Year A Fourth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Readings: Zeph. 2:3; 3:12-13 Ps. 146:6-10; 1 Cor. 1:26-31; Matt. 5:1-12a

Preaching on the Beatitudes is a daunting task because they constitute the very heart of the Gospel. Therefore, it is wise to begin by looking at today’s second reading from St. Paul’s First Letter to the Corinthians, in which the apostle urges the Christians of Corinth to consider their calling, that is, their selection by God, the call to which baptism and participation in this Eucharist are responses. I think what Paul writes about the Christians in ancient Corinth applies just as well to our congregation: not many of us are wise by human standards, not many of us are powerful, which means able to influence people and events on a large scale, my guess is that not many of us belong to wealthy, influential families (1 Cor. 1:26). This brings up some questions- "Why did God choose me?" "Why did God choose us to accomplish His purpose in the world?" Surely, there must be people better equipped to help usher in the victory that Christ won for us.

Paul gives us the answer in a very straightforward way: "God chose the foolish of the world to shame the wise, and God chose the weak of the world to shame the strong, and God chose the lowly and despised of the world, those who count for nothing, to reduce to nothing those who are something, so that no human being might boast before God" (1 Cor. 1:27-29). Indeed, Jesus of Nazareth was born a marginal person among a marginal people, which is why Fr. John Meyer entitled his magisterial three volume work on the historical Jesus A Marginal Jew.

"The Beatitudes," we read in the Catechism of the Catholic Church, "take up the promises made to the chosen people since Abraham” and "fulfill the[se] promises by ordering them no longer merely to the possession of a territory, but to [the realization of] the Kingdom of heaven," which also means extending the covenant to all people (par. 1716). In addition to conveying to us "the countenance of Jesus Christ," the Beatitudes express our baptismal vocation, which begins our initiation, our immersion, into the Paschal Mystery of Christ’s Passion and Resurrection (par. 1717). These teachings constitute the very core of Christian praxis, shedding "light on the actions and attitudes characteristic of the Christian life" (par. 1717). On Christian terms, the best way of determining the authenticity of these teachings is to see that "they are the paradoxical promises that sustain hope in the midst of tribulations; they proclaim the blessings and rewards already secured, however dimly, for Christ's disciples; they have begun in the lives of the Virgin Mary and all the saints" (par. 1717).

What is meant by calling them paradoxical? Well, let’s look at just one-"Blessed are those who mourn" (Matt. 5:4). It is important to note that the word "blessed," with which Jesus begins each of the nine beatitudes in Matthew’s Gospel, is the Greek word makarioi, which simply means "happy." Well, for anyone who is now mourning, or who has ever mourned, probably one word you would not use to describe this experience is "blessed," let alone "happy." As the text indicates, happiness is not the result of mourning, but the result of being comforted. The paradox, then, arises from the fact that in order to be comforted you must first mourn. Another way to translate the Greek word we usually translate as "shall be comforted" is, hearkening back to the Latin Vulgate, "consoled," which comes from the word consolatio, which suggests being with another in her/his solitude precisely so that s/he ceases to be alone. But even when we think of being comforted in our mourning our thoughts likely turn to someone putting their arm around us, or giving us a hug, and telling us it will be alright. While this is nice and, for most of us, even necessary, it does not make us happy because it cannot change what has happened that caused us to mourn in the first place. It is possible to analyze each of the beatitudes in this way. For instance, how can persecution of the kind our Christian sisters and brothers are now experiencing throughout the Middle East be a source of happiness? It is not the persecution that makes them happy, but Christ’s promise of the kingdom of heaven.

Martyrdom of St. Lawrence (deacon), by Valentin de Buologne 1621-1622

Death and suffering are for many great obstacles to faith. In his encyclical letter, Spe Salvi, Pope Benedict addresses the issue of suffering, which, he notes, "stems partly from our finitude and partly from the mass of sin which has accumulated over the course of history" (par. 36). While following Christ requires us to "do all we can to overcome suffering," our finitude prevents us from simply banishing "it from the world altogether" (par. 36). "[O]nly a God who personally enters history by making himself man and suffering within history," the Holy Father continues, is powerful enough to do this (par. 36). Hence, only through faith in the victory of Jesus Christ over sin and death has "hope for the world's healing… emerged in history," making it a well-founded hope (par. 36). Christ does not just give us hope, he is our hope. It is our hope, which is not yet fulfillment, the Holy Father teaches, "that gives us the courage to place ourselves on the side of good even in seemingly hopeless situations" (par. 36). When we speak of the theological virtue of hope, which, like faith and love, is a gift from God, too often we think of it as synonymous with wishing, but what it really indicates is trusting in a promise. As we all know from experience, a promise is only as good as the one who makes it.

Our desire for happiness, that is, for beatitude "is of divine origin," which "God has placed" in every human heart in order to draw each one of us to Himself (par. 1718). As St. Thomas Aquinas observed, "God alone satisfies" (par. 1718, quoting Exposition on the Apostles Creed, I). Everyone wants to be happy. "In the whole human race," wrote St. Augustine, "there is no one who does not assent to this proposition" (par. 1718 quoting Of the Morals of the Catholic Church, 1.3.4). So, the Beatitudes show us the goal of our existence, which is happiness, total and complete satisfaction, not just eventually, but right now! Indeed, in every circumstance we face "God calls us to [experience] his own beatitude" (Catechism, par. 1719). This call is addressed to each one of us personally and to the whole church, which is comprised of "the new people," about whom Zephaniah prophesied, the people who believe the promise "and live from it in faith" (Catechism, par. 1719).

Let’s end as we began, by turning to First Corinthians, where read that "Christ Jesus…became for us wisdom from God" and that he is our "righteousness, sanctification, and redemption" (1 Cor. 1:30). Just as it is not enough to say that Christ gives us hope, neither is it enough to say that Christ redeemed us. We must acknowledge that He redeemed us for Himself. He is our beginning and our end. He is our beatitude. We seek beatitude because we are made for it. So, with St. Augustine, we pray- "let me seek you, [O Lord], so that my soul may live, for my body draws life from my soul and my soul draws life from you" (Confessions 10, 20). Fully recognizing this, my friends, is beatitude.

Purgatorio, the fire within

Sandro Magister's 17 January article over on Chiesa in which, prompted by Pope Benedict XVI's 12 January catechesis on St. Catherine of Genoa (1447-1510), he took up the topic of purgatory is something I have thought a lot about this past week. St. Catherine of Genoa is best known for her vision of purgatory. In particular, Magister points out the congruence between the Holy Father's audience and a passage from his magnificent encyclical letter, which is too little known and read: Spe Salvi. I cannot think of purgatory, however, without taking into consideration N.T. Wright's objections to what he sees as a late-developing and uniquely Catholic doctrine.

Wright lays out his objection to the doctrine of purgatory in a chapter of his book Surprised By Hope: Rethinking Heaven, the Resurrection, and the Mission of the Church. In fact, Wright's vehement argument that purgatory is effectively a made-up doctrine, like the doctrine of limbo- that place in between heaven and hell that was posited to give unbaptized infants a place to go and that was effectively retracted by the International Theological Commission, which belongs to the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, in a 2007 document that was some ten years in the making, The Hope of Salvation for Infants Who Die Without Being Baptized- sparked a charge of anti-Catholicism against him by the late Fr. Richard John Neuhaus. The good news is that these two friends, while never agreeing about purgatory, did attain reconciliation. Anyone who is interested can read Fr. Neuhaus' objections to Wright's critique in his piece The Possibilities and Perils in Being a Really Smart Bishop in the April 2008 issue of First Things and Wright's response in the June/July 2008 issue of the same journal.

It is not my intent to lay out Wright's argument contra purgatory at great length. "Purgatory," he correctly observes, "is basically a Roman Catholic doctrine. It is not held as such in the Eastern Orthodox church, and it was decisively rejected, on biblical and theological grounds and not merely because of antipathy to particular abuses [i.e., the selling of indulgences] at the Reformation." Wright goes on to accurately observe that purgatory was intially laid out at some length by "Aquinas in the thirteenth century and Dante in the early fourteenth." It is here that Bishop Wright points out something very vital about purgatory that gives the idea impetus and theological credibility, namely that as a result of these treatments of purgatory, likely more Dante's than Aquinas', "the notion became woven deeply into the entire psyche of the whole period." Of course it remains deeply woven into the psyche of subsequent periods, too. Wright goes on to note that "[t]he poetic and dramatic power of the idea of purgatory is evident," not only in Dante, but also in Newman's lovely poem Dream of Gerontius.

Lust, which artwork based on Dante's Purgatorio I chose due to another post I read and commented on today

The his catechesis on St. Catherine of Genoa, the pope notes that "Catherine, in her mystical experience, never received specific revelations on purgatory or on the souls being purified there." Nonetheless, in her writings about purgatory we encounter "characteristics that were original in her time." First among her unique insights is "the 'place' of the purification of souls." Prior to her time purgatory "was depicted mainly using images linked to space: a certain space was conceived of in which purgatory was supposed to be located." For Catherine purgatory is "an interior fire." This insight flows from "her own experience of profound sorrow for the sins committed, in comparison with God’s infinite love." So, from the first "moment of [her] conversion... [she] suddenly became aware of God’s goodness, of the infinite distance of her own life from this goodness and of a burning fire within her. And this is the fire that purifies, the interior fire of purgatory." So, rather than locating purgation in the afterlife, St. Catherine "begins with the inner experience of her own life on the way to Eternity."

"'The soul', Catherine says, 'presents itself to God still bound to the desires and suffering that derive from sin and this makes it impossible for it to enjoy the beatific vision of God'. Catherine asserts that God is so pure and holy that a soul stained by sin cannot be in the presence of the divine majesty." We, too, are "aware of the immense love and perfect justice of God and consequently [we] suffer for having failed to respond in a correct and perfect way to this love." The Holy Father concludes that "love for God itself becomes a flame, love itself cleanses it from the residue of sin."

Magister points out that the relevant parts of Spe Salvi are paragraphs 43-48. Central to this part of the Holy Father's letter on hope is when he points to the writings of "recent theologians" who "are of the opinion that the fire which both burns and saves is Christ himself, the Judge and Saviour. The encounter with him is the decisive act of judgement. Before his gaze all falsehood melts away. This encounter with him, as it burns us, transforms and frees us, allowing us to become truly ourselves. All that we build during our lives can prove to be mere straw, pure bluster, and it collapses. Yet in the pain of this encounter, when the impurity and sickness of our lives become evident to us, there lies salvation. His gaze, the touch of his heart heals us through an undeniably painful transformation 'as through fire'. But it is a blessed pain, in which the holy power of his love sears through us like a flame, enabling us to become totally ourselves and thus totally of God" (par. 47).

As Pope Benedict and Bishop Wright both indicate, such matters are too important to be left entirely to theologians. Painters, poets, composers and, in modern times, film-makers demonstrate how consonant the doctrine of purgatory is with the human heart (how deeply woven it is into our Christian psyche), arising from our experience of being fallen creatures in a fallen world, albeit one in the process of being redeemed and purified (Rom. 8:18-30). The obvious example is the Purgatorio of Dante's Divine Comedy (I urge you to check out the Divine Comedy via the University of Texas' wonderful website). Cardinal Newman's Dream of Gerontius holds a special place for me, as does Elgar's brilliant oratorio that sets Newman's poem to music, which I was privileged to hear at The Cathedral of the Madeleine back in August 2009.

"Nothin's gonna help you more than rock n' roll"

I heard this song on Monday morning and, well, it just hit me in the heart with a much needed ray of light. So, Boston's Feelin' Satisfied is this Friday's traditio:

"You gotta have a little rock 'n' roll music
To get you through the stormy weather
And do whatever you feel"

Experiencing resurrection in the here and now

Today I glanced over the notes from Fr. Carrón's most recent School of Community, in which he discussed the final chapter of the third volume of Is It Possible to Live This Way:? An Unusual Approach to Christian Existence. The chapter is about virginity and how it applies to the lives of all Christians.

As I scrolled down my eyes came to rest on the words of a letter written to Fr. Carrón by a woman whose father-in-law passed away suddenly (through a mutual friend, Carlo, I was able to learn that her name is Rossella). Given the circumstances I am living I was very struck by her words, not because I am bereft, but because her words are descriptive of, or at least consistent with, my own recent experiences:

God the Father, by Quellinus Erasmus II, 1682

"I also felt moved by the tenderness the Mystery had for us in these last few days, because He had us experience a fatherhood that is even bigger than this man’s. Pain did not crush us. Instead, it put us face to face with the need for conversion, so we had to wonder: we had to ask ourselves questions about the reasonableness of faith. Saying that not everything is over with death, and that he is in the Lord’s arms, is either just an idea, or it is because of the Presence that we have experienced ever since we encountered the movement. So, faced with something about which the whole world can only say, "I am sorry: I have no words"...the funeral, and friends have been the sign of a Man Who has entered our life, and Who can say, 'Woman, don’t cry!' So the question about my father-in-law’s destiny made me realize that this fatherhood dominates all my days, more so than my feelings (which otherwise would be low, due to the recent circumstances). Whatever happens, I am embraced."

What can save us from ourselves?: The tragedy in Arizona

I noted in the immediate aftermath of the tragic shootings in Tucson, Arizona that ideological moralizing is an inadequate response to evil. Beyond that, it is an act of self-deception, in which we try to convince ourselves that a few feeble legislative actions will solve the problem of evil in the world. The following is a statement by Communion and Liberation in the U.S. on this horrendous event and proposes the only adequate response, Christ Jesus, the Lord:

Who cannot be saddened and sickened by the shooting of Arizona Rep. Gabrielle Giffords and seventeen others, including six who died, among whom was a nine year-old girl? Yet, we so quickly seek the source of blame. We announce our findings. We accuse others or inadequate policies. We provide solutions that can be implemented. Then we argue about them for a time and move on. These events, however, invite us to ask profound questions, such as why such a thing should have happened in the first place, or to ask questions regarding the meaning of justice and evil.

We all thirst for love and truth, for goodness and fulfillment, and the shootings in Tucson outrage us for they contradict these desires. Yet, despite our thirst, evil dwells in all of us. This dramatic event is a reminder of the wound that affects each and every one of us, a reminder of our own evil.

We desire justice, and yet human justice is so limited in front of evil: it possesses so little power to restore the good destroyed by it. No one can give back the lives of those killed. No policy can resurrect a nine year-old girl. There is only One who possesses the power to restore all the good destroyed and he ardently desires to use it: God. “Man […] needs an answer that he himself cannot give,” as Pope Benedict states in his most recent book.

What is needed on our part? That our thirst for happiness become a simple acceptance of the gift of His presence among us. A real conversion is needed, and “Part of this conversion is putting God in the first place again. […] We must, so to speak, dare again the experiment with God—so as to allow him to work within our society.”(Benedict XVI)

We offer the words of Pope Benedict in his homily on Christmas Eve as the most adequate statement on such a tragedy, particularly pained by the suffering of the families of those who died or were wounded:

"God has anticipated us with the gift of his Son. God anticipates us again and again in unexpected ways. He does not cease to search for us, to raise us up as often as we might need. He does not abandon the lost sheep in the wilderness into which it had strayed. God does not allow himself to be confounded by our sin. Again and again he begins afresh with us. But he is still waiting for us to join him in love. He loves us, so that we too may become people who love, so that there may be peace on earth."

Communion and Liberation
January, 2011

"East Germany with a good PR company"

Sadly, conservatism in the U.S. usually gets conflated to a few silly notions mostly revolving around firearams and free market economics. However, there is a conservatism worthy of the name, one that takes its cues not from any powerful gun lobby and especially not from big multinational corporations, but a conservatism that seeks above all to conserve our humanity. To my mind, Mr. Peter Hitchens, whose brother is Christopher Hitchens, is an exemplar of what I am tempted to call "true conservatism." This kind of thinking is also articulated very well in the writings and observations of G.K. Chesterton.

In his Mail Online blog on Monday, Hitchens, being "profoundly bored by scandal" turns to writing about what he calls "small matters." He writes about how we have let ourselves become enslaved to our gadgets. His frustration with his cellular phone leads him to the observation I want to take note of, namely his "many reasons" to doubt "that 'market forces', left to themselves, will make us all free and happy." He goes on to observe that these "market forces" often seem more "like East Germany with a good PR company and more efficient distribution. East German cities used to have uniform high streets in which the same basic goods were available everywhere, or not available, in more or less identical shops. So do we, except that we have an illusion of variety. And before anyone goes on about fresh fruit and vegetables, I have been virtually unable to find a fresh Cox's Orange Pippin apple this season (a pulpy, smooth-skinned impostor which tastes as if it has been in a chiller for ten years and goes soft in a day, is offered under this name, but it is not a proper rough-skinned Cox) and only a very few decent Russets. Foreign varieties, often from the far side of the world, are sold here even during the English apple season."

Hearkening back to my post from a week ago Monday, Hitchens gives more concrete examples of his thesis, like the "razor that worked" just fine, but has now "been improved, and replaced by another one that is far more expensive and actually not as good. The marmalade that you like has been wiped off the stock list of all the (supposedly competitive) supermarket chains, and can now only be obtained by mail order via the United States, though it is made in Manchester."

His point is that we are not the driving force behind the market. Rather, the market drives us. More choice does not equal more freedom. I went to a store last week to find black shoelaces. What an enlightening experience that was! In other words, having 100 kinds of soda pop to choose from does not equal freedom. Of course, the fix is not massive governmental interference or regulation, but a recognition of the dehumanizing forces at play and the appropriate resistance this recognition calls forth.

Feast of the Conversion of St. Paul

Paulussturz (i.e., Spill of Paul), by Parmagianino, 1527-1528

Today is the Feast of the Conversion of St. Paul, which is undoubtedly a most important event, not just in the history of the church, but in all of salvation history. Saul of Tarsus, a Jew, steeped in Hellenistic culture, and also a Roman citizen, was uniquely positioned for the apostolic role assigned him by divine providence. As both of my readers know, I do a lot with the writings of St. Paul throughout the year. So, let's be content today just to read Paul's account of his own conversion:

"For I would have you know, brothers, that the gospel that was preached by me is not man's gospel. For I did not receive it from any man, nor was I taught it, but I received it through a revelation of Jesus Christ. For you have heard of my former life in Judaism, how I persecuted the church of God violently and tried to destroy it. And I was advancing in Judaism beyond many of my own age among my people, so extremely zealous was I for the traditions of my fathers. But when he who had set me apart before I was born, and who called me by his grace, was pleased to reveal his Son to me, in order that I might preach him among the Gentiles, I did not immediately consult with anyone; nor did I go up to Jerusalem to those who were apostles before me, but I went away into Arabia, and returned again to Damascus.

"Then after three years I went up to Jerusalem to visit Cephas and remained with him fifteen days. But I saw none of the other apostles except James the Lord's brother. (In what I am writing to you, before God, I do not lie!) Then I went into the regions of Syria and Cilicia. And I was still unknown in person to the churches of Judea that are in Christ. They only were hearing it said, 'He who used to persecute us is now preaching the faith he once tried to destroy.' And they glorified God because of me" (Gal. 1:11-24- ESV).

St. Paul, holy apostle, pray for us!

Last Sunday the English edition of Il Sussidiario published an article I initially posted over on Cahiers Péguy, where I post occasionally. I also contribute to Il Sussidiario on a fairly regular basis.