Want to read about Jesus? Read 'Simply Jesus'

In his book Simply Jesus (written as a follow-up to his magnificent Simply Christian- a book I highly recommend giving to young people, being something of a twenty-first century Mere Christianity), N.T. Wright, in one chapter, refutes Reza Aslan's thesis about Jesus being a Zealot, a member of "the Jewish nationalist revolutionary party," dedicated to armed revolt against the Romans and the re-establishment of the united Davidic kingdom.

In the first part of the book, Wright uses the metaphor of a "perfect storm" to frame Jesus' time: the western gale being the imperial power of Rome, the high pressure system being the Judaism of the time with its national aspirations, and finally the hurricane, perhaps reduced to the power of a tropical storm, of the coming of God's rule in and through Jesus of Nazareth, who defied all expectations.

The chapter of Simply Jesus in which Wright, a renowned Bible and Early Church scholar, refutes Aslan, the religious sociologist and creative writing professor, even before the latter put fingers to keyboard, is the fourth chapter, entitled "The Making of a First-Century Storm."

After briefly describing the history of imperial Rome, which began with Julius Caesar famously crossing the Rubicon river in BC 49 with his army from Gaul, he composed a section he called "The Jewish Storm." In this section Wright chronicles the history of Israel, seeking to show how this history, especially the perception among Jesus' fellow Jews that they were playing a part in God's plan, shaped and formed Jesus' time. I think Wright is correct to assert that it is very difficult for us today "to imagine what it's like to live within a long story" in the way the Jews of Jesus' day did. I find him to be very insightful when he writes that perhaps the closest we can come "is the widespread assumption that ever since the rise of the modern Western world we are acting out a story of 'progress.'" He also proceeds with a fairly good explanation about how this is really a fictitious narrative, one refuted by actual events.

Especially in light of what he wrote in Simply Christian, I was surprised that Wright does not even mention that Christians are supposed to live this same story, the thread of which we seem to be in danger of losing. The result of this increasing loss is making Christianity yet another ahistorical religion, which opens the way for such schlock as making Christianity the way to "live your best life now" and other perversions, like the increasingly not-so-implicit universalism, according to which nothing has significance because, in the end, everyone goes to heaven, which belief the Church, even now, assiduously maintains is a heresy. If, as Flannery O'Connor noted, nothing matters, then we are deprived of our humanity. Working on such a faulty assumption leads to very slipshod pastoral care because one deliberately chooses to ignore the most pressing matter in each person's life- the deep desire to be happy, to be content, to be completely satisfied.

Although he passes over it quickly, Wright notes that the story in which the Jews of Jesus' time perceived themselves to be playing their part had been on-going for more than a thousand years. The story of Israel, Wright observes, as "far as we know," is "unique in the ancient world." The cornerstone of the uniqueness of the Jewish story was that the God of Israel "was the one true God of all the world. He wasn't simply one god among many. It was therefore impossible that his will for the world would be ultimately thwarted." So, their state-of-affairs (i.e., being conquered by and subject to the Romans), like the Assyrian and Babylonian exiles, seemed to be an impediment to the accomplishment of God's purpose for Israel, something that had to be overcome. Of course, the Roman conquest would ultimately lead to the third Jewish exile, the dispersion, which was the result of the failed Bar Kokhba (a would-be Messiah) revolt of AD 132-136, which followed the earlier revolt that resulted in the destruction of the Temple in AD 70. It was at the conclusion of the Bar Kokhba revolt that the Romans decreed no Jew was allowed to live in the Roman province of Palestine.

Wright then reminisces about time he spent in Jerusalem in 1989, especially about his walks through the ultra-Orthodox Mea Shearim section of the ancient city. He notes that many of those who originally settled in Mea Shearim came from Eastern Europe to flee the Nazi slaughter. He recalls seeing a lot of posters that basically said it was important to now observe the Law because of Hitler and that "because of what Hitler did that God would now do a new thing," presumably send the Messiah. The point of this recollection is to note how the Messanic expectation among the Jews of Jesus' time was ramped up because of Caesar. Among both groups there is/was the expectation that God would have to send a deliverer in order to accomplish His purpose. This is one of many reasons why so many Jews today, just as in His own time, reject even the possibility of Jesus of Nazareth being the Messiah: He was not a zealot committed to waging war on the Romans!

Jesus, who, in Wright's metaphor of the perfect storm, represents the hurricane of God, defies all Jewish messianic expectations. This is shown time and again in the Gospels, especially His triumphal entry into Jerusalem (Matt 21:1-11; Mark 11:1-11; Luke 19:28-44; John 12:12-19), which Christians commemorate on Palm Sunday. There is also the dialogue in John 18:33-38, in which Jesus tells the beleaguered Roman procurator, "My kingdom does not belong to this world. If my kingdom did belong to this world, my attendants [would] be fighting to keep me from being handed over to the Jews. But as it is, my kingdom is not here." It is also shown in the first chapter of the Acts of the Apostles, when, just prior to His ascension, the Twelve ask Jesus if "now" He is going to restore Israel (Acts 1:6-8). Jesus makes it clear in each of these and a few other instances that He is not the Messiah of contemporary expectation. To reduce Jesus to a Zealot really makes no sense of the historical data.

Here is another rub that defeats Aslan's thesis, even more thoroughly than the theses of other "historical" Jesus fiction writers (i.e., Crossan, Borg, Pagels et al): apart from the canonical Gospels, which were written closer to the time of Jesus' earthly life than virtually any other chronicles from the ancient world telling of other historic persons and apart from the establishment and continuation of the Church, whose existence is well-chronicled from ancient times to now, there are really only two extra-biblical sources that pertain directly to Jesus' life- those by Tactitus and Suetonious. It refutes him because it poses the question, From what reliable historical sources does he draw his conclusion that Jesus was simply a Zealot? Beyond this, was it not St. Paul, writing to the Christians in Rome sometime between AD 55-58, who asserted the need for Christians to be subject to governmental authority (Rom. 13:1-7)? St. Justin Martyr, in his First Apology, written about a hundred years later and addressed to the Roman emperor, insisted that Christians are the best citizens.

In Book 15, Chapter 44 of his Annals, the Roman senator and historian Tacitus wrote:

Such indeed were the precautions of human wisdom. The next thing was to seek means of propitiating the gods, and recourse was had to the Sibylline books, by the direction of which prayers were offered to Vulcanus, Ceres, and Proserpina. Juno, too, was entreated by the matrons, first, in the Capitol, then on the nearest part of the coast, whence water was procured to sprinkle the fane and image of the goddess. And there were sacred banquets and nightly vigils celebrated by married women. But all human efforts, all the lavish gifts of the emperor, and the propitiations of the gods, did not banish the sinister belief that the conflagration was the result of an order. Consequently, to get rid of the report, Nero fastened the guilt and inflicted the most exquisite tortures on a class hated for their abominations, called Christians by the populace. Christus, from whom the name had its origin, suffered the extreme penalty during the reign of Tiberius at the hands of one of our procurators, Pontius Pilatus, and a most mischievous superstition, thus checked for the moment, again broke out not only in Judaea, the first source of the evil, but even in Rome, where all things hideous and shameful from every part of the world find their center and become popular. Accordingly, an arrest was first made of all who pleaded guilty; then, upon their information, an immense multitude was convicted, not so much of the crime of firing the city, as of hatred against mankind. Mockery of every sort was added to their deaths. Covered with the skins of beasts, they were torn by dogs and perished, or were nailed to crosses, or were doomed to the flames and burnt, to serve as a nightly illumination, when daylight had expired. Nero offered his gardens for the spectacle, and was exhibiting a show in the circus, while he mingled with the people in the dress of a charioteer or stood aloft on a car. Hence, even for criminals who deserved extreme and exemplary punishment, there arose a feeling of compassion; for it was not, as it seemed, for the public good, but to glut one man's cruelty, that they were being destroyed.

Below is Suetonius, in his The Lives of the Twelve Caesars, writing about the reign of Claudius:

He forbade men of foreign birth to use the Roman names so far as those of the clans were concerned. Those who usurped the privileges of Roman citizenship he executed in the Esquiline field. He restored to the senate the provinces of Achaia and Macedonia, which Tiberius had taken into his own charge. He deprived the Lycians of their independence because of deadly intestine feuds, and restored theirs to the Rhodians, since they had given up their former faults. He allowed the people of Ilium perpetual exemption from tribute, on the ground that they were the founders of the Roman race, reading an ancient letter of the senate and people of Rome written in Greek to king Seleucus, in which they promised him their friendship and alliance only on condition that he should keep their kinsfolk of Ilium free from every burden. Since the Jews constantly made disturbances at the instigation of Chrestus, he expelled them from Rome

If you want to read a well-written, well-researched, popular and accessible book on Jesus by a reputable scholar, it would be difficult to do better than reading N.T. Wright's Simply Jesus, which was published in 2011. This book does not merely succeed at being critical, but faithful, it is faithful because it is critical, respecting the fact set forth by St. Paul: "nobody speaking by the spirit of God says, 'Jesus be accursed.' And no one can say, 'Jesus is Lord,' except by the holy Spirit" (1 Cor. 12:3).

No matter where one stands in reference to Jesus, it's time to overcome the relentless, and relentlessly ahistorical, reduction of Jesus of Nazareth. Simply dealing with Jesus, as Wright notes at the beginning of his book, requires a certain amount of complexity precisely because Jesus is real and not some two-dimensional figure from a bad historical novel.

That's what faith must be

What is faith? This is the question our readings today seek to bring to the forefront of our minds.

Our readings, especially from The Letter to the Hebrews and the Gospel, also demonstrate the inextricable way faith and hope are bound together. I'd even go so far as to assert that faith entails hope. Hope, it is often noted, is the flower of faith. In any case, faith and hope are both theological virtues. Among other things, this means that they can only be initially acquired as gifts from God. However, like the natural virtues, once received, these gifts need to be nurtured. It seems to me that we nurture the supernatural gifts of faith and hope through loving, self-sacrificing, service to others. This virtue, love, agapé, caritas is also one, like faith, and hope, that is supernaturally bestowed.

I have long been a proponent of what I can only describe as the three fundamental spiritual disciplines of prayer, fasting, and alms-giving (the last of these can also be called selfless service). There is no authentic Christian spirituality that does not incorporate all three. I don't believe it is too much of a stretch to see a correspondence between the so-called theological virtues (i.e., faith, hope, and love) and these disciplines, which are taught to us by our Lord Himself: prayer/faith; hope/fasting; love/alms-giving (selfless service to those in need). Another connection I have made is that prayer, at least personal prayer, is very inwardly oriented (rightly so), one could even say subjective, and giving alms, serving those in need, is outwardly directed. Hence, I believe fasting serves an integrating function between the inward and the outward, a way of expressing hope, bringing to the level of my awareness my hunger for what is ultimate, my hunger for God, for that Bread of Life I posted about on Friday. It is also what makes my alms-giving/service truly Christian service.

In his first encyclical, Deus caritas est, Pope Benedict wrote about just this phenomenon:

Love of neighbor is thus shown to be possible in the way proclaimed by the Bible, by Jesus. It consists in the very fact that, in God and with God, I love even the person whom I do not like or even know. This can only take place on the basis of an intimate encounter with God, an encounter which has become a communion of will, even affecting my feelings. Then I learn to look on this other person not simply with my eyes and my feelings, but from the perspective of Jesus Christ. His friend is my friend. Going beyond exterior appearances, I perceive in others an interior desire for a sign of love, of concern. This I can offer them not only through the organizations intended for such purposes, accepting it perhaps as a political necessity. Seeing with the eyes of Christ, I can give to others much more than their outward necessities; I can give them the look of love which they crave (par. 18)

Since I am currently leading a parish Bible study on the Letter to the Hebrews, I am most interested in a reading from this book of Scripture appearing in the lectionary for today.

By faith Abraham obeyed when he was called to go out to a place that he was to receive as an inheritance; he went out, not knowing where he was to go. By faith he sojourned in the promised land as in a foreign country, dwelling in tents with Isaac and Jacob, heirs of the same promise; for he was looking forward to the city with foundations, whose architect and maker is God. By faith he received power to generate, even though he was past the normal age—and Sarah herself was sterile—for he thought that the one who had made the promise was trustworthy (11:8-11)

So, we see that Abraham responded in faith to God's call out of hope, trusting that God was leading him to the heavenly city, or, more existentially, to where he wanted to be, the place of his deepest longing, which was not the land we call "Holy."

In our Gospel today, Jesus, as was His wont, gives us a very concrete example of the relationship between faith and hope. It easy to miss what He says that is startling. It certainly would have startled His ancient listeners: "Blessed are those servants whom the master finds vigilant on his arrival. Amen, I say to you, he will gird himself, have them recline at table, and proceed to wait on them" (Luke 12:37). Along these same lines, the institution of the Eucharist in St. John's Gospel is Jesus washing the feet of His disciples.

As this pertains to you today, dear reader, in each and every Mass Jesus deigns to come down and not just wait on us, but becomes our feast. Our participation is an act of hope because it is an act of faith, trusting that Christ the Lord will bring to fulfillment to what we now only glimpse in passing, pressing ahead, like Abraham, our father in faith, towards the city "whose architect and maker is God," where, as we read from St. Paul last Sunday, "Christ is all in all." Prayer, fasting, and alms-giving are how we "walk" make-our-way to, make present right now, the city of God.

Remembering the Venerable Pope Paul VI

At least for me blogging has many dimensions. I am very serious about what appears in my header, which states that Καθολικός διάκονος "is a public cyberspace in which I seek to foster Christian discipleship in the late modern milieu in the diakonia of koinonia and in the recognition that 'the Eucharist is the only place of resistance to annihilation of the human subject.'" Over the years I have tried to increasingly conform what appears here to that lofty aspiration. In other words, I view blogging as part of my diaconal ministry (when viewed literally, "diaconal ministry" is redundant). So, in addition to offering original and, what I hope are, useful posts on various subjects that pertain to our faith in Christ, especially that foster living out our faith, I also take great joy in passing along things that might otherwise be overlooked.

This last Tuesday, 6 August, we observed the Feast of the Transfiguration of the Lord. In his most recent column for Il Sussidiario, "Paul VI/Albacete: His death on the day of the Transfiguration of Christ," Msgr Lorenzo Albacete (a fitting day to post something by a priest named "Lawrence" n'est ce pas?) also recalls that it was thirty-five years ago, on 6 August 1978, that Pope Paul VI died at Castel Gandolfo, thus inaugurating "the year of three popes." He also brings to mind that it was on 6 August 1945 that the United States dropped an atomic bomb on Hiroshima, Japan. As a self-indulgent side-note, I also appreciate that Msgr. Albacete shares my view that CELAM's 2007 "Aparecida document" is the blueprint for Pope Francis' pastoral program.

I will let you read his article for yourself (it is very short), but especially in light of the fact we recently observed Natural Family Planning Awareness Week, I feel it is important not only to remember, but to celebrate, the faithful prophetic and even heroic witness given by Pope Paul VI, who is certainly the most reviled pope for Christ's sake in recent memory. Albacete does this wonderfully in his piece. Writing about Pope Paul and the other of St. Peter's successors, he points out that for the past 2000 they have "been forced to remind us that nature is good, that the human body is beautiful, that, totally against what it says in the cover article of Time Magazine this week, children are a grace, not a curse, all of this was taught in Humanae Vitae; one month before Paul VI came to Colombia where he was hailed as the author of the document that defended the poor from the pharmaceutical empire and the power of the rich nations whose citizens demand to be 'happy.'"

Along these lines, I came across something that is meaningful to me because it puts a lot of my own difficult-to-untangle experience as the father of six children into words, much better words than I could choose. It is something by comedian Jim Gaffigan, who is Catholic (he is not "a Catholic comedian," but a damn funny comedian who is also Catholic- an important distinction):

I watch the faces of single people in their twenties after I bring up that I ‘have children.’ I imagine them taking a small step backward as if to avoid contagion, with a look of ‘Sorry to hear that’ on their face. Like I naively volunteered to contract leprosy, forever quarantining myself from the world of having fun by having children. Well, why not? I guess the reasons against having more children always seem uninspiring and superficial. What exactly am I missing out on? Money? A few more hours of sleep? A more peaceful meal? More hair? These are nothing compared to what I get from these five monsters who rule my life. I believe each of my five children has made me a better man. So I figure I only need another thirty-four kids to be a pretty decent guy. Each one of them has been a pump of light into my shriveled black heart. I would trade money, sleep, or hair for a smile from one of my children in a heartbeat. Well, it depends on how much hair

In their On Faith section, the WaPo did a piece on Gaffigan not long ago: "Is comic Jim Gaffigan the Catholic Church's newest evangelizer?" My answer to this question is, "I hope so!".

The Venerable Pope Paul VI, stalwart pastor, gentle Vicar of Christ

Today the pope travelling is no big deal, but this era of popes visiting all over the world was initiated by Paul VI. Papa Montini took the papal name Paul in order to emphasize and renew the Church's mission, given to her by the Lord Himself, to take the Gospel of Jesus Christ to the ends of the earth, thus bringing the Pauline dimension of the papacy into more observable relief.

As Msgr. Albacete indicates, Pope Paul was very much a friend of the poor. If you think some the things Pope Francis has said to date about caring for the poor are edgy, I challenge you to read Pope Paul VI's encyclical . Populorum progesso. As you do so, do not lose sight of the fact to which Albacete alludes, namely that Humanae vitae, too, was written to defend the poor from the rich, the weak from the powerful, the women of Africa, the sub-continent of India, Latin America, and elsewhere from the likes of people such as Melinda Gates with her well-funded and politically well-supported effort to put all the women of the developing world on chemical contraceptives.

It was also Paul VI who not only re-initiated the Second Vatican Ecumenical Council after being selected as pope, due to the fact that the Council was ended upon the death of his predecessor, Pope St. John XXIII. To Pope Paul fell the unenviable task of actually reforming the Church according to the blueprint laid down by the Council, efforts that caused him much personal anguish and likely contributed to the decline of his health, which was very noticeable the last few years of his life on earth.

Since I already invoked Gaffigan in my remembrance of Pope Paul VI, in order to give what I am trying to communicate about the importance of Papa Montini some cultural credibility, in order to give it even more, I also draw your attention to a piece written by my friend Artur, who, in addition to being one of the up-and-coming Catholic intellectuals in the U.S., blogs over at Cosmos the in lost- "Confession: How I Lost My Faith After Reading Rachel Held Evans."

Being someone who falls in the seam between the Baby Boom and Gen. X, I am certainly not a Millennial, but Artur's piece serves as an example of what I mean by fostering "Christian discipleship in the late modern milieu in the diakonia of koinonia," especially at a time when it is very apparent that so many are lost in the cosmos. This is currently being exacerbated by too many people, influential Catholic commentators among them, celebrating what they take to be a new era of absolute uncertainty, the ushering in of a relativistic utopia in the Church by Pope Francis (he is not!). Nothing harshed this buzz before more than Paul VI promulgating Humanae Vitae. But one must not be myopic and keep in mind that, along with Populorum progessio and Evangelii nuntiandi, Humanae Vitae forms part of a triptych that constitutes the very heart of Paul VI's papal magisterium.

Here is what I perceive to be the take-a-way from Artur's post: "If church leaders will not provide us with authoritative responses to what’s going on in our deranged and eviscerated public square, with the right (ortho-)spiritual exercises, with the most fruitful paths to follow, with a new Philokalia, or the old one, then it’s not dark yet, but it’s getting there..." (cue Bob Dylan).

Papa Montini, pray for us.

Feast of St. Lawrence, deacon and martyr

St. Lawrence, in dalmatic, holding fast to the instrument of his glorification- the grill on which he was roasted

Today is the Feast of the glorious martyr, St Lawrence, one of the seven deacons of Rome, who lived in the third century (ca. 225-258). Lawrence experienced martyrdom, along with his bishop, Pope Sixtus II, in Rome during persecution of the Church in the imperial city under the emperor Valerian. It is believed that Lawrence was born in Spain. He first met Sixtus while he was studying in the Spanish city of Zaragoza, where Sixtus, who was Greek, was one of his teachers. In time, both Sixtus and Lawrence wound up in Rome. When Sixtus became the Bishop of Rome, he ordained Lawrence, who was still very young, a deacon. Further, Sixtus appointed his former student as first among the seven deacons of Rome, making him effectively archdeacon of the city. In this capacity Lawrence was in charge of the Roman Church's treasury, meaning that he also oversaw the distribution of alms to the poor of the city.

In August 258 Valerian decreed that all bishops, priests, and deacons be put to death. Shortly afterwards, Pope Sixtus was captured while celebrating Mass and hastily executed. Upon the death of the Bishop of Rome the demand was made that Lawrence surrender all the Church's treasury to the imperial authorities. According to ancient accounts, the most ancient of which is that of St. Ambrose (ca. 340 – 4 April 397), Lawrence said it would take him three days to gather up the Church's treasury. Over the three days he vigorously set about disbursing all Church assets to the poor. After he finished his work, on day three, accompanied by the poor, the lame, and the blind, Lawrence turned himself in to the city's prefect, who immediately ordered him to turn over the riches. So, he presented the Roman prefect the poor, the crippled, the blind and the suffering who were with him, saying that these were the Church's true wealth. According to the narrative, this act is what led to his martyrdom.

The head of St. Lawrence in reliquary

Tradition hands on that Lawrence was roasted alive on an iron grill. Each year on his feast, the Holy See exhibits the reliquary containing St. Lawrence's burnt head for veneration by the faithful. While some may find the picture of St. Lawrence's burnt head gruesome, I think, if nothing else, that seeing it helps to keep us from being all sappy and sentimental by reminding us of the reality the Lord calls us to engage with our whole heart, might, mind, and strength, even to the laying down of our lives.

It is also worth noting that Pope Pius IX, having initially been buried in St. Peter's, was moved three and-a-half years after his death and re-interred in the Basilica of St. Lawrence Outside the Walls. Basilica Papale di San Lorenzo fuori le Mura, as it is known in Italian, is the shrine/tomb of St. Lawrence. Being assigned to the Patriarch of Jerusalem, it is one of the five Patriarchal Basilicas, along with St. Peter's, St. Paul Outside the Walls, St. John Lateran, and St. Mary Major, as well as one of the seven Pilgrim Churches, which includes the Patriarchal Basilicas plus the Basilica of the Holy Cross in Jerusalem and the Shrine of Our Lady of Divine Love.

Along with the great Feast of St. Stephen, which falls on 26 December, the day after the Solemnity of the Nativity of the Lord, today's feast is an important one for deacons. I find it a bit odd that the among the many faculties granted to permanent deacons in the restored and renewed diaconate, such as being ordinary ministers of Baptism and being able to preach, governance and care of the Church's temporal goods is a ministry in which deacons no longer share.

S. Laurentii, ora pro nobis

Edith Stein: casting off the "existential burden"

It is important for me today to acknowledge the liturgical memorial of St. Teresa Benedicta of the Cross. Her given name was Edith Stein. Teresa Benedicta of the Cross was the name she took upon entering religious life as a Carmelite. She belonged to the same religious order as Sts. Teresa of Avila and Thérèse of the Child Jesus. Reading St. Teresa's autobiography, which she read without stopping, staying up all night, seems to have been the immediate cause of Edith Stein's decision to convert. Edith was a Jew, a daughter of Israel, who became Catholic as an adult. Her conversion happened well after she completed her doctorate in Philosophy under the tutelage and, at least the initial, mentorship of Edmund Husserl, the father of phenomenology. Edith was a brilliant person, an brilliant philosopher who was not able to secure of professorship due to the fact that she was a woman.

For those who may not know, in the late 1930s (she entered religious life in 1933, while in her early 40s) she was moved from her Carmelite convent in Cologne, Germany to one in the Netherlands because she was Jewish. She was moved along with her sister, Rosa, who had also converted and become a Carmelite. Nonetheless, due to the defiance of the Dutch bishops after Nazi Germany took over their country, Stein, along with every other Jew they could find, including her sister, was rounded up and sent to the Auschwitz concentration camp in 1942. This is where she, along with Rosa and many, many of her fellow Jews, children of Israel, was murdered.

Edith Stein

In an a rather uneven essay that is in turn very insightful and, at least in spots, somewhat vindictively shallow and even a bit misleading, at least with regard to Stein being claimed by the Church as expressed by Pope St. John Paul II's raising her to the altar in 1998, "Edith Stein (Poland, 1942)" (from a very good book of essays, edited by Joyce Avrech Berkman, Contemplating Edith Stein), Patricia Hampl nonetheless does a good job of locating Stein in the communio sanctorum alongside Sts. Augustine and Teresa of Avila. Along with these two saints, St. Teresa Benedicta of the Cross forms what Hampl describes, pointing to the work of one of Stein's German biographers, Waltraud Herbstrith, as "a fascinating linked-chain of conversions, each in turn liberated from what Teresa [of Avila] calls in her autobiography 'the shadow of death,' which had left them utterly worn out with interior struggle." Hampl points to Herbstrith's unpacking of the "shadow" Edith Stein cast off, highlighting how hers was different from the other two saints (and how Augustine's differed from Teresa's), while noting that their "sense of liberation was the same":

for Augustine the snare was unbridled sensuality; for Teresa [of Avila], the surface pleasures of "society" and its tendency to skim over life lightly. For Edith Stein, it was the twentieth-century existential burden: a rationalist, materialist worldview that did not permit the freedom to offer oneself to God. From carnality, to society's distractions, to heady intellectualism: these three figures are cameos of Western civilization's history of spiritual dilemmas

Lest I come across as being too critical of Hampl, who, taking a note from Dorothy Day, the same Day who demurred that she did not want to be made a saint for fear of being dismissed too lightly, she is concerned that the depth of Stein's philosophical work be kept at the forefront and not disappear at the expense of her being hagiographically reduced to a sentimental figure. Insofar as this is Hampl's objective, I am with her, as I am sure was John Paul II, with whom she (Hampl) imagines herself to be at odds over this.

It bears noting that the subject Stein appears to have been most interested in was empathy. The English title of her doctoral dissertation is On the Problem of Empathy. Her philosophy is worthy of being taught alongside that of Husserl, Heidegger, Scheler, and other leading phenomenologists.

To give you some idea of her take on empathy, here is something she wrote: "As for what concerns our relations with our fellow men, the anguish in our neighbor's soul must break all precept. All that we do is a means to an end, but love is an end in itself, because God is love."

Another of her significant works is The Science of the Cross. There is no greater act of empathy, nor could there ever be, than our Blessed Lord on the Cross. As the sacred author of the Letter to the Hebrews, who is a Jewish Christian writing to other Jewish Christians, so clearly noted about Jesus: "For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who has similarly been tested in every way, yet without sin" (Heb 4:15). He can sympathize precisely because He can empathize!

Christ's Crucifixion, by Diego Velázquez, 1632

Praying Morning Prayer today (I stuck with Week II of Psalter and used the collect for St. Teresa Benedicta's memorial as the closing prayer), I was struck by something in the Old Testament canticle, which is taken from the third chapter of the Book of the Prophet Habakkuk, in particular verses 17-18: "For though the fig tree does not blossom, and no fruit appears on the vine, Though the yield of the olive fails and the terraces produce no nourishment, Though the flocks disappear from the fold and there is no herd in the stalls, Yet I will rejoice in the LORD and exult in my saving God." I was struck because this seems to me a beautiful way to think about the witness, that is, the martyrdom of Edith Stein, whose unfinished autobiographical account of her up-bringing she entitled Life in a Jewish Family.

Here is today's Collect:

God of our Fathers,
who brought the Martyr Saint Teresa Benedicta of the Cross
to know your crucified Son
and to imitate him even until death,
grant, through her intercession,
that the whole human race may acknowledge Christ as its Savior
and through him come to behold you for eternity.
Who lives and reigns with you in the unity of the Holy Spirit,
one God for ever and ever. Amen.

St. Teresa Benedicta of the Cross, pray for us.

"Holiness is Christ in me"

This absolutely stunning moment from Eucharistic adoration in Rio from a few weeks back is our Friday traditio. A lot has been written about Mark and his being blown away by his opportunity to sing and lead worship. He did an amazing job that's for certain.

Holiness is, indeed, Christ in me. But how does Christ "get" in me, as it were? Simple: in communion. In other words, Christ comes to dwell in me by offering Himself to me in and through the Eucharist. So He comes to be in me by my eating His flesh and drinking His blood. This is stunningly simple, very concrete. Where, you might ask, do I get this idea? From our Lord Himself. Two passages from St. John's Gospel will suffice to make my point:

The first passage is from the sixth chapter of the Gospel According to St. John, the part of the chapter known as "The Bread of Life Discourse," which takes place, not coincidentally, the day after Jesus had fed the multitude by multiplying the five loaves and two fish offered by "a boy" who was present among the crowd. In the Gospel narrative the two events are interspersed only by the night-time crossing of the sea of Galilee, during which voyage Jesus joined His disciples, who were crossing by boat, by walking to them across the water, and arrived with them at Capernaum without aid of a boat. Many of the multitude whom Jesus had fed crossed the sea in the morning to look for Him in Capernaum. Upon finding Him Jesus told them why they sought Him- they were looking for Him "not because you saw signs but because you ate the loaves and were filled" (6:26).

This crowd of common people simply wanted another free meal. They were poor. They were hungry. Their "food security" wasn't the best. Jesus did not upbraid, or become angry with them for their pursuit of food. Did He not feed them the previous day? He cared about their material needs. But He wanted to give them, just as he wants to give us, not something, but Someone, better, namely. Himself. He wants to give Himself to us wholly and totally in order that we may realize our destiny, reach our destination, fulfill the very end for which we exist in the first place, to help us grasp that our daily struggle to live has purpose and meaning, which is realized through love, which is the Way to life everlasting.

Jesus exhorted them, "Do not work for food that perishes but for the food that endures for eternal life, which the Son of Man will give you" (6:27). They asked Him, "What can we do to accomplish the works of God? Jesus answered and said to them, 'This is the work of God, that you believe in the one he sent'" (6:28-29). Now we're starting to get somewhere, to this "how Christ gets in me" business.

Still not grasping His meaning, they asked Him what sign He could do so that they could believe He is the One God sent. He replied by telling them that God provided manna for the Israelites during their desert sojourn. Jesus made it clear that it was God, not Moses, who gave them this "bread from heaven" and that the bread God provides "gives life to the world." They wanted the bread that gives life and implored Jesus to give it to them. He said, racheting things up, "I am the bread of life; whoever comes to me will never hunger, and whoever believes in me will never thirst... I am the bread that came down from heaven" (6:35. 41).

When he said this the crowd was incredulous and asked,, "Is this not Jesus, the son of Joseph? Do we not know his father and mother? Then how can he say, 'I have come down from heaven'?" Jesus responded by telling them to stop their murmuring (6:42-23).

I encourage you to read the whole thing for yourself, but here is what the Lord says that matters: "Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, and I will raise him on the last day. For my flesh is true food, and my blood is true drink. Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood remains in me and I in him. Just as the living Father sent me and I have life because of the Father, so also the one who feeds on me will have life because of me. This is the bread that came down from heaven. Unlike your ancestors who ate and still died, whoever eats this bread will live forever" (6:54-58).

Proof that Jesus was not speaking figuratively, but quite literally, is that He asked His disciples if His words "shock" them (6:61). Further proof is that many who had followed Him to that point left (6:66- I certainly don't want to attach any undue or superstitious significance to it, but I find it a bit startling that this is verse 6-6-6. Of course, the chapter and verse numbering system are NOT part of the inspired text. I just find it a weird coincidence). It's safe to assume that they didn't leave because they misunderstood what He said. After all, He didn't run after them yelling, "No, wait a minute. You don't understand!" Rather, He turned to the Twelve and asked them, "Do you also want to leave?" Peter, speaking on behalf of the Twelve, replied, "Master, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life. We have come to believe and are convinced that you are the Holy One of God" (6:68-69).

The second passage is from John 17- from Jesus' "High Priestly Prayer." He prayed that all who believe in Him will be one as He is one with the Father (17:11). How is the oneness achieved? We become "one" as the Father is in Jesus and Jesus comes to be in us so that, in the words of our Lord, "that the world may believe that you sent me." Jesus gives us the glory that the Father gave Him in order "that they may be one, as we are one, I in them and you in me, that they may be brought to perfection as one, that the world may know that you sent me, and that you loved them even as you loved me" (17:21-23). The Father is in Jesus and Jesus comes to be in us by the power of the Holy Spirit.

It is the Holy Spirit who, as the epiclesis in each Eucharistic prayer reminds us, transforms the bread and wine into Jesus Christ, Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity, making it the heavenly bread that gives us life and through us gives life to the world. This is central to Pope Francis' call for us to be missionary disciples. Without Jesus giving Himself to us in the Eucharist we can do nothing.

There is nobody who should be more humble about Christ present to us in the Eucharist than priests, through whom Christ deigns to make Himself present to us (in order to be "in" us) in this way. If that doesn't cause a person to fall on his face in humility and unworthiness, I don't know what would.

More from the Pope's in-flight papal news conference

Dr. Robert Moynihan of Inside the Vatican has provided his own translation of Pope Francis' now almost legendary in-flight press conference, which he gave on Sunday, 28 July, during the his flight from Rio back to Rome. You can read all of Moynihan's translation here. I say the press conference is "almost" legendary because, as legends tend to be, what the Holy Father said has been both distorted and exaggerated.

Due to the fact that I have already posted extensively on what the Holy Father had to say during his interaction with the international press, especially concerning homosexuality and the plight of divorced and remarried Catholics as regards the sacraments, I don't want to rehash anything. I do want to note that, again, there is nothing new in a pope addressing these issues and nothing substantially different in what Pope Francis said about them. The difference, which matters, is stylistic. Pope Francis tends to speak more candidly (some insist more carelessly) than his predecessors.

There is one interaction, the fifth of the presser, with Brazilian reporter Patricia Zorzan that merits passing along. Zorzan asked: Speaking on behalf of Brazilians. The society has changed, young people have changed, and we see many young people in Brazil. You have spoken to us about abortion, matrimony between persons of the same gender. In Brazil a law has been approved which extends the right of abortion and has allowed matrimony between persons of the same gender. Why didn’t you speak about this?

Pope Francis responded: "The Church has already expressed herself perfectly on this. It wasn’t necessary to go back to this, nor did I speak about fraud or lies or other things, on which the Church has a clear doctrine."

Zorzan pressed him: But it’s an issue that interests young people…

Pope Francis persisted: "Yes, but it wasn’t necessary to talk about that, but about positive things that open the way to youngsters, isn’t that so? Moreover, young people know perfectly well what the position of the Church is."

Apparently still not satisfied, Zorzan asked, What is the position of Your Holiness, can you tell us?

In his wonderfully simple and direct way, the Holy Father said, "That of the Church. I’m a child of the Church."

I think it is important to note that this exchange took place well before Vecchi's question about the divorced and remarried and Scamparini's question about the "gay" lobby in the Vatican and the situation of Msgr. Ricca, the embattled personal prelate Francis appointed to look after things at the Institute for Religious Works, also known as the IOR, or Vatican Bank. This certainly helps both of those answers to make more sense and gives them some needed context (needed because of the many pretexts).

Since Zorzan was effectively asking the Pope Francis why he did not take the opportunity to denounce the Brazilian laws permitting people of the same gender to "marry" and a liberal abortion law, signed by Brazil's president last Friday, it is also worth noting that Francis assiduously refuses to play politics, that is, he resists the temptation to make of faith an ideology. Increasingly, it seems to me that what matters in our post-secular world is living our faith fully, giving joyful witness, and asking only for the freedom to do that with full integrity.

Last weekend, in his recurring article for Saturday's Daily Telegraph, Damian Thompson, writing about the Amish in the U.S., particularly the fact that they retain an astounding 85% of their young people in the faith, made an observation that has given me a lot of pause these past few days: "The Amish show that you can spend most of your time living the Gospel rather than thinking about it. (An example: when a gunman killed six Amish girls in 2006, their parents shocked the media by promptly forgiving him.) Perhaps there’s a hint of this in Pope Francis’s sermons, which focus on deeds rather than doctrine. At any rate, it’s a pleasing thought that the visitors gawping at the beardies in their buggies may, to some extent, be looking at the future of Christianity." This strikes as something well worth thinking about on the Feast of the Transfiguration of the Lord.