Nostalgia: suffering to return

To paraphrase Garrison Keillor, It's been a quiet week here at Καθολικός διάκονος. This seems appropriate to me somehow.

I am a nostalgic person. Just like I find it (pedantically) necessary to qualify my use of "ambivalent" by pointing readers to what it means (i.e., having simultaneous conflicting reactions, beliefs, or feelings towards someone or something) I think a similar qualification is necessary for "nostalgic." First, what I do not mean by nostalgic is sentimental even while admitting that nostalgia certainly has an affective dimension.

As to the what it positively means to be "nostalgic," last summer in a post on the Odyssey (see "Odysseus and the quest for home"), referencing Milan Kundera's short novel Ignorance I also considered nostalgia:

"The Greek word for 'return' is nostos. Algos means 'suffering'. So nostalgia is the suffering caused by an unappeased yearning to return." Nostalgia is not a place, it's part and parcel of being human, of the "human condition," such as it is, or least how the vast majority of us experience it. Like Odysseus, it is what drives us forward. I suppose we can imagine nostalgia to be a "place." If we do, then, like those insubstantial figures Odysseus encounters, we might become stuck there. What we truly long for does not lie behind us, it lies ahead. How can our return lie ahead and not behind? This can only be satisfactorily answered by the poet: "We shall not cease from exploration, and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time" (T.S. Eliot, "Little Gidding")

In thinking a little more about it, more than a place nostalgia brings on a certain restlessness that prompts a journey, a sallying forth, to that place to which I long to return. But then the lyrics of Social Distortion's "Ball and Chain" come to mind as well: But wherever I have gone/I was sure to find myself there/You can run all your life/But not go anywhere."

I find echoes of this all over the writings the St Paul, especially in the 7 letters that were almost indisputably written by the apostle:

Therefore, we are not discouraged; rather, although our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. For this momentary light affliction is producing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to what is seen but to what is unseen; for what is seen is transitory, but what is unseen is eternal (2 Cor 4:16-17)

Our Friday traditio is The Motels "Only the Lonely"-

We walked the loneliest mile
We smiled without any style
We kiss altogether wrong
No intention

Year B Twelfth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Readings: Job 38:1.8-11; Ps 107:23-26.28-31; 2 Cor 5:14-17; Mark 4:35-41

I think like a lot of people in this age when human beings have exerted such mastery over the earth, I spend a lot time trying to reduce God to my own measure, to make of God someone I can persuade and manipulate into doing what I want Him to do, especially for me and for those close to me. But God cannot be manipulated. God wills and seeks to bring about only what is good, what will, in the end, accomplish His divine purposes.

Our first reading, taken from the Book of Job, demonstrates what it means to revere God as God. This reading includes the first verse of chapter thirty-eight and then jumps to pull in verses 8-11. Chapter thirty-eight, the beginning of the culmination of the whole book, is when God finally deigns to respond to Job’s insistent and persistent demand that He answer for what He has done to Job. Remember, Job was good and just. So good and just was Job that God was bragging on him to Satan. Satan responded by basically asking God, “Who wouldn’t be good, just, and grateful if they were as blessed as Job?” Indeed, Job was a wealthy man, possessing much land and an abundance of livestock. He and his wife had ten children. Unlike in our own day, having many children in ancient Israel was seen as a great blessing from God. Parents who had many children were considered wealthy and blessed and not merely because they lived in an agricultural society. God then permitted Satan to do to Job whatever he wanted short of killing him.

In short order Job lost his land, his flocks, and, most painfully, all of his children were killed. If that were not enough, Job was afflicted from head to foot with boils, great, oozing, scabby sores. As a result of all this, his wife and his friends asked Job what he had done wrong to anger God to such an extent that these afflictions befell him. While Job refused to curse God, as his wife urged him to do, he was equally adamant about his innocence; he had done nothing to earn God’s wrath. Job covered himself in sack cloth and sat in the ashes of a fire, his head to the ground, awaiting God’s response. This story, which I have greatly compressed, is what goes on for the first thirty-seven chapters of the Book of Job. It is in chapter thirty-eight that God, who has been silent, finally answers.

In our reading God asks Job, Who made the sea? Who made the clouds? Who set the limits to sea, thus preserving dry land? In short, over the next several chapters, God helps Job to see that only God is God and that God cannot be reduced to our measure, lest we content ourselves with making an idol, a false god, and worshiping it.

This seems a fitting reading given what happened Wednesday evening at Emmanuel African Methodist Episcopal church in Charleston, South Carolina, when 8 members of the church, along with their pastor, were violently attacked by a gunman while they gathered together to study the Bible. What happened is incomprehensibly evil. But what happened causes believers, like us, like Job, to ask some deep and searching questions.

In the wake of such events we ask, Where was God? Even while we may acknowledge that God, being all good, did not in any way cause this evil to happen, we ask, “Why didn’t God stop it from happening?” After all, what could be better, more meritorious, more pleasing to God than going to church for Bible study on a week night?

Thursday evening, as I was still pondering these things, I came across what I would call a provisional answer in a book on St Thomas Aquinas: “On Thomas's view, we pray in order to dispose ourselves so as to receive properly what God wills to give us. We pray, so to speak, to change, not God's will, but our own disposition” (Kerr, Thomas Aquinas: A Very Short Introduction 82). I call this answer provisional because it is very theoretical and abstract and so not only not very satisfying, but kind of scary.

A more satisfactory answer has to be more concrete, more reassuring. This why our Gospel for today gives us a much more satisfying answer than we find in Job or the writings of the Angelic Doctor, even while it is in in perfect harmony with what we read in our first reading. The basic message of our Gospel reading today is that God cares about us deeply, more than we care for ourselves. Jesus shows us we can trust God. The disciples ask Jesus, “Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?” Jesus’ response, in which he stops the storm and calms the turbulent sea, shows that He cares deeply. After demonstrating His power over nature, He asks the disciples a very probing question: “Why are you terrified? Do you not yet have faith?”

Let’s face it, sometimes life is terrifying. It seems like Jesus is asleep, not paying attention, not caring about what happens to us. But if His passion and crucifixion show us anything, it is that He is with us in our suffering. If we trust Him, Jesus will lead us safely through life’s storms to the far shore, where we will dwell forever in the Father’s house.

On this Father’s Day let’s call to mind and keep in mind that by virtue of our Baptism, we are God’s children through Christ Jesus by the power of the Holy Spirit. In the Eucharist we see that the Lord is alive. He gives Himself to us so that we, in turn, can bring Him to others; make Him present wherever we are no matter where that might be or the circumstances we face.

The witness of the sole survivor of the attack in Charleston, along with surviving family members of those who were killed, show us what it means to fully trust Jesus. When facing the person who committed this unspeakable crime they forgave him. The sister of Depayne Middleton-Doctor, one of those who were killed Wednesday night, said to the man who freely confessed to murdering her sister and eight others in cold blood, “I acknowledge that I am very angry… But one thing that DePayne always enjoined in our family … is she taught me that we are the family that love built. We have no room for hating, so we have to forgive. I pray God on your soul” (see "‘I forgive you.’ Relatives of Charleston church shooting victims address Dylann Roof").

God’s family is a love-built family. Our Lord taught us that violence begets violence. He came to give us something better than the lex talonis, which enjoins an eye-for-an-eye and a tooth-for-a-tooth. Jesus shows us how to break the cycle of violence. If you want the kingdom of God, then, like the members of Emmanuel AME Church, you must seek to make it a present reality.

Depression, suicide, and the Cross as hope in reality

I found it highly telling that yesterday when I posted an article from the Deseret News on my Facebook timeline ("Utah ranks 5th for overdose deaths, 14th overall for injury deaths") that highlighted findings from a report compiled by the Trust for America's Health and the Robert Wood Johnson Foundation, "The Facts Hurt, A State by State Injury Prevention Policy Report, 2015," nobody responded either by commenting or "liking." It seems that some facts do, indeed, hurt.

Given that Utah's suicide rate is way way higher than the nationwide average (national average is 12.5 suicides per 100,000 and Utah's is 20.6 per 100,00), I also found it telling that this disturbing fact (I will try not to go off on a philosophical discourse about the nature of a "fact") was not noted in the lengthy headline. It's tough stuff and, I believe that here in Utah, there are some deep underlying socio-religious causes.

Needless to say, given my own struggles, these measures of events that happen in the world pre-occupied me a good portion of yesterday afternoon, especially in light of the mass murder in Charleston. For many people, including me, it's all too easy for what happened in Charleston this week to only highlight our fear and our insecurity, maybe even robbing us of our hope. Instead, let's let it provoke the question, "In who or what do I place my hope?" My hope lies in the the beautiful witness of those who were senselessly gunned down, the lone survivor, who, in the ego-manical machinations of the killer, was let go to tell the world what happened, and that of their surviving family members (see "‘I forgive you.’ Relatives of Charleston church shooting victims address Dylann Roof").

It was wonderful that this post by Heather Parrie showed up this morning in my Facebook feed. She deals very forthrightly with the reality of depression, the kind that leads to contemplation of ending it all: "The Semicolon Project"

We’ll start here: a semi-colon is a place in a sentence where the author has the decision to stop with a period, but chooses not to. A semi-colon is a reminder to pause and then keep going... I got this tattoo as a promise to myself that I would never willingly end my sentence

I would never presume to speak about these matters on behalf of anyone other than myself, but I often find it very difficult, close to impossible, to face reality, to deal with the circumstances in which I find myself. As a a result, I waste a lot of time and energy wishing for a change of circumstances. This week I finished re-reading Fergus Kerr's Thomas Aquinas: A Very Short Introduction while sitting by the pool at the Boy Scout Camp in Millcreek Canyon, a beautiful outdoor setting in a lovely corner of God's creation, which helped me experience, again, the reality that creation itself is a sacrament. I ran across this, which I found useful, timely, and a provocation:

On Thomas's view, we pray in order to dispose ourselves so as to receive properly what God wills to give us. We pray, so to speak, to change, not God's will, but our own disposition (82)

Don't worry, Thomas accounts for that which God determines to fulfill precisely through our prayers, but that is beside the point I am trying to make.

I found Kerr's summary of the Angelic Doctor on prayer useful because it showed me, yet again, that reality, when engaged according all the factors that together constitute it, is cruciform. If I take the cruciform shape of reality as axiomatic, then, by definition, at times life is inevitably painful. So when, and, at least for me, only when, united with Christ's suffering my pain bears fruit, has a point, a purpose, an end towards which it is directed- the ultimate end for which I have been lovingly and uniquely created and redeemed. In this way, my pain becomes my sanctification. But I am aware that this pain can also be my (self-imposed) damnation. I don't mind sharing that in my sometimes realistic grappling with these things part of my inner dialogue is telling myself, "Lean into the Cross until you have splinters in your hands, on your cheek, on your forehead, and in your chest." Now, this may not be useful for everyone. It is useless to anyone who does not have a sense of just how much s/he is loved by the Lord. It is one of the ways I experience His love most directly.

It's pretty damn difficult to stand-up with a boulder on your back and ask for help. This is true for a lot of general reasons, but even more true for specific reasons peculiar to the person who is being crushed by this weight; everyone experiences these things through the prism of her/his personality. And so, for those truly struggling, it's not easy to just say to that person, "If you're feeling the weight crushing you, reach out for help." Here's something useful: if you know someone who struggles with these things, call her, text him, email, just let that person know you're thinking about them and you care for them, remind that person s/he matters to you. If you are blessed not to be so afflicted, these simple, consistent actions mean more than you'll ever know. We live in a society and culture that induces existential angst and produces mental disorders.

Heather went on to write this about her tatoo -

Another thing: my tattoo is just slightly crooked. At first that bothered me. And then I remembered that life’s a little crooked, too. And now I love it even more

I am more than a little off-center, that is, eccentric, which, I strongly believe, makes the One who loves me with an unfathomable, unfailing love, love me all the more.

For further reflection, I invite you to pray with Psalm 139.

Laudato si'- the Holy See's video

Our traditio today was an easy choice, the video that the Holy See released to go along with Laudato si':

UPDATED: On the eve of the encyclical "Laudato Si'"

Pope Francis' encyclical Laudato Si' is now officially promulgated and available here.

And so, on eve of the release of Pope Francis' encyclical, Laudato Si', the onslaught of the cafeteria Catholics on the right has begun in earnest.

I just finished reading several articles that either sought to refute the Holy Father or undermine the authority of papal encyclicals. One article in particular did not so much seek to refute what Pope Francis promulgated (the author was apparently working off a translation of the leaked draft), but, by his less-than-attentive or charitable reading of it. Hence, he refuted his very dubious interpretation of what the Holy Father wrote, in draft no less.

I would hope that anyone who considers himself or herself Catholic in any meaningful sense would agree that a dogmatic declaration made by an ecumenical council is binding on his/her conscience. It is with that hope that I seek to draw attention to this from Lumen Gentium, the Second Vatican Ecumenical Council's Dogmatic Constitution on the Church, which, in my view, supercedes any discussion about the relative doctrinal authority of papal encyclicals, which is quite high:

This religious submission of mind and will must be shown in a special way to the authentic magisterium of the Roman Pontiff, even when he is not speaking ex cathedra; that is, it must be shown in such a way that his supreme magisterium is acknowledged with reverence, the judgments made by him are sincerely adhered to, according to his manifest mind and will. His mind and will in the matter may be known either from the character of the documents, from his frequent repetition of the same doctrine, or from his manner of speaking (par 26)

Without a doubt in his encyclical letter Laudato Si', Pope Francis will make manifest his mind and will on the matter of ecology. I suppose it is up to us to determine whether we acknowledge it with reverence and sincerely adhere to it, or whether, caving in to certain ideological preconceptions, we will refuse to acknowledge his mind and will with reverence and avoid adhering to what he teaches.

Judging from the vehement reactions of some very public Catholics and Catholic publications, it seems to me that the promulgation of Laudato Si' may well lead to the worst public dissent in the Catholic Church since Bl Pope Paul VI's Humanae Vitae. In addition to Luman Gentium, something Bl Pope Pius XII wrote in section 20 of Humani generis comes to mind.

A short note on history and theology

Here's a thought that occurred to me today, after reading another acrimonious thread on women's ordination prompted by comments made by the most recent member of the Irish hierarchy, Bishop Leo O’Reilly of Kilmore, grasping at straws as to how the Church might be revived in Ireland: history and theology are very intricately and inextricably bound together.

This is a point that also needs to be made with reference to the many live discussions in the Church today about the nature of marriage, the relationship of matrimony to orders, as well as with regard to issues arising from orders and gender.

Theology that is ahistorical is disincarnate. History devoid of theology is either deterministic or relativistic, depending on your approach, neither one being providentially guided.

This is true, too, of more fundamental matters. While the historical arguments about the defective way the filoque came to be in the Credo are demonstrably correct, I also think the double procession of the Spirit is more scriptural and simply better Trinitarian theology.

Hence, the ploy of invoking something that was either done only for a very short time and/or done on a localized basis can only be used to refute attempts at absolutizing statements, of which I have made a few- hopefully fewer over time, of the kind "The Church has never..." Take for example the canon from the Council of Ancyra, held in AD 314, permitting certain men being ordained deacons to request, prior to ordination, permission to be married after ordination. But such instances hardly stand as refutations of more normative practices, or even very interesting rebuttals.

When it comes to most matters of importance, it is useful to reflect on why the exception is the exception and did not become the rule. As Pope Francis recently told priests, a Church in which there is no discussion is a dead Church.

Ordinary mustard seeds and the kingdom of God

Readings: Ezk 17:22-4; Ps 92:2-3.13-16; 2 Cor 5:6-10; Mark 4:26-34

Today Roman Catholics begin Ordinary Time in earnest. Technically we've been back in Ordinary Time since the Monday after Pentecost. The twin solemnities of Trinity and Corpus Christi that fall on the two Sundays immediately following Pentecost always seem to me as extensions of Easter, which is just fine, Easter is awesome. The two are glorious celebrations that help enter more deeply into the Paschal mystery mysterium tremendum.

The "Ordinary" in Ordinary Time does not refer to something ho-hum, or ordinary. It is derived from ordinal, meaning part of a numbered series. What are numerically ordered in Ordinary Time are Sundays. Today is the Eleventh Sunday in Ordinary Time, the week following is the Eleventh Week of Ordinary Time. As Christians, we order time according to Sunday. Each Sunday is a "little Easter." In short, by participating in Mass each Sunday our lives are ordered to the mystery of faith.

Nonetheless, in our Gospel for this Eleventh Sunday in Ordinary Time we hear two parables of Jesus in which He seeks to communicate to us something about the kingdom of God. Parables were Jesus' ordinary way of teaching. As we have all, no doubt, experienced, in His parables, Jesus usually takes something very ordinary and uses it explain something very mysterious, like the kingdom of God, which bears little to no resemblance to any kingdom in this world.

Mustard seed

One way of understanding the first parable is to see that the bringing about of God's kingdom is first and foremost the work of God. Like farmer who scatters the seed, those who hear and respond to Christ's invitation to live the way of God's kingdom, are to do our part in spreading the Word, as it were, in scattering the seed by word and example. Pope Francis calls this "missionary discipleship."

Jesus' second parable is one His more popular ones, the parable of the mustard seed, the smallest of seeds that grows into a really big tree. It's easy to forget how small were the beginnings of what we now call Christianity. During Jesus' life and ministry it really consisted of very few people. It's safe to say that whatever following Jesus had apart from the faithful women, who took care of Him and His closest disciples materially and the twelve, was greatly diminished after His crucifixion, which had to be seen by many of His followers as the end, causing them to walk away disappointed. Just think of the disposition of the disciples on the road to Emmaus, who would've been stalwart followers; they were puzzled about what had happened and trying to make sense of it all, they weren't sure what to make of the claims that some made about seeing Jesus alive.

Mustard tree

As the Church continues to spread throughout the world, sometimes in the form of being well-established, leveled, and re-established, its beginnings are always small. These dynamics are expressed well in our reading from Ezekiel. We tend to panic as we see the final stages of the long, slow collapse of Christendom. Last night I was reading A.N. Wilson's Dante In Love about the state of the Church in the mid-to-late thirteenth and early fourteenth centuries. Let me just that, by way of contrast, the Church today, with all our challenges, both internal and external, is in far better shape both internally and externally now than then.

We must resist the temptation to despair, the temptation to fall prey to "decline-ism." As Pope Benedict XVI noted in Deus caritas est, the Church's deepest nature is always expressed "in her three-fold responsibility: of proclaiming the word of God (kerygma-martyria), celebrating the sacraments (leitourgia), and exercising the ministry of charity (diakonia) (par 25a). This is the "work" we do that is akin to the farmer's planting in the first parable.

Think about the parish to which you belong, When was it started? By whom was it started? How many were there at the beginning? How many are there now? How many are there now in contrast to when you first came? Chance are, even if the number of people remains the same, I'll bet there are changes, even if you've been there no longer than a year. As we are reminded by our reading from St Paul's Second Letter to the Corinthians, "we walk by faith, not by sight" (2 Cor 5:7).