"Gotta serve somebody"

Readings: Amos 6:4-7; Ps 113: 1-2.4-8; 1 Tim 2:1-8; Luke 16:1-13

At least on the surface, today's Gospel reading seems very complex. But Jesus himself interprets the story for us, demonstrating that it is surprisingly simple. Simple to understand does not mean easy to practice.

The story the Lord tells is about a thief, a dishonest steward. I think the first thing to note is that this story is not an allegory in which the master is God, the Father. The master in the story is cheated from beginning to end, including the arrangement for under-payment the dishonest steward makes with the master's debtors in order to ingratiate himself to them so he didn't have to dig or beg after being dismissed. Notice, in the end, the master does not rescind his steward's dismissal.

We are easily confused by the master's commendation of the steward for acting prudently and with foresight. The steward's prudence and foresight, however, consisted solely of looking out for himself at the expense of his master, which seems to be the reason he was dismissed in the first place. In the end, the master is happy that the dishonest steward will no longer have charge of his commercial affairs.

This is a story that does not lend itself nicely to telling a story about a story, which often serves to obfuscate rather than reveal. We need find out what Jesus, the greatest storyteller and preacher all of time, God-in-the-flesh, is saying to us. Our first reading from the prophet Amos gives us a clue.

What Jesus tells his disciples, as they continue to make their way to Jerusalem, is that they should act with the same prudence and foresight in looking out for their future as did the dishonest steward. But the way to do this is by being children of the light, not children of darkness, The dishonest steward is a child of darkness who acts with a divided heart out of split loyalty. According to Jesus, the children of darkness know how to act shrewdly towards one another, looking out for themselves, acting with what we might call street smarts. Nonetheless, Jesus tells his disciples they must make friends with dishonest, or worldly, wealth so that when it fails them, as it inevitably will, they will have eternal life.

Contrary to the way the dishonest steward acted (i.e., dishonestly, looking out only for himself by cheating his master coming and going), how the children of light make friends with dishonest wealth is by not putting it first and not allowing themselves to be compromised by it, but acting in an upright and honest manner, keeping their destiny always in the forefront of their minds. Jesus is forthright when he says "No servant can serve two masters." It's impossible and inevitably leads to compromises. As Kierkegaard noted, Purity of Heart Is to Will One Thing.

The way to make friends with dishonest wealth is to act honestly and uprightly, being trustworthy, knowing who you serve. As Bob Dylan sang: "You Gotta Serve Somebody."

"And he's talking bout' burnin' but I'm so cold "

Recently there has been a dust-up on the internet concerning the Catholic Church's teaching on the death penalty. Over the past 30-40 years the Church has increasingly backed away from the death penalty, insisting that it is rarely justified and is only justified by the state's inability to protect it citizenry in any other way.

The problem with discussing the morality of things like the death penalty is the penchant to wander wildly off topic. Given the important distinctions that need to made when Catholics discuss the death penalty, it's best to focus on the subject at hand.

I oppose the death penalty on theological grounds in conformity with the Church's teaching as contained in the Catechism of the Catholic Church and the teaching of recent popes going back to at least John Paul II. According to the Catechism-

Today, in fact, as a consequence of the possibilities which the state has for effectively preventing crime, by rendering one who has committed an offense incapable of doing harm- without definitely taking away from him the possibility of redeeming himself- the cases in which the execution of the offender is an absolute necessity "are very rare, if not practically non-existent" (par. 2267)

I readily acknowledge that when the death penalty is handed down and carried out when the person executed is actually guilty of the serious/egregious crime s/he has committed, there is no moral equivalency between that and the taking of an innocent life. The fact that it is not morally equivalent to the taking of an innocent surely demonstrates that the death penalty is not necessarily intrinsically evil.

But one of the proven problems with the death penalty, at least in the U.S. and I imagine in other countries that still have it, is the fact it is sometimes ordered for a person who is later proven innocent. This penchant for injustice alone should give anyone pause, even someone who supports the death penalty in principle.

Perhaps most fundamental is the question whether or not seeking retribution is fitting for a disciple of Jesus Christ. I find it to be a remnant of the lex talionis, which holds to an eye for an eye and tooth for a tooth. Other factors include whether trying minors as adults is just and whether people with proven developmental disabilities should be executed.

Based on this, it's safe to assert that unqualified support for the death penalty does contribute to the culture of death, thus denying unqualified supporters pro-life status.

My own opposition to the death penalty pre-dates my baptism. It began when I read Orwell's short story A Hanging in high school.

For me, I don't care whether or not one can claim formal support for the death penalty in the Church's teaching or whether the Church made support for the death penalty irreformable and so now even the pope can only offer opinions. Sometimes it's the irreformable that stands badly in need of reformulation. When faith is reduced to a cold exercise of logic is it still faith the flower of which is hope and the fruit love?

At root, forgiveness means freely relinquishing a just claim against another.

Given the subject, our Friday traditio is the Man in Black singing "25 Minutes To Go," sung live at Folsom Prison and animated.

9/11 15 years on, a sobering memory

Today we soberly observe the fifteenth anniversary of a horrific event that changed the world and not for the better. While people in the U.S. responded remarkably in the immediate aftermath of the 9/11 terrorist attacks, long term 9/11 has been a source of fragmentation and disunity. The result of this is being made manifest in an explicit way in this year's presidential election.

I reluctantly admit that I am suspicious of the "never forget" motto, which I am sure is now a popular hashtag. Of course we should never forget what happened that day, we should especially remember those who died so horribly. But if our remembrance is aimed at making us perpetually bellicose, intent on carrying out in perpetuity the lex talionis, then maybe we're better off forgetting. Instead, let's remember how we pulled together during trying times.

Fifteen years on I think it bears asking whether our long term response has made things better or worse. In this morning's Wall Street Journal, former vice president Dick Cheney, one of the architects of the U.S. invasion of Iraq, asserts that "Dangers Rise as America Retreats." Is this true? Are we retreating? You could've fooled me. Is war peace?

Personally, I believe we need to be more familiar with the dynamics of radicalization and ask whether our response has created more enemies than it's eliminated. In light of what causes radicalization, as a Catholic, I believe fostering a culture of encounter, as Pope Francis has called on us to do, is a more effective strategy in both the short and long terms. It beats the us versus them approach Donald Trump is urging with regard to Muslims, Latino migrants and others. I reject the politics of divide and conquer, which pretty well summarizes politics as practiced in the U.S. in 2016. You can fear refugees all you want, but shouldn't the sheer number of refugees prompt us to ask why they're fleeing, what they're fleeing? Shouldn't it also cause us to ponder how the reason they're fleeing their homes, which is no less traumatic for them than it would be for you or me, colors their perceptions of the people to whose countries they are flocking.

This week's readings are about mercy, about God's faithfulness, patience, and unfailing tenderness towards us. I am particularly struck by the power of Moses' intercession for his people. If we can't translate that into life as givers and not only as takers, then heaven help us.

May the souls of those killed on 9/11/2001, victims of evil, of man's inhumanity to man, rest in peace. May their memory be eternal. May those who died responding to those in need be rewarded for their sacrifice. May those who still grieve the loss of loved ones be comforted. May those killed fighting for the elimination of terrorism rest in peace. May all the innocents who have been killed in subsequent fighting experience the mercy of God, who is mercy,. Above all, may there be peace on earth.

"Take me back to the day"

Much like August, September is not looking like a prolific month here on Καθολικός διάκονος. Somehow I feel that is appropriate right now. Currently I am immersed in a lot of reading. In addition to reading Harari's Sapiens, a book I find both rewarding and infuriating, I am also making my way through Giorgio Agamben's Homo Sacer, and an anthology of Giussani's writings, Christ: God's Companionship with Man as well as finishing LaVerdiere's Dining in the Kingdom of God. Just today I received copies of Robin Ryan's Jesus & Salvation and Gary Macy's The Hidden History of Women's Ordination.

Brutus condemning his sons to death, by Guillaume Guillon Lethiere, 1828

Agamben's book, which is subtitled "Sovereign Power and Bare Life," deals with what I can only describe as very fundamental matters and charts how the state, no matter the form it takes, which is usually nominal, tends to become more and more totalitarian, exerting greater control over life. For example, the section I just read, §4.1 of part two, entitled "Vitae Necisque Potestas" ("power of life death"), describes the power of a Roman father specifically over his son. This power of a father has been described as imperium privatum, or private imperium, or private control. He goes on to show that the origin of the term "father of the people" or "father of our country," is "sinster". Brutus put his own sons to death and "adopted the Roman people in their place," thus extending his imperium privatum over those he ruled (88).

This week I heard Everclear's "Father of Mine." It's an older song, but an appropriate traditio in light of the Agamben reference.

Homo sapiens thrive in/on communio

Reading Yuval Noah Harari's Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind is proving enlightening. I realize he is trying to cover somewhere around 70,000 years of history in a single book, which is no easy task. I am not very far into the book, having only picked it up yesterday. Two chapters in, however, I am struck by Harari's deadpan reductionism. Even so, he readily agrees with Aristotle that human beings, or, to use his preferred term, Sapiens, are social animals. He also grasps that our sociability plays a huge role in our rise above other species and our mastery of the material world.

The second chapter of Sapiens is entitled "The Tree of Knowledge." For Harari, "The Tree of Knowledge" refers to what he dubs "the Cognitive Revolution," which evolutionary biologists tell us occurred among Homo sapiens somewhere between 70,000 and 30,000 years ago. According to Harari, apparently relying on various scientific opinions, none of which he cites, the Cognitive Revolution was brought about by a mutation in the DNA of Homo sapiens. On this view, the most important result of the Cognitive Revolution was more complex, or what we might call human, language. So, it is our complex languages that set us apart from the other species. I have no qualms with what he asserts about language. It strikes me as being as close to self-evidently true as any assertion can be, especially when we consider that mathematics, music, and logic are languages that cross human cultures. He could stand reading Wittgenstein, or even Derrida, on the relationship between language and reality. Moreover, even the Jewish view of the power of the word vis-à-vis what is.

Harari entitled the second section of his second chapter "The Legend of Peugeot." After reading it I have to surmise that what he postulates in this section will be key to the rest of the book. He begins by noting that human beings employ a great deal of language in what he calls "gossip," meaning much of our speech is geared towards our building, strengthening, or sometimes seeking to weaken, our social relations. In other words, language creates and regulates human activity in every sphere. He then asserts, "Any large-scale human cooperation - whether a modern state, a medieval church, an ancient city or an archaic tribe - is rooted in common myths that exist only in people's collective imagination" (27). He goes on to make an even stronger claim: these myths bear no relation and do not correspond to the material world, which he clearly sees as what is really real. This strikes me as a very problematic claim, which is a philosophical stance and not an empirical observation. Imagination is demonstrably a powerful force, which I doubt Harari would deny, but he draws conclusions that seem like attempts to thwart the power of imagination.

Harari then uses the foundation and perpetual existence of the Peugeot automobile limited liability corporation as a paradigmatic example of what he means. This leads him, in a very G.E. Moore-like manner, which Wittgenstein found infuriatingly naïve, to ask if the Peugeot automobile company really exists. The only sensible answer is, "Of course it does." Seeing Peugeot and, by extension, not only other corporations, but governments and religious institutions as fictions, that is, products of collective human imagination, he stumbles onto something quite insightful: human beings live from stories. But he seems to believe that stories, which flow from imagination, by their nature, are fictions. But is not the history he is seeking tell a story? If so, is it fictitious? All of this leads me to what I want to write about.

In "The Legend of Peugeot" section of his second chapter, Harari attempts an explanation of the mystery of the Eucharist. As one might guess, it is highly reductive. But my point is not to castigate Harari, who is Jewish, for not communicating a clear understanding of the Eucharist. Rather, his exposition of the sacrament bears a striking resemblance to how many Catholics understand it, that is, ex opere operato (see "Some hopefully ecumenical thoughts on the Eucharist"). I think showing how impoverished this view is can be done by citing how a non-Christian and perhaps even an atheist describes it:

How exactly did Armand Peugeot, the man, create Peugeot, the company? In much the same way that priests and sorcerers have created gods and demons throughout history, and in which thousands of French curés were still creating Christ's body every Sunday in the parish churches. It all revolved around telling stories, and convincing people to believe them. In the case of the French curés, the crucial story was that of Christ's life and death as told by the Catholic Church. According to this story, if a Catholic priest dressed in his sacred garments solemnly said the right words at the right moment, mundane bread and wine turned into God's flesh and blood. The priest exclaimed 'Hoc est corpus meum!' (Latin for "This is my body!") and hocus pocus [this is, indeed, the origin of the phrase "hocus pocus"]- the bread turned into Christ's flesh. Seeing that the priest had properly observed all the procedures, millions of devout French Catholics behaved as if God really existed in the consecrated bread and wine (30-31)

A few observations are in order.

First, he speaks of the celebration of Mass as something that happened in the past and has now been overcome by a more enlightened humanity. Second, it's interesting how he neglected to mention Christ's resurrection. Third, his insistence that priests create Christ from bread and wine. Finally, his understanding of the celebration of the Lord's Supper as largely a juridical affair. His description strikes me as a description of a pagan death cult. Sadly, too many devout Catholics, French, American, German, Italian, Polish, etc., view the Eucharist in these terms as well. In reality, the Eucharist doesn't happen independently of those who gather to celebrate it, only occurring when all the juridical regulations are strictly observed. Such a view smacks of belief in magic, a superstition. If the Eucharist does not flow from and nourish our humanity, our connection to one another, to those who are not us, and to the rest of creation, then it is nothing.

Isn't what Harari takes as true, namely that the only human species that survived, even if bearing some genes of otherwise extinct human species, Homo sapiens, survived and thrives only because we are social beings, worth asking a few penetrating questions? One word comes to mind in light not only of our inherently social nature, but also in light of the relationships we have with other species: Communion.

"You say let it go"

Readings: Wis 9:13-18b; Ps 90:3-6.12-17; Phmn 9-10.12-17; Luke 14:25-33

Over these weeks I find it more and more meaningful that roughly half of St. Luke's Gospel consists of the Journey Narrative, which tells of the journey of Jesus and his disciples from their native Galilee to Jerusalem. It was in the holy city where the events of his passion, death, resurrection, and the formation of the Church at Pentecost with the descent of the Holy Spirit occurred. It did not dawn on me until last week that our New Testament readings for four weeks from the Letter to the Hebrews, which describes the life of faith as a journey and the redeemed as a pilgrim people, is a near perfect complement for at least part of Luke's Journey Narrative. At least in my mind there is no doubt the Scriptures are for living life, the life, as St. Augustine wrote to the wealthy Roman widow Proba, that is truly life.

This week's readings are, once again, about discipleship, particularly the cost of discipleship. Following Jesus does not only cost you something, it may cost you everything. In today's Gospel Jesus tells his followers that because being his disciple may cost them everything, they have to be willing to let go of it all and even to endure suffering - the cross. In other words, in making the decision to follow him, you must, like the tower builder and the king, calculate the cost. Today Mother Teresa of Calcutta will be raised to the altar as a saint. Along with many other holy women and men, many of whom lived quiet lives that will never see them made saints, Mother Teresa shows us that giving up everything is the condition for receiving what is most valuable.

While praying Evening Prayer yesterday, I was struck by the closing prayer:

God our Father,
the contradiction of the cross
proclaims your infinite wisdom.
Help us to see that the glory of your Son
is revealed in the suffering he freely accepted.
Give us faith to claim as our only glory
the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ,
who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit,
one God, for ever and ever

I think this prayer captures nicely the relationship between our first reading from the Book of Wisdom and our Gospel. Stated simply, God's wisdom often, perhaps usually, appears to us as foolishness. It certainly appears to those who don't believe as such.

Our New Testament reading this week is from St. Paul's Letter to Philemon. The subject of the apostle's letter is Onesimus, who is a slave owned by Philemon. Both Philemon and Onesimus are Christians. Onesimus ran off with Paul. Paul writes to Philemon that he is sending Onesimus back to him, pleading with him to treat Onesimus mercifully, to recognize him, not as a slave, but as a brother. Our reading is a beautiful passage constituting the heart of the letter. In the context of the time, Paul's letter was radical and gives us an insight into how he set about to subvert the empire.

It seems that as soon as Paul learned Onesimus was accompanying him without Philemon's consent, he sent him back. Without a doubt being sent back was a cross for Onesimus. It seems something of a cross for Paul, too. He's clearly worried about how Philemon will receive his runaway slave, which is his reason for writing the letter. I don't think it's being too insensitive to Onesimus' plight to assert that, if he heeded Paul's plea, this was a provocation for Philemon too. It was a challenge for him to truly to live what he professed to believe, to leave old categories and power relations behind and live his new life in Christ, which is given in order to change everything, to establish the reign of God, which requires nothing less than turning the world upside-down.

Paul described Onesimus as "my own heart" (Phmn 12) and expressed his desire that Onesimus, whom he loved as son, remain with him. But Paul did not want Philemon to be forced to do good involuntarily, but to do so voluntarily. presumably out of love for God and neighbor. In the end, we do not how the situation worked out. Did Onesimus, obedient to Paul, actually return to his master? If he obediently returned, did Philemon receive him as Paul urged? We don't know. Faith is risky because it means trusting God. Jesus trusted the Father and it led to him being whipped, beaten, made to carry his own cross, and then being crucified. It also led to his resurrection. But you can't have one (resurrection) without the other (passion and death). This is what I like to call the inverse property of redemption: no Easter without Good Friday and without Easter the crucifixion of Jesus merely marks another act of cruelty by the Roman imperium against a subjugated person.

What is the cost of following Jesus? For Onesimus it meant returning to a master from whose household he, a slave, escaped. For Paul it meant sending his "own heart," a beloved son, back to a master who was within his legal rights to brutally punish him. For Philemon it meant perhaps being seen as weak. It meant breaking with the unjust power relations between slaves and masters. It meant seeing a man he would've viewed as clearly his inferior, maybe as subhuman, not only as an equal, but as a beloved brother. Stated succinctly, for each of these three Christians following Christ had a high cost. It meant renunciation, what we would see as loss, in the hope that it was gain. This and not the false prosperity gospel glibly and smoothly proclaimed by false preachers, who grow rich fleecing their flock, is the glorious Christian life. Here and now it usually doesn't appear glorious at all. In explaining Onesimus' departure and return, Paul sought to draw Philemon gaze to the eternal: "Perhaps this is why he was away from you for a while, that you might have him back forever, no longer as a slave but more than a slave, a brother, beloved especially to me, but even more so to you, as a man and in the Lord" (Phmn 15-16).

Today we're urged by the Lord count the cost of following him. What is the payment being asked of you? It cannot be nothing. To hold that the Lord is calling you to give up nothing is an attempt to hold everything tightly in your own grasp and take instead of giving. It is a refusal to follow Christ.

In his First Letter to the Corinthians Paul wrote: "Were you a slave when you were called? Do not be concerned but, even if you can gain your freedom, make the most of it. For the slave called in the Lord is a freed person in the Lord, just as the free person who has been called is a slave of Christ. You have been purchased at a price. Do not become slaves to human beings" (1 Cor 7:21-23).

In their song "Let It Go," the group Tenth Avenue North sings:

You say let it go, You say let it go
You say life is waiting for the one to lose control
You say You will be, everything I need
You said if I lose my life it's then I'll find my soul
You say let it go, You say let it go

"Let us sit together in the dark until the moment comes"

Today I began reading Yuval Noah Harari's Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind. It's a book I've wanted to read for a few months. What prompted me to check it out from the library today was a review of sorts of Harari's latest book, Homo Deus: A Brief History of Tomorrow, by Giles Fraser in The Guardian: "If technology makes humans into gods, old questions return." I want to read the first book before the second.

The approach Harari, who is a historian, takes in Sapiens can fairly be described as naturalistic materialism. However, he is not unsympathetic to the role religion has played in shaping human culture. Reading the early pages of his book, I was struck by this passage, which perhaps the opposite of the author's intended effect on me. His intent, it seems, was to demonstrate that early humans, prior to what he terms "the Cognitive Revolution," had "no more impact on their environment than gorillas, fireflies or jellyfish" (4):

On a hike in East Africa 2 million years ago, you might well have encountered a familiar cast of human characters: anxious mothers cuddling their babies and clutches of carefree children playing in the mud; temperamental youths chafing against the dictates of society and weary elders who just wanted to be left in peace; chest-thumping machos trying to impress the local beauty and wise old matriarchs who had already seen it all. These archaic humans loved, played, formed close friendships and competed for status and power (4)

He goes on to note that virtually every other animal species did and does the exact same things, which leads him to conclude, "There was nothing special about humans" (4). Here's where what he writes has the opposite of his intended effect: "Nobody, least of all humans themselves, had any inkling that their descendants would one day walk on the moon, split the atom, fathom the genetic code and write history books." There is something quite incongruent to me about the paragraph.

It also happens that today in the mail I received the most recent anthology of Luigi Giussani's writings, Christ, God's Companionship with Man, which reads like a title for one of the late Edward Schillebeeckx's books translated into English, particularly Christ the Sacrament of the Encounter with God.

I also learned today that Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds are releasing a new album on 9 September, Skeleton Tree. I am excited about this. One of the songs off their new album, "Jesus Alone," is our Friday traditio for this first Friday in September, or, if you're Catholic like me, First Friday- a day I try to make it to confession.

"You believe in God, but you get no special dispensation for this belief now."