therefore, important to pray for perseverance. As the lyrics to “Better Than a Hallelujah” insist: “We pour out our miseries/God just hears a melody.” There is a reason perseverance is the fruit of the fifth and final Sorrowful Mystery of the Blessed Virgin’s Rosary, which mystery is Christ’s crucifixion. Perseverance means pressing daily forward, in imitation of Jesus, to the city of God. God’s holy city is the destination for which you are created, redeemed, and for which you are being sanctified.

Bear in mind that Jesus goes to Jerusalem primarily to keep his appointment with the cross. Inescapably, the path to resurrection passes through the cross; without the cross, there is no resurrection. We gather each Sunday to celebrate Jesus’s rising from the dead. We give thanks to the Father that by the mystery of Christ’s dying and rising, we, too, shall live forever.

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1 Ephesians 5:31-32.^↩
2 Saint John Chrysostom, On Marriage and Family Life, trans. Catherine P. Ross and David Anderson.^↩
3 Catechism of the Catholic Church, sec. 238.^↩
4 Genesis 1:27.^↩
5 See Genesis 2:24 & Revelation 19:6-9.^↩
6 On Marriage and Family Life.^↩
7 See Note on Matthew 3:7 in The Catholic Study Bible, “The New Testament,” 10.^↩
8 Luke 20:37 & Exodus 3:15.^↩
9 Scene from Gods and Men.^↩
10 Psalm 23:4.^↩
11 Letter to the Hebrews 4.^↩
12 2 Thessalonians 3:3.^↩
13 2 Thessalonians 3:3.^↩

Some unformed thoughts & questions concerning marriage

Preparing to preach this week allowed me to reflect on the sacrament of matrimony. My homily, as you will see tomorrow, is not primarily about marriage. It is about the centrality of the resurrection in the teaching of Jesus. Try as some might, it is not possible to make Jesus's teaching strictly existential, only about the here and now. His teaching has an undeniably transcendent dimension. In this sense, in the best Catholic tradition, Jesus's teaching is both/and; it is about making God's reign a present reality while waiting for it to be completely realized. This is often stated as "living the already in the midst of the not yet." Living in that way reflects the dialectical tension that makes faith, taking a cue from John Macquarrie, "a mode of existence."

From the perspective of Jesus's teaching and that subsequently found in the New Testament, particularly in the seven authentically Pauline letters, it is easy to make too much of marriage. At the same time, in light of some of the deutero-Pauline letters, the Book of Revelation, and the witness of the Hebrew Bible, it is also easy to make too little of marriage. From beginning to end, as it were, starting with the marriage in the Garden and culminating in the Wedding Feast of the Lamb in the Book of Revelation, God's covenant with humanity has an unmistakably nuptial character. Jesus even speaks of himself as "bridegroom." The nuptial character of God's covenant with humanity is perhaps most explicitly articulated in the Book of Hosea.

Being a sacrament, marriage is both a sign and a symbol. What this means in context and as our Gospel reading for Year C, the 32nd Sunday in Ordinary Time (Luke 20:27-38, clearly shows, marriage points to a reality beyond itself. Hence, marriage is not an end in itself. When understood and lived properly, marriage is a means (by no means the only or even primary means) to the end of establishing God's reign. As John Paul II insisted in his Letter to Families, the home is indispensable for the creation of a civilization of love. As such, it is not only a way to salvation for spouses and their children but a way for Christian spouses to bear witness to Christ and to be Church. In addition to being salvific, Christian marriage is evangelical.

One of the best books I've read on marriage in recent years is by Anglican theologian Robert Song: Covenant and Calling: Towards a Theology of Same-Sex Relationships. While very short, Covenant and Calling is a very deep look at marriage and sexuality through the lens of the New Testament. In this work, Song makes some important distinctions. While he recognizes the need for the Church to provide a way for same-sex Christian couples to live their partnerships within the Church, he also recognizes, as a matter of fact, that same-sex relationships and inter-sex relationships have some important differences.

Among other notable people, James Alison recognizes the obvious differences between inter-sex and same-sex relationships. This is to say nothing other than the obvious: sexual relations between people of the same sex cannot be reproductive. Of course, this fact has been used not only to unfairly discriminate against but to denigrate homosexuals, much to the Church's shame. But no less than Humanae vitae, which document's progressive aspects are frequently overlooked, insists that sexual relations can have a value beyond (in addition to?) the potential for reproduction.

As per Humanae vitae, the so-called "unitive" aspect of sexual relations is not "beyond" or "over and above" the procreative but sits alongside it (perhaps in the passenger seat- see sec. 12). However, as Luke Timothy Johnson, critiquing John Paul II's Theology of the Body in Commonweal many years ago, observed: you can't really insist on the necessity of there being present in each and every act of intercourse a complete harmony of unitive and procreative intent. After all, he reasoned, two people can engage in a one-night stand that results in pregnancy. In such a scenario, while procreation occurred, it was likely not intended and presumably not desired. There was almost certainly nothing of the "unitive" aspect as described by Humane vitae. The relevant question then becomes, since the procreative aspect can be present in the absence of the unitive, can the unitive aspect be present in the absence of the procreative? This is a question on which hangs a lot of weight.

Equality of Man and Woman, by Shahram Soltani, 2012

Alison, for one, sees the non-reproductive aspect of same-sex relations as a reason for thinking differently about Christian sexual ethics for homosexual people. I don't want to go there in this post. Suffice it to say, it is an interesting and important question. One which I am predisposed to disagree with Alison.

One of the sources of crisis for the Church in our day, I think, is a kind of neurotic drive towards uniformity. Pope Francis's pushing against this creates a lot of consternation for uniformists on both sides of many issues. But the Holy Father's insistence that the Church must act in a more collaborative, co-responsible, that is, a synodal manner is bringing her back to her roots. It is a true ressourcement. After all, the Church is unity in diversity or it is not the Church.

The Church's nature flows from God, who, being a communion of divine persons, is also a diverse unity. Just as Catholics too easily lose sight of Jesus's humanity, we are also uncomfortable with the real distinction between the persons of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. This led Karl Rahner to lament in an essay, written way back in 1951 to mark the 1500th anniversary of the Council of Chalcedon, that most Christians are mere monotheists rather than Trinitarians.

Recognizing that the Church is an ordered community, which does not necessarily translate into being an orderly community, Song proposes an ordering of committed relationships that are recognized by the Church. His proposal recognizes that marriage between a woman and a man who embrace having children is different from other relationships. But this difference does not deny the goodness of other loving relationships be they homosexual or heterosexual. Song suggests that the Church find ways to embrace people by recognizing the value of these relationships by formally blessing them.

Similar to the question about the unitive and procreative aspects of sex, the question arises about married heterosexual couples who, though unable to naturally conceive children, choose either to adopt children or not raise children at all. How much of a qualitative difference is there between such a couple and a same-sex couple? Many same-sex couples choose to adopt children and no small number of partners in these relationships have children from a previous relationship. This question becomes acute because a growing number of heterosexual couples, it seems, are unable to naturally conceive children. But then there are those married couples, even Catholic couples, who marry with no intention of ever having children. If their marriage lasts a lifetime and its validity is never called into question, it never rises to the level of pastoral concern.

When one considers something like the idea that the Holy Spirit is the love between the Father and the Son personified, it is easy to see how the natural family can be viewed as an icon of the Trinity. This must be balanced with our adoption as God's children through the re-birth of baptism. This provides us with the basis for bringing "non-natural" families into the order of grace. One of the great beauties of Christian faith is its ability to embrace the complex whole of reality as it is. In other words, we don't have to try to build idols by hammering things into some imagined ideal shape. Life is messy, weird, strange, complex.

All of the above is offered in service of trying to recognizing that there is something characteristically unique in the union between a man and woman. This uniqueness is (literally) borne out by naturally conceiving and having children together. I realize this might be seen by some as just another variant of "heterosexism" or "heteronormativity." When viewed from a certain perspective, I suppose that's valid. But looking at the depth of the affinity between male/female through the dual lenses of nature and in revelation, it's the best I can do right now while maintaining my own integrity.

I am aware enough to grasp that there is a certain complexity in creation that departs from this, rendering, to employ the jargon, non-binary. Revelation, as I grasp it, holds this relation is high regard while also introducing variations and developments- the Bible is magnificent not only for its incorporation of complexity but its introduction of it. Perhaps no part of our humanity reflects our complexity more than our sexuality.

Of Fridays, dry spells, and resulting conundrums

I was off and running for several hours with realizing today is Friday. Holy smokes. Does time fly or what? Like last Sunday, I am lacking for words today. Yes, that sometimes happens. As far as a traditio there are many options. It's been a pretty musical week. This means a pretty good week, as things go.

The Contemporary Christian Music jag I've been on for awhile continues. This past week I purchased a CD of Amy Grant's How Mercy Looks From Here, her 2013 album. I am enjoying it immensely. Since it's autumn, I find myself re-connecting with other music as well. At least for now, I need to resist that darker shades of music I am drawn to and I love. I's a bit of a conundrum to be sure.

Well, the best way to break the logjam in my mind is to go for something a bit unusual, though not unheard of here: sacred choral music. Since it's Friday, meaning it is a day of penance, I am going with a choral version of Psalm 51. Known as the Miserere, Psalm 51 is the first Psalm for Morning Prayer during each week of the Psalter.

As the King James Version translates it, the Miserere begins:

Have mercy upon me, O God,

according to thy lovingkindness:

according unto the multitude of thy tender mercies blot out my transgressions.

Wash me throughly from mine iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin.

For I acknowledge my transgressions: and my sin is ever before me (verses 1-3)