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  • How to Live a Good Life, Part II: Giving Over to the Sacraments and Grace

    How to Live a Good Life, Part II: Giving Over to the Sacraments and Grace

    In Part I of this series, we spent a lot of time considering what it means to be human. After all, we can’t live a good life unless we know what exactly this life is.

    There is a good reason we dwelled so long on the point that each of us is a soul made in God’s image. These days, our lives are moderated by screens, media, and artificial AI online search results. The reality of God becomes more and more distant. As we master ever-greater challenges in medicine, energy, manufacturing, and idea generation, God seems irrelevant. It feels like we don’t need him; maybe we never have.

    But we continue to have experiences we can’t explain, much less master: love, pain, joy. Our souls soar when we hear sublime music, expand when we reach out to someone in need, and yearn for deep meaning. For those who have ears to hear, these movements of the soul are growing pains as we respond to God’s calling out to us.

    We begin to remember that being human is more than using our fancy technology to make our days easier and more comfortable. Slowly, we open ourselves up to the realization that God made us in a great love story, one of a nearly unimaginable scope. And then we realize that the God man, Jesus Christ, has made a path back to the Father for us. And he is, even now, at work in our souls, helping us find that path.

    And, once you have been baptized, your fundamental reality has changed. You no longer have a soul unfit for Heaven. You have died to the life of sin and have received a new life in the Spirit. So we must live in this new reality, contemplating the meaning of life from this perspective. As St. Paul writes, “So if you have been raised with Christ, seek the things that are above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God. Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth” (Colossians 3:1-2).

    Three primary sources guide Christians through God’s love story for humanity, and, by extension, the meaning of life:

    1. The Old Testament, with Christ as God’s Word, reveals how he established all Creation, guided the Jews in their faithfulness, and prepared the world for his coming in the flesh.
    2. The New Testament reveals Christ’s work as the Word Made Flesh — giving us his words and actions, testifying to his Resurrection, and ushering in a world made new in his Spirit.
    3. The theological writings of the Church, inspired and guided by his Spirit, reveal even more about the spiritual significance of Christ’s coming — helping us understand what it means to be a Christian and how God wants us to grow towards perfection as we ready ourselves to stand in His presence.

    Many of us know the first two fairly well, but since we’ve had 2,000 years of writings from the Church Fathers, Doctors of the Church, the Magisterium, and individual popes, bishops and saints, it’s a fairly impossible task to fully know the rich theological writings of the Church. But, little by little, when we open ourselves to these writings, we can gain great insights.

    In this reflection, we will look at some of the New Testament, but also weave in theology and practice of the Church after the time of the New Testament. It’s important to remember that these are all one fluid movement: Christ’s words and actions, as recorded in the New Testament, instituted liturgical acts and sacraments of the Church. What’s more, over time, his Spirit revealed to Church Fathers the deeper meaning of both Christ’s life and the liturgy/sacramental life of the Church. (As a side note, anyone interested on the differences between authentic development of Church doctrine over time versus innovative corruptions should read Saint John Henry Newman’s An Essay on the Development of Christian Doctrine.)

    To pick up our discussion on how to live a good life, even if we agree that our fundamental reality is having an immortal soul (so often ignored, like a withered limb) made according to the very template of God, we must wonder how humanity can have fallen so far from the potential within us. How can we possibly re-configure our lives according to that divine template?

    We see that Jesus Christ provides the answer quite plainly. During the Last Supper, he tells the Apostle Thomas: “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me” (John 14:6).

    Let’s understand how to live a good life by examining this statement from Jesus, piece by piece.

    Christ in Glory (1676-1679) by Giovanni Battista Gaulli | Wikimedia.

    “I am …”

    Let’s not cruise past the first two syllables Jesus speaks. These are the most important words in all of history: God’s revelation of himself! We recall that God identifies himself this way when Moses asks his name. Jesus reveals that he, too, is this same singular God.

    There are seven so-called “metaphorical I-AM statements” in John. These are when he says, I am …

    There are three other important I-AM statements in John. The first is when he affirms that he is the Messiah, speaking to the Samaritan woman at the well. The second is when he tells the Jews in the temple, “Very truly, I tell you, before Abraham was, I am” (John 8:58). There’s no way to interpret this statement differently or metaphorically. The third is in the Garden of Gethsemane, when Judas brings the guards. Jesus asks who they are looking for, and he answers “I AM.” At this point, they are struck with the fear of God in his presence and fall down to the ground. John could not be clearer about Jesus’s divinity.

    1. The bread of life
    2. The light of the world
    3. The gate
    4. The good shepherd
    5. The resurrection and the life
    6. The way, the truth, and the life
    7. The true vine

    As Catholics, we understand these to be more than metaphors and analogies, of course. Medieval theologians described four ways of understanding sacred texts: literal, analogical, tropological (i.e., moral lessons), and anagogical (i.e., mystical significance, spiritual ascendence). In these I-AM statements, we see all four meanings at play.

    As we look at the rest of this statement, let’s remember that it’s more than mere metaphor. This is God Himself talking, and there are literal, tropological and anagogical meanings to grasp.

    The Way

    When I was younger, the sheer grammatical incompatibility of “a person = a way” threw me for a loop. The comparison was unequal somehow (one finite person to a lifetime’s worth of choices and actions). Now, however, I think it’s one of the most apt metaphorical/ literal/ tropological/ anagogical statements in the entire Bible.

    The Apostolic followers of Christ thought so, too, since they called themselves the followers of the Way long before the term “Christian” came into use.

    Let’s consider a few ways that Christ’s statement makes sense. On the most obvious level of metaphor, saying he is the Way clues us into the fact that he serves a very practical purpose for us — that we should model our lives on his. This forces us to consider Christ’s entire ministry. We begin to recall all of his examples and parables and realize that not a single word has been wasted or should be overlooked. We also look at his actions during his Passion and see a nearly superhuman example of love, acceptance of suffering, and refusal for retribution. This Way has endless depths for us to discover.

    The Way to Calvary (1526) by Pieter Brueghel the Elder | Wikimedia. I think this painting of Christ on the way to his Crucifixion is an apt one, displaying an entire society busy about its business while the greatest drama of history unfolds. Will we pay attention to the most important story in our lives?

    But the way towards what? The tropological meaning here would be a moral example: the selfless love of Christ is the way to be a morally good person. Concerning the eternal life of the soul, however, the anagogical understanding is that this is the way back to God, the way to Heaven.

    Jesus, in his very being, is the way back to God. We should contemplate this statement slowly and carefully throughout our lives. To be the way back to God means that his entire being is about giving himself back to the Father. To be the way for us back to God means that he has the spiritual power to take us back to the Father if we unite ourselves to him (this is beyond our ability!).

    There is also the literal level here! Jesus makes himself available to us spiritually through the sacraments and they are the literal things we do in this life as Christians. We eat his Body and Blood for spiritual food. They are the Way to remain spiritually healthy. We belong to the Church, a spiritual community of believers known as the Body of Christ, with him as the head. We are marching through life via Christ.

    I praise God’s genius for his “I am the Way” statement because it draws us deeper into the mystery of the Trinity and deeper into the template for the Christian life.

    To our overall question of how to live a good life, this seems to provide the quick answer: be like Christ. But there is still more to understand, because any creature can imitate, but we must do more than ape the Savior.

    The Truth

    Dominicans rejoice! This is one of the most important mottos of the Dominican Order: Veritas. St. Dominic founded the order of preachers to help save souls in southern France and beyond who were straying from the truthful, orthodox teaching of the Church and therefore in danger of losing their way back to God for eternity.

    St. Dominic (and many other saints) realized that God entrusted us with specific truths that we have to uphold and defend if we want to be his true sons and daughters. God entrusted his Chosen People with these truths through the Ten Commandments and culminated his sharing of truths in the person of Jesus Christ.

    And don’t be caught up in the Protestant trap that the Bible alone holds all the truth. Jesus entrusted his Bride, the Church, with what we call tradition, that is, doctrine, rituals, and meanings of his ministry passed along in words and acts, distinct from the recorded Bible writings. Several times in the New Testament, the evangelists tell us that he shared deeper truths with the Apostles that were not written down. The Church has been shepherding and protecting these teachings dutifully from the time of Christ to the present. All of these truths come directly from Jesus Christ.

    I’ve been talking about “truths,” but Jesus didn’t say, “I am giving you the truths.” He said, I am the Truth, with a capital T. This signifies an ontological and metaphysical reality we must understand. It’s time to examine the literal meaning here.

    First, ontology — that is, the study of being. “Jesus is the Truth” means that there is a divine being who is truth itself. This means that absolute truth fundamentally exists, too. This bear repeating: Jesus tell us that this abstract universal thing called truth is actually him. Whoa!

    If we read the Bible or listen at church, we are somewhat prepared for this. In the Old Testament, we have an entire Book of Wisdom, where King Solomon describes wisdom in terms we could also see applied to truth: “There is in her a spirit that is intelligent, holy, unique, manifold, subtle, mobile, clear, unpolluted, distinct, invulnerable, loving the good … For she is a breath of the power of God, and a pure emanation of the glory of the Almighty” (Wisdom 7:22, 25). To this point of Jesus is also identified with God’s wisdom. The Church proclaims the wisdom of the Cross, based on St. Paul: “to those who are the called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God” (1 Corinthians 1:24).

    Jesus is both a historical man, born in time, and the timeless abstraction of truth itself. This is no small thing to comprehend.

    Dream of Solomon (1694-1695) by Luca Giordano | Wikimedia

    Second, metaphysics (the study of reality and existence). How does the fact that Christ is the universal essence of Truth impact or change our reality? For one thing, we have to be more careful with how we use the word truth and how we think about it. Nowadays, truth is a slippery, often subjective thing. Think of people saying, “well, that’s your truth, not mine.” I think we need to stop saying things like this. “Truth” does not equal your opinion or your perspective. We have the added pressure of a juridical meaning of truth, often arrived at by consensus or through provable facts. This is not what we’re talking about, either — Truth is not determined by a courtroom or a jury or a compilation of evidence.

    “Jesus is Truth” means that truth is not in the eye of the beholder. Truth is not relative. Ask yourself if you believe this. If not, that’s a problem, because these are Jesus’s own words. Pure and absolute truth actually exists, and is found in the person of Christ.

    Is this just a pretty metaphor? No. Consider the God who made the universe. His Word made the universe — all the fundamental laws of physics, staggering in their complexity, all the rules of math and order and life and death. Only a being that is also truth itself could accomplish creation. Any falsehood, and the universe wouldn’t work.

    So how does this knowledge help us live a good life? This provides the certainty that the Way is the right one. The very source of the logic, math, and beauty that created the world is within the Christ, who is our Way. Everything he teaches and does, from the epic acts of suffering out of love to the tiniest detail of his conversations, teaches us about truth. We must study and pray to know him better.

    The Life

    Much like our discussion of the universal thing called truth, we have to realize that “life” is more than just a person’s span of days. When Jesus says, “I am the life,” he is referring to the animating spirit of being that makes anything and everything exist. This is life with a capital L and it doesn’t end. But this universal thing called Life is more than just an animating force — it is God himself, holding all things in existence simply by his will.

    From this statement, we learn that living a good life entails more than we thought at first. Just by using that word “life,” we unwittingly acknowledge that we are living something beyond us, something that is by all rights God’s, not ours. We are living a thing that is a gift from God — sharing in the ecstatic will of God that existed before time began and will exist forever.

    Thought of in this way, living a good life is more akin to being a perfect guest than throwing yourself a big party. It’s not your party.

    It’s more like sailing a ship in an armada that existed long before you and will exist long after you’re gone than it is like “whatever floats your boat.” It’s not your boat.

    We begin to see why Christ was such a fan of parables. How else to explain concepts so much deeper than our minds and routines can imagine?

    If “life” is this thing whose source is far beyond us, surely it is also mine and yours for a time, too. And here is a great connection. We have a finite life in this world, and while its pleasures and sadnesses are great, it points to something greater. God gave us Jesus to explain this and give us a model for participating in his life in the best way possible.

    A Boyar Wedding Feast (1883), Konstantin Makovsky | Wikimedia Commons. Does the recalcitrant bride here feel shy, sad, or merely humbled that all the attention of the wedding feast is on her? How might this feast hold metaphors for how to live a life?

    Participation, Not Ownership

    Our life is a part of his great will. While it is also “mine” and “yours,” we have no true ownership over it. It is “ours” in the sense that we can lose it, waste it, or gain eternity through it. Truly, it is His. After all, he is Being itself and holds the entire universe together simply because he wills it.

    So, in a nutshell, living a good life means participating meaningfully and prayerfully in the great things that come from God.

    Beyond the doing the things of the Way (prayer, sacrifice, love, etc.), there is the question of how to comport ourselves in this life. That is also a “way” and, again, Christ is our model. As St. Paul writes, “though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself,” (Philippians 1:6-7). Christ didn’t exploit the fact that he was God in order to make his life easier or to fix everything wrong in the world. He “emptied himself,” which is called kenosis in Greek and it turns out this is the Way each of the persons of the Trinity operates. They empty themselves out in love for one another and in love for creation.

    This is the Way. Emptying ourselves for the good of the world and the good of God is the great lesson Christ gives us. It is about humility, not lording our lives and power over others, but reveling in doing God’s will.

    “It’s my life and my rules” is a stunted philosophy that misses the great depth of the gift we’ve been given. “May I decrease while he increases” is the philosophy that John the Baptist gives us, and one much more appropriate for living a good life.

    Supernatural Help

    But, seriously, being humble and emptying ourselves for the good of others is hard. It’s almost counter-intuitive when you first start doing it. How are we supposed to do this thing that only God seems capable of doing?

    Thankfully, we have supernatural help every day of our lives. Christ instituted the sacraments during his life on earth as the means by which we receive the help to live our lives well. These are not rituals we do just because everyone else we know does them. We shouldn’t be receiving the Eucharist and going to confession simply because we think we should.

    When we acknowledge the purposeful, pointed, and life-generating significance of the sacraments, we start to understand that they are like 75% of being a good Christian and living a good life. OK, I made up that statistic, but you get my point. (Protestants, please take heed. Calling the sacraments “symbols” makes Christianity little more than a self-help class).

    If you’re Catholic, at one point in your life you were explained the significance of each sacrament. If you’re not, an RCIA class can do a much better job than I can here. Nonetheless, let’s remind ourselves of the highlights:

    Baptism. Even for those baptized at birth, the spiritual effects of this sacrament are life-changing. St. Didymus the Blind (c. 310-395) writes in his treatise On the Trinity:

    “The Holy Spirit renews us in baptism through his godhead, which he shares with the Father and the Son. Finding us in a state of deformity, the Spirit restores our original beauty and fills us with his grace, leaving no room for anything unworthy of our love. The Spirit frees us from sin and death, and changes us from the earthly men we were, men of dust and ashes, into spiritual men, sharers in the divine glory, sons and heirs of God the Father who bear a likeness to the Son and are his co-heirs and brothers, destined to reign with him and to share his glory.”

    If anyone asks you if baptism is really that important, point them to the passage above.

    Confirmation. Many Catholics have a hard time explaining the significance of confirmation. The best way to see it is as our catechism teaches: “the effect of the sacrament of Confirmation is the full outpouring of the Holy Spirit as once granted to the apostles on the day of Pentecost” (CCC 1302). Baptism initiates us into the Christian life and Confirmation binds us more deeply, conferring on us the seven gifts of the Holy Spirit. Even if our intellect and wisdom are not fully developed as children, we are spiritually ready to proclaim the Gospel with confidence like the Apostles did after Pentecost.

    The Eucharist. We ask God the Father to “give us this day our daily bread” and, as usual, he responds with abundance beyond our imaginings. The entire scope of Jesus Christ’s sacrifice and offering of eternal life are wrapped up in the Holy Eucharist, given to us as spiritual food to help us accomplish the hard work of loving our neighbor, turning the other cheek and being humble.

    The Eucharist is such an important spiritual gift that our catechism tells us it is “the source and summit of the Christian life” (CCC 1324). But a word of caution! Faith in Christ and in his sacramental gift are required! As St. Ephrem the Syrian (306-373 AD) writes, “Take, eat, entertaining no doubt of faith, because this is My Body, and whoever eats it in belief eats in it Fire and Spirit. But if any doubter eat of it, for him it will be only bread.”

    Participation in the sacraments demands faith — not just showing up, not just taking the communion host.

    Penance and Reconciliation. Where would we be without the confessional? I thank God every day that Jesus Christ instituted this sacrament and bestowed the power to forgive sins upon the Apostles: “Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained” (John 20:22-23). God knows that we have a tendency to sin, to abuse the freedom of will that he bestowed on us, and in his great mercy he has given the Church the ability to purify our souls from any sins after Baptism.

    We noted above how Jesus is the Truth. Consider how the Sacrament of Penance invites us to bring this Truth into our hearts and speak the Truth with our mouths. Many are scared to admit to a priest (or to themselves) how imperfect they really are, but as we follow the Way, we absolutely must embrace this sacrament fully. The saints, many whom we would consider perfect, are the ones who most vocally advocate for their need of forgiveness. And if they need it, surely all of us do.

    Anointing of the Sick. For very sick Christians, the Church provides this sacrament as both a consolation and a spiritual aid in achieving Heaven. Styled on Jesus’s many healing works, a priest uses holy oil and prayer to implore God to save the sick and dying person. This ancient sacrament comes directly from St. James: “Are any among you sick? They should call for the elders of the church and have them pray over them, anointing them with oil in the name of the Lord. The prayer of faith will save the sick, and the Lord will raise them up; and anyone who has committed sins will be forgiven” (James 5:14-15). What a precious sacrament as the end of our time on this earth hovers close!

    Holy Orders and Marriage. These are vocations that require our spiritual effort, and when done sacramentally, sealed by the Spirit and renewed constantly in prayer and devotion to God, we can accomplish them in ways otherwise unreachable. They are sacraments because we require God’s grace and help to do them as He intends, whole heartedly and selflessly. What’s more, a “sacramental vocation” is shorthand for a life devoted to God. In other words, simply by being married in the Catholic Church or becoming a priest, nun, monk or sister, a person is living a good life.

    The Descent of the Holy Ghost (1545) by Titian | Wikimedia

    It’s All About Grace

    How do the sacraments accomplish all of this, you might ask? They are spiritually effective because it is God Himself doing the work. The priest acts in persona Christi when celebrating Mass and it is Christ who sanctifies the gifts at the altar. The Holy Spirit is the agent of Baptism, working through the sign of water to purify the candidate. In each sacrament, God is the power that strengthens and anoints us.

    You see, God isn’t separate from us, especially not if we are Christian. God, as Being itself, suffuses all of creation with Himself and his Spirit. When we accept his Son, Jesus Christ, as our God, we open our hearts to be filled more fully; we open our souls to be formed in Christ’s image — something that he himself is doing! All we have to do is say, “Yes, I accept your will and participate with my own will joined to yours.”

    God then gives us himself in the form of grace. The most important form of grace is called sanctifying grace, bestowed at Baptism. This is the Holy Spirit himself, infused into our souls to create a permanent disposition of the soul that makes it fit to enter Heaven. This grace doesn’t go away unless we commit a mortal sin. Then, we need the sacrament of Penance and Reconciliation in order to return to what we call a “state of grace.”

    And there are other forms of grace. These are divine interventions in our lives — like a nudge from God to help us avoid evil, do good, or turn back to Him. Perhaps it’s an inspiration of some sort, a sudden urge to pray, or a feeling of remorse. These are temporary helps from God, and living a good life means that we tune into the graces surrounding all of us in this life. The more receptive and perceptive we are to grace, the more we are able to listen to God, to act faithfully, and to properly revere Him as our God and Savior.

    Finally, there the seven gifts of the Holy Spirit, known as special graces or charisms: wisdom, understanding, counsel, fortitude, knowledge, piety, and fear of the Lord.

    Once you become aware of how God is the very fabric of our everyday lives, it’s hard to think that he is some type of far-off, uninvolved Godhead. It becomes more and more clear how you can meaningfully participate in God’s gift of life. It becomes more and more rewarding to realize that you are starting to live a good life and walk the Way intended for you, yoked to Christ at your side.

    No one comes to the Father except through me

    We can’t forget the end of Jesus’s answer to St. Thomas. It’s a terribly important point, and the whole reason Christians have grown from a group of disciples to a worldwide Church. We evangelize because we believe in this statement. We evangelize because we want everyone to come to the Father, and the only Way is through his Son.

    It’s not fashionable today to say one way is better than others. “Inclusion” is the idol of the moment. Don’t get me wrong — the Church is universal and open to everyone, regardless of race, sexual orientation, or anything else. Good Christians should reach out to every human being, even enemies, and bring Christ into their lives. But being inclusive in your approach is different than saying that inclusion is the most important factor to consider or quality for a person to uphold. This latter belief makes inclusion an ideology rather than a component of a good life.

    Jesus Christ is the most important factor to consider. He is the most important quality for a person to uphold. In Jesus, we find love, truth, life and divinity.

    When Jesus says, “no one comes to the Father except through me,” we should be reading all levels of this statement once again: literal, metaphorical, tropological, and anagogical.

    • Literal: Jesus is just telling us the truth. There will be a Final Judgement and the Father has appointed his Son the judge of souls.
    • Metaphorical: This is consistent with his “I am the Way” statement, in that we need to conform our souls to his example in order to reach Heaven with the Father. For those who do not know Jesus Christ, this puts them in peril.
    • Tropological: The moral aspect of this statement is that we must act in a way consistent with what God intended for us as his children. This brings us back to having souls made in his image. Christ can help us live this life in a way where our souls are reaching their potential as sons and daughters of God.
    • Anagogical: the mystical and eschatological meaning of this statement is clear, since “coming to the Father” is equivalent with achieving Heaven for eternity. If we want to return to our Father, we need Christ’s help in cleansing and re-configuring our souls for reunification with the Father.

    So, while this isn’t a statement to the effect, “if you’re not Catholic, you’re going to Hell,” it does have rather serious implications. In the end, we are not the judge. Christ is. We can’t tell each other who is saved and who is not.

    But Christ will.


    In the first reflection of this series on how to live a good life, we considered that the core of our being exists because of God and no good life could happen without that being the crux of the equation. In this reflection, we considered how Christ is the Way to a good life — literally, metaphorically and more. Next, we will uncover how to pursue virtue as a practical way to live a good life — How to Live a Good Life, Part III: Living a Virtuous Life.

    In other words,

    • Step one: focus on God and Jesus Christ.
    • Step two: be Catholic.
    • Step three: strive for sainthood.

  • How to Live a Good Life, Part I: What Was I Made For?

    How to Live a Good Life, Part I: What Was I Made For?

    Not to sound like the opening to a lame college graduation speech, but let’s look at Socrates’ famous quote, “A life unexamined is not worth living.” I’d argue — on a basic level — an unexamined life is impossible. Self-examination is baked into who we are. Even those who willfully push away this question in a bid to live in the moment will be haunted by the specter of that self-examination on their deathbeds.

    It’s one of the things that makes us human, not animal: the ability to think abstractly about our purpose beyond what’s immediately in front of us.

    On a biological level, our first “purpose” in life is to feed ourselves. Also, we have a voracious need to learn. The intellect and the body grow together. But even in young children, there is a desire for something else, a desire to understand our place and our direction. Think of the common toddler refrain, “why?” Teenagers demand the freedom to figure things out for themselves, and then adults return to the question again and again: What is my purpose in life? We share a basic human need to know what we’re doing on this earth.

    Some might argue an exception that disproves my theory: people caught in a cycle of poverty don’t have the luxury of self-reflection, they say; the poor have to focus exclusively on getting food, water and shelter. But this isn’t true.

    I’ve spent some time working with destitute people, specifically in Guatemala, but also via interviews with families in Africa, Haiti, the Philippines and elsewhere. They have just as much of an interest in their purpose in life as anyone in a first-world country. Impoverished people desperately need food, clean water, shelter and education, but they also respond deeply to spiritual nourishment, to beauty, to community. They have other needs that must be fed.

    Tattered and Torn by Alfred Kappes. Oil on canvas, 1886. Smith College Museum of Art.

    This demonstrates that self-reflection isn’t a “leisure activity.” It’s fundamentally human. Practically speaking, it helps us develop and adjust a long-term plan for our lives. But more than this, it scratches a deeper itch, some type of baked-in urge that needs to be understood.

    We have an inborn sense of a purpose or “end” towards which we should strive. Figuring out that ultimate “end” is important. Every act and thought is influenced, either subconsciously or consciously, by decisions about our purpose in life.

    Some Hints

    If this desire to know and pursue an ultimate end is something we all share, then perhaps we should examine what else we share in order to dig into the question of our purpose. This is a good exercise, and something contrary to the advice, “find your own purpose,” or “you do you.”

    The “you do you” approach assumes that personal autonomy is the most important ethical and moral rule. That everything good will flow from us simply having the power to make our own decisions. That we can make our own ethical and moral frameworks rather than fitting ourselves inside an existing one handed to us from society or religion.

    But this, as we have seen in history, only creates monsters. If everyone believes himself or herself to be the source of their own code, there is no common thread tying society together. One person might thing stealing is bad while another thinks all goods should be shared and therefore there is no stealing. Societies can’t exist, much less thrive, in such environments.

    So, let’s go the other direction. Maybe we can better define what we share — what it means to be human — so that we can best discover our ultimate purpose. This doesn’t destroy individuality! Think of a soccer team: everyone has the same purpose (to win the game), but people fill different roles, have different talents, and act according to the specific circumstances of the day, the others around them, etc.

    So, we looked at some biological needs, but we share needs (“purposes”) beyond the simply biological ones. Here’s a short list of needs, and some pitfalls with getting hung up on just one or another of them. In short, we need to take these as signposts to get to a better definition of what it means to be human.

    • Intellectual stimulation. This isn’t just “learning” for practical application. It can be puzzles, entertainment, and conversation. Some people seek their ultimate purpose in life attending to this need — consider historians, writers, entertainers, detectives, university professors, and many more. But is this all there is?
    • A feeling of self-worth. While there are many ways to find self-worth, an example of people who take this need to the extreme would be those addicted to competition and success, whether in sports, business or social standing. Inevitably, these endeavors can feel self-centered and therefore a little shallow.
    • A feeling of contributing to something greater. Those finding their purpose in this need might be soldiers, officers, politicians, and business executives. This includes an aspect of service, putting the good of the many ahead of oneself. But no city, country, army or company lasts forever. They are always corruptible and have no true identity outside of their functioning. Surely simply contributing to an institution can’t be the purpose for humans.
    • A feeling of belonging to something greater. Many movements and ideologies capitalize on this desire — from the green movement to white supremacy, from a dinner group with trusted friends to a church full of neighbors. Like the previous example, this purpose satisfies a primal component of being human: we are social creatures. Belonging to something greater is a sign that we care about our society. But, as the examples testify, these can be good and bad, effective and ineffective. We have to discern what type of “something greater” is truly worthy of our participation.
    • To love and be loved. Of all the examples of purpose beyond the biological needs of humans, this one is the most complete. There is a “rightness” we experience when we love and when we are loved. It’s more than brain chemistry (which undoubtedly also changes), and it’s more than an emotional high. With love, we can experience a panoply of things beyond intellect and bodily senses: wonder, gratitude, humility, courage, strength, comfort, etc. What’s more, we can even experience everything else on our short list: intellectual stimulation (love surprises us every time we encounter it), self-worth, contributing to something greater and belonging to something greater.

    Love is clearly a key component in finding our purpose in life. Some would say it is enough. But undisciplined love — that is, love without understanding — can be as bad as all the rest. After all, what is narcissism but an excess of love of oneself? And what is genocide but an excess of love for one’s tribe?

    The Full Measure of What it Means to Be Human

    Hopefully we’ve demonstrated that being human is more than just biological needs and also more than just intellectual ones. So, being human means we are a body, a mind, and something else. Our ancestors put a name to what we’ve been dancing around: a soul.

    It’s a shame that so many people “turn off” when they hear that word. It’s a very helpful way of understanding who we are. As the Church teaches, humans are an ensouled body. Or an embodied soul. It is not a “part” of us, something that can be extracted like the Proton Pack and Ghost Trap used by the Ghostbusters. Instead, the soul is the organizing principle that gives life to our bodies (without it, we’d be a bunch of goo and bones with no life). Traditionally understood, the soul also contains our intellect and will.

    When we think about a person, we are really thinking about their soul more than their bodies. Their bodies can change, decay, and even stop working, but we still know who they are. The soul is a more accurate description of the person as we think of them.

    Soul Carried to Heaven by William-Adolphe Bouguereau, 1878. Wikimedia Commons.

    Let’s consider a few time-tested descriptions of the soul and God.

    Aristotle, back in 350 BC, laid out the template that was later incorporated by St. Thomas Aquinas and the Church: plants have a “vegetative soul,” which enables reproduction and growth. Animals have these faculties plus a “sensitive soul,” which enables them to move and sense the world around them. But humans alone have a “rational soul,” which gives us thought and reflection in addition to these other attributes.

    This rational soul is the very thing that contains and contemplates the topic of this essay: what is my purpose?

    Aristotle also talks of a Prime Mover, or Unmoved Mover, which is perfect, eternal thought. It is the ultimate object of love and desire, and the entire universe strives to imitate its perfection. Think of this Unmoved Mover as a very abstract god-force, if you will, which doesn’t sully itself with practical matters of creation or human history.

    Thus, while Aristotle gives us a very helpful description of the rational soul, it sort-of appears out of nowhere. There is no connection to a broader scheme or purpose.

    Compare this to some of the world’s earliest written creation stories, written many thousands of years before the age of the Greek philosophers. These describe a God who is much more involved in the creation of the rational soul. In the Fertile Crescent, the Babylonians, Akkadians, Sumerians and Semitic peoples are surprisingly consistent in describing how humans were created from the clay of the earth by a God (or gods) who had a particular intent in mind.

    Closer to our purposes, the Genesis narrative of the Semitic peoples says the very breath of God gives life to humanity. God’s breath is what gives us our soul. Here is a direct relationship to a greater scheme that can shed light on our purpose in life

    Let’s try to be aware of our biases for a minute. Like me, you may have been taught to hold the rigid logical arguments of the Greeks in high regard. The Greek philosophers valued efforts of the human intellect alone over religious inspiration. As products of the (so-called) Enlightenment Era, we have come to share this bias.

    Meanwhile, creation narratives are commonly taught as mythology. That is, invented stories meant to do some cultural or social function, like keeping people in line or teaching morals. We look less favorably on these narratives, presumably because we don’t know their origin and can’t explain them logically.

    But imagine for a moment that God actually spoke to humans in dreams and visions. If you believe in a God, then surely he can communicate to us in any way he chooses. Are not the words of our all-powerful divine being worth more than the whirring of human minds?

    This is the basis of creation narratives the world over: that God wants to reveal himself to us, within history. Do we dare open our souls to receive our Creator?

    I think the greatest benefit (you might call it a grace) of accepting that God has been working throughout history is that we can conceive of ourselves as a gift. This is a great counterbalance to our modern conception of our own identity as belonging completely to us. How lonely and potentially meaningless if we randomly developed rational souls! Beyond the existential sadness, something in our rational souls tells us this is wrong. We are searching out a purpose — all of us — as if something is calling us, as if something planted that need for a purpose in us. There are too many signs within the experience of a single human life, much less an entire culture, pointing towards a greater end.

    If we consider the creation narratives as containing divine truth, we discover this deep meaning we’ve been looking for. Let’s give it a shot.

    In our fundamental Christian narrative, passed down faithfully for thousands and thousands of years, we hear, “Then God said, ‘Let us make humankind in our image, according to our likeness.’” This has astounding implications. Not only do we have our incredible “rational soul” thanks to our benevolent God, we are also told that this embodied soul is the very image and likeness of God himself!

    With Great Gifts Come Great Responsibilities

    Now we approach a richer understanding of what it means to be human. We were made according to a template, and that template is pure perfection.

    We are a soul, made to be like God.

    But who is God? What does it mean to be made in his image?

    This topic could fill many books, so let’s focus on just a few things from our Christian dogma.

    • God is one.
    • God is also a communion of three persons.
    • God is perfect; the source of all goodness and beauty.
    • God is love.

    Each of these has implications for how we understand what it means to be human, made in his image:

    God is one. This is the “greatest commandment” that Moses shares alongside the Ten Commandments: “Hear, O Israel: The Lord is our God, the Lord is one,” (Deuteronomy 6:4). Being one tells us that he is unique, and so we learn that we, too, are unique beings. At the same time, as we learn that he is three persons in one, this “oneness” tells us that he is a unity. Likewise, there is a common unity among humanity that we must uphold.

    God is a communion of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit. God exists in constant loving communion within the three persons, and we, too, are made for communion with each other. Humans may seek out solitude, but we are genetically programmed to thrive in and crave society. Even on the basic family level, we need two to procreate and a full family to care for its members.

    Tinity icon showing the three Angels being hosted by Abraham at Mambré. Andrei Rublev, c.1425. Wikimedia Commons.

    God is perfect. Our template is not flawed. No matter the biological challenges a person might have, every human being has a spiritual template that is perfect. Our souls yearn to return and unite with that perfection, and nothing short of that perfection will suffice. We are meant to be good and bring beauty to the world because they are a part of that pure source of perfection.

    God is love. We have to resist the trap of triteness that hearing this phrase over and over can present. This love is not sappy and it has a depth that we cannot begin to understand. First of all, this love has no end. It does not get tired or turn into something lesser. The divine love is the relationship between the Father, Son and Spirit, constantly flowing, constantly generating life. The love of the Father is a long-term love that looks to our ultimate salvation, which means that we might need correction along the way. It is also a doting love, a protective love, a jealous love. The love of the Son is an adoring love, constantly showing off the greatness of the Father, happily dependent on his love, grace and will. The love of the Spirit is an infectious, rapacious love that transforms everything it touches. It is the love of miracles and wonder.

    How do all of these aspects of love exist in and through us? Our lives are the proving grounds for getting to know the love of God, loving him back, and bringing this life-giving love into the world (in a mini act of creation) concretely. The world can and should be our playground for love, where we transform the ugly, dirty sand into beautiful sand castles. We don’t do this because the sandcastles are amazing in themselves, worthy of being saved for eternity and full of inherent dignity, but simply because God wants us to do this and we want to do his will. The real treasure is not what we affect here on earth, but the love and divine energies with which we engage the world.

    This, then, should be our understanding of what it means to be human: we are souls made in the image of the Perfect One who desires us and gives us himself so that we can know his love and allow it to flow through us as we make our way back to him.

    Every one of us is this. Not just the ones who go to church or the ones who do good deeds. This is what we must see if we are to love all the other souls on this earth and be in communion with them. We must desire their good, just like the Father desires the Son’s good. We must work to lift them up and help them get to heaven. Hopefully, they will do the same for us.

    Finding your Identity as Well as Your Purpose

    Of course, the world is full of injustice and suffering. This is not a reflection on who God is or the fundamental goodness of souls. The issue here is personal freedom. God created us in his image, and he is fundamentally sovereign — that is, free to make choices, inhibited by nothing. According to this template, our souls have this same freedom of choice, only not to the same extent. We don’t have the power to create universes, for example. What we do have in our power is to choose God as our guiding light or choose something else.

    Our Genesis narrative explains the consequence of choosing something other than God. The lesson and the template are important here, not the specifics, per se. Adam and Eve’s great sin of mistrusting God results in their banishment from perfect union with him, and the resultant fallen world that we inhabit. What’s more, every time we choose to act in self-interest or sin against God or one another, we repeat this sin of Adam and Eve. The results are never good for our souls. There is a great truth in this story.

    We have a shared human tendency to sin and choose ourselves or temptations over God and his law. But this is not a shared human identity. It’s simply a shared way of acting. This is a big distinction. Let’s talk about identity for a moment.

    Culturally, we have greatly confused our identity with the choices we make. Not long ago, my “identity” might be defined by the sports teams I like, the music I listen to, and how I dress. Increasingly, it means your stance on political issues and even your decisions to accept or reject your own biology (e.g., gender, sexual preference, etc.). And while choices in life are an enactment of our soul’s individuality, they do not define who we are. Our core identity was given to us. Our core identity comes from and belongs to God, to whom we owe everything.

    We may think we “re-make” ourselves when we change where we live, how we look, or how we act. But all of these things are just momentary trifles. The most mind-boggling truth about who we are is that we are immortal souls, not simply bound to our time on this earth. All this identity obsessing is like spending your life in the changing room of a clothing store, looking at yourself in the mirror. Real life exists outside the clothing store. And real life doesn’t actually care what you are wearing.

    Narcissus by Caravaggio, 1594-1596. Wikimedia Commons.

    So what is real life? What is our purpose? God explained it to us by becoming a man himself in order to teach us.

    Jesus answers in this way: “‘You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.’ This is the greatest and first commandment,” (Matthew 22:37-38).

    To love God with our entire being is a lifelong endeavor. It is the greatest endeavor. To love him with our heart means that we align our will with his, that we make choices according to what he wants us to do. To love with all our soul means that we attempt to know him as intimately as we can, like a bride yearning for her husband, thirsty for the time when we will never be separated. To love with all our mind means to continually bring our minds back to him, to pray constantly, to not be distracted by the world.

    But there is more, because God is always outward-facing, loving the other, and generous. So Jesus adds, “And a second is like it: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets,” (Matthew 22:39-40).

    To be made in the image of God means that we have been given souls like his, souls made for communion with others, souls meant to love. By loving him first and always, we learn to love others. It doesn’t work the other way around. Some may find their way to God by doing good works, but this is not the way that God has identified for us, and once they find God, they realize that there is something greater. There in God, they find the well from which all life and love springs.

    This is our first step in realizing our purpose in life. This is also our goal. Not enough people say it: your life’s purpose resides in your soul’s union with God, nothing more and nothing less. So many of us occupy ourselves with other pursuits and other distractions. Do not be fooled by the ways of the world.

    But What About Being Unique?

    It’s important to differentiate between a purpose in life, a core identity, and a vocation. All humans can share the first two, but each of us lives a unique life thanks to the vocations we choose and the personality we infuse in our choices and actions.

    Every person inherits different genes, develops differently, has natural and learned inclinations that determine their choices and responds to God’s call differently. Countless studies of twins show how different their lives can become, even sharing so much of the same genetic makeup and upbringing. The soul is a unique thing, made in God’s image.

    So, it’s impossible for us NOT to be unique. That shouldn’t be an anxiety for us.

    The real drama of our lives is recognizing the gift of an immortal soul we’ve been given and being faithful to our Creator’s vision for our lives. We are too easily pulled into the delights and sufferings of the world. God wants us to enjoy, to mourn, to feel, but to do so in a way that puts love, truth, goodness and beauty first. Learning to do this is learning to live a life well.

    Next, we will explore how God helps us achieve our purpose by giving himself to us always and forever. See How to Live a Good Life Part II ->

  • Being Vulnerable for Christ

    Being Vulnerable for Christ

    This Sunday, we had the blessing of celebrating Mass with the Benedictine monks at the Monastery of Christ in the Desert. Their chapel is small but beautiful – a mix of adobe, wood, and glass windows that start some 15 feet above the tabernacle and soar another 15 feet up, showcasing the red canyon walls just outside the chapel. Their impressive acreage borders the Chamma River in northern New Mexico, and, 13 miles down the dirt road you must take to reach the monastery, it opens up into what I call a mini Zion National Park. The natural beauty here steals your breath – especially since we’re here the last week in October and the brilliant yellow leaves of the hardwoods contrast with the dark green pine and juniper as well as the sage green of sagebrush and chama cactus. The monks tend a large flock of chickens, a modest herd of sheep, hundreds of honeybees, and a friendly working donkey. They also grow vegetables and carry out a number of other labors. They only have 15 brothers here, which is a shame, because both the working life and the prayer life in this treasure of a monastery are thriving.

    It’s a special place to have a retreat, and on this, our third visit in 7 years, we see many visitors like us who eagerly take some days to stay in their modest guest housing and pray alongside the brothers. So – for anyone who’s reading – cancel your plans to visit Disneyland or Europe or whatever destination you have in your sights and take some time for God in one of the most dear-to-our-hearts places.

    Today, my heart truly soared while participating in the liturgy with the monks. For my sensibilities, this was as close to perfect of a celebration of the Roman Rite that I could hope for. The entire Mass was chanted and sung, except for the homily (and what a great homily!). Brother David is an accomplished cantor and led us all through the proper antiphons for entrance, offertory and communion. We chanted the beautiful Missa Orbis Factor throughout, and Brother David even treated us to some contemplative organ music post-communion and after Mass. The monks, most of whom today were also con-celebrating priests, vested for Mass and participating from the choir stalls, all exuded a touching reverance for the rite from beginning to end. Incense was used before the gospel reading and again during the consecration. My soul was full!

    The main celebrant was Fr. Zachary, the prior. Trained in the Neocatechetical Way and having served as a missionary priest in Japan for decades, he was a fantastic preacher. Neither full of rhetorical fireworks nor staid and musty, he was simply measured, articulate, and focused. He tied in the first reading to the gospel, as well as quotes from such sources as the founder of the Hassidic Jewish sect and St. Irenaeus. It was his take on the gospel, however, and his gentle suggestion that we allow Jesus’ words to touch us more deeply, that made me want to write this blog.

    Fr. Zachary simply asked if we tell ourselves we are more like the publican who approaches the Lord in humility or if we see ourselves as the pharisee who feels that he is doing everything right and is following the Lord’s precepts as carefully as possible. While we all want to be like the publican, he suggested that perhaps we’re more like the pharisee than we’d like to admit. Jesus, he said, is talking about the nature of our hearts – do we secretly judge ourselves against others? Do we secretly feel superior to those who fail in little (and big) ways? Do we feel like we’ve kind-of got this under control, and if we keep making adjustments as we go, we can get to that goal of heaven?

    This really struck me. Especially when he said that Jesus wants us to acknowledge that we need God. That we are fundamentally broken without him and will always fall back into a state of sin. It’s not the accounting of sins and the correcting them that’s at stake, Fr. Zachary said. It’s the more fundamental question of admitting our need that will never go away, confessing that to God and coming to him humbly in prayer and love. Christianity is not about small improvements and little personal perfections we make to get to our goal, he said. It’s not about logging hours caring for the poor and needy – even though those things are good and important. It’s about turning to Christ and acknowledging the brokenness within us and asking him – and only the Man God who died on the Cross – to help us, because that’s exactly the gift God gave us in Christ.

    So, when we go to Mass or pray at other times in our day, is that our fundamental posture towards ourselves and towards God? What an excellent question! 

    As I thought about his homily, a number of things came to mind. First, if this is taken too far, we might be tempted to say that God wants us to be broken. This is clearly not the case because he has been working throughout history to lead us back to him, culminating with the sacrificial offering of his Son as a way to redeem humanity. But there is something here. Perhaps he wants us to acknowledge our fundamental brokenness and need for him to perfect us because he knows that that is the only way humanity can be perfected. This is the role of the Father. An analogy might be trying to have toddlers acknowledge that they can’t weild sharp knives in the kitchen even if they want to make us a fantastic meal and care for their family. It’s simply not possible for toddlers to handle a large chef’s knife, much less with the precision and effort it takes to prepare a meal. Plus, it’s dangerous. In like fashion, we are not capable of living a good life without the help of our Father. We don’t have the wisdom, fortitude, or sinlessness to do it. Concupiscence – the inborn tendency to sin that all humans since Adam have as a stain on their soul – acts like the tiny hands and attention span of the toddler who wants to cook like daddy. 

    But the Father can help the child. The Father has given us a Way, but that way begins with a heart that’s conformed to him. Not just a heart that likes Mass and chanting, not just a heart that likes the feeling of community or the spiritual consolation of the Eucharist. What does it mean to have a heart conformed to God? Today, I learned that it means the full admission that I need God fundamentally – in everything I do or think, and from now until I die.

    Wow, that sounds really … weak. Really broken. Not something that attracts people to you or to the faith.

    But I think this is just fear talking (and pride). The thing I might be forgetting is that God responds and provides supernatural strength and help. And the more we surrender to him, the more his response and guidance are the things that show in us. The most humble saint doesn’t appear weak! Even if physically withered, the holy person has a glow in their eyes, a gentleness in their movements, a welcome in their refusal to judge. It has a name: divine love, flowing through them.

    Related to this, the part of the sermon about Christianity not being about incremental self-improvement really hit home with me. So much in my life has been about showing proficiency: in school, in sports, as a parent, as a homeowner, etc. The development of knowledge and skills has a premium in my family and in my (former) academic and professional lives. This isn’t necessarily bad, it just shouldn’t be number one. In fact, it can be spiritually harmful when it leads to a difficulty admitting fault or failure or a constantly critical nature, seeking for betterment (of ideas, of methods, of being). This is spiritually harmful because it pulls us into the thinking of the pharisee from today’s gospel reading. We begin to not only judge ourselves but others. We begin to think that – with enough knowledge and proficiency – we’ve got it pretty much under control. Worse yet, we might operate as if we don’t need God. In our quest to be impressive, or solve homelessness, or cure world hunger, we might lose sight of the fact that the real goal is unity with our Creator and that requires a constant vulnerability in coming to him for help and guidance.

    Speaking of which, we are bombarded with products and programs aimed to help us improve ourselves. It’s created a pervasive feeling that while we’re not quite where we should be, we can get there with the right product or the right 12-step program. This type of thinking is exactly the type of stance that keeps us from truly conforming our hearts to God in full honesty and humility. Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s great for people to become smarter, more empathetic and other personality traits aligned with living the virtuous life. I just think we can’t let this type of thinking form our outlook. Because even with the best education out there, someone else might have a more truthful insight. Even with the best anger management program under your belt, human nature is what it will always be. In these times, God is the one who can make us whole, help us cope, and allow us a small share in his divinity to overcome those moments.

    So, I ask myself, do I have the humility to admit that I can’t do this? To admit that I will never have it under control? Because the “it” we’re talking about is not fixing a broken pipe or giving a great lecture (although those are in the mix, too). The “it” we’re talking about is holiness, salvation, living in a way that will bring me to God for eternity. An even harder thing to admit as a Lay Dominican is that I’m fooling myself when I think that my hours of prayer and attention to the virtuous life are “gaining” me closeness to God and his Kingdom. The lesson here is that nothing we do can justify us (to use Christ’s words) except coming to God and admitting that we need him to guide us because we are sinners by nature and will be for the rest of our lives. We can’t fix ontology.

    Last, I don’t want anyone who has read this far to think that I’m being gloomy. Quite the opposite! I actually feel like a huge weight is lifted – that I no longer have to worry about being the best at everything, all on my own. An acceptance of our lifelong need for God’s mercy is a fantastic spiritual insight that God has been giving us throughout the scriptures and poignantly in the life of Jesus Christ. “Not my will, but yours be done,” said our Savior, the only one in history whose human nature, will and energies were completely in accord with the divine nature, will and energies. Let’s listen to him.

  • Who Can Know God’s Counsel?

    Who Can Know God’s Counsel?

    Twenty-Third Sunday in Ordinary Time: Wisdom 9:13-18b, Philemon 9-10, 12-17, Luke 14:25-33

    This Sunday, we listened to a fantastic set of readings, including an echo of the gospel reading from St. Luke we heard three Sundays ago: “Do you think that I have come to establish peace on the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division. From now on a household of five will be divided …” (Luke 12:51-52). In this Sunday’s gospel, Jesus proclaims to his followers, “If anyone comes to me without hating his father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, and even his own life, he cannot be my disciple.” How do we react to these words? Is our reaction warranted?

    We are traveling currently, leaving Salt Lake City after 25 years and starting our retirement with a “Farewell USA tour” to say goodbye to friends and family around the country (and see many roads we haven’t before we move to Spain permanently). It was a little hard to condense everything we owned into our SUV, but the process of giving away most of our belongings to friends and charities was actually quite freeing. For the next three months, our routine includes leveling the car on a camping spot so that our sleep in the rooftop tent doesn’t end up with us rolling into a clump on one side of the tent. Our dog is with us, until we leave him with Suzanne’s sister in Oregon in October, and we’re having fun on hikes and in lakes.

    As a result of being nomads, we are getting to experience Mass in Catholic churches around the West. We went to St. John Neumann parish in North Las Vegas three weeks ago, St. Sebastian Church in Santa Paula, CA, two weeks ago, St. Francis of Assisi in Palm Desert, CA, last week and St. Daniel’s Catholic Church in Ouray, CO this Sunday. I’m thinking of writing a blog in a few months just about these experiences as a sort of random survey of the state of affairs of Catholic liturgies in the US, but I’ll leave that to another day. But one thing I heard three Sundays ago in Las Vegas and again in Ouray was that these gospel readings are “hard.” You may have heard something similar at your local church.

    In fact, the deacon who gave the homily this Sunday in Ouray really pushed on the point. “Did we just hear Jesus tell us that we have to hate our parents, our wives and our siblings?” he asked incredulously. “How can we reconcile this with our Lord, who we know to be all-forgiving and all-loving?”

    This is an incredibly important question for modern Catholics, and I think the answer is right in front of us, in the opening of the first reading from the Book of Wisdom: “Who can know God’s counsel, or who can conceive what the LORD intends? For the deliberations of mortals are timid, and unsure are our plans.” So that I’m not just answering a question with another question, I hope to elaborate what I think the Word of God this Sunday presents to us.

    Detail from Parable of the Wicked Servant (La parabola del servo malvagio), 1620, Domenico Fetti | Creative commons, Wikimedia.

    The deacon at our church gave a thoughtful homily, first tracing the fact that “hate” in Hebrew more often meant “to love less.” I’m going to take a moment to both agree with him and add a little nuance. From my research, I’ve found that it’s true that in most contexts, שׁנה (sana’) in Hebrew does not translate directly to our everyday use of the term “hate.” The main difference is that, in modern English, hate is most often associated with emotions. For example, “I hate you,” is one of the worst things a teenager can say to a parent, often in a fit of pique. “I hate cilantro” is less emotionally charged, but still carries the feeling of disgust. In ancient Hebrew, especially in a scriptural context, the word hate (sana’) is most often used in reference to God. Consider Psalm 139:

    Do I not hate those who hate you, O Lord?
    And do I not loathe those who rise up against you?
    I hate them with complete hatred;
    I count them my enemies.

    I’ve read that some Jewish scholars prefer to use “reject” here rather than “hate.” The clear overtone is one of judgment and moral rejection, not something said emotionally or in a fit of anger. We should remember this when we read the Old Testament. When we hear at the beginning of the Book of the Prophet Malachi, for example, that God says, “Yet I have loved Jacob but Esau I have hated,” we can understand that he has rejected Esau from his favor.

    So, at least in the Jewish scriptural context, “hate” is not normally the emotionally charged verb it is in English. But I think the deacon was a little short of the target when he said it was “love a little less,” because there is definitely a sense of judgment (especially when applied to God) and moral decision-making. Technically, I guess that judging against something makes it “less” than the thing it is compared to, but why are we softening the impact here? I think that modern ears need to hear something like this because it helps us “reconcile” this with our vision of the Lord being all-loving.

    But this is crucial! What does it mean to “reconcile” these thoughts? This means that we have preconceived notions of what love is, what forgiveness is, and we’re putting Christ’s words up against these notions, trying to look for some way they cannot contradict each other. Stop! We should recognize from the beginning that a.) do not put the Lord your God to the test, and b.) faith demands an acceptance of that which we cannot fathom or immediately understand. So, let’s meet Christ’s words with awe and reverence and try to accept and ponder them before we have some kind of emotional reaction.

    The Church, in her wisdom, prepares us for this gospel reading through the inclusion of the first reading. Again, it starts, “Who can know God’s counsel, or who can conceive what the LORD intends? For the deliberations of mortals are timid, and unsure are our plans.” In other words, know your shortcomings! Our thoughts are “timid” — too small to approach the grand thoughts of the divine — and this should make us humble as we approach the Word of God. The second part of this reading brings in a corollary important to understanding the gospel reading: “For the corruptible body burdens the soul and the earthen shelter weighs down the mind that has many concerns.” So, not only should we not attempt to fathom God’s plan and Word without the grace he provides for us, but we should recognize that we are already handicapped in understanding spiritual matters, for the “body burdens the soul” and “the earthen shelter weighs down the mind.” Jesus will return to this theme of earthly matters being problematic to us achieving the Kingdom. To recap, in a few sentences, the first reading reminds us that not only are we unable to fathom the plans of the divine mind, we are further encumbered when we try to think on spiritual things because we are concerned with earthly things. 

    As if this dose of humility isn’t enough, the author of the Book of Wisdom continues: “And scarce do we guess the things on earth, and what is within our grasp we find with difficulty.” Ha! How true. Even figuring out earthly things like, “what career should I choose?” or “does she love me?” or “how can we organize a society without fighting with each other?” are found with difficulty, if at all. The answer to this big multivitamin of humility is given at the end of the reading: “Or who ever knew your counsel, except you had given wisdom and sent your holy spirit from on high? And thus were the paths of those on earth made straight.” GRACE through the Holy Spirit is the only way we can make sense of ourselves and our world, much less the spiritual paths set before us by God. This important reading should set us straight in meekness and humbleness before we approach the Gospel — not in a stance of comparing Jesus’s words against our timid earthly notions of love and hate.

    Dream of Solomon (1694-1695), Luca Giordano | Museo del Prado, creative commons via Wikimedia.

    So, when Jesus says, “If anyone comes to me without hating his father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, and even his own life, he cannot be my disciple,” if we listen to this alongside everything Jesus has taught and shown us, we can grasp his meaning with the help of his Holy Spirit. If we think of the word hate as “reject,” we recognize that Jesus has said something similar many other times:

    • “So therefore, any one of you who does not renounce all that he has cannot be my disciple.” (Luke 14:33)
    • “No one who puts his hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God.” (Luke 9:62)
    • “And everyone who has left houses or brothers or sisters or father or mother or children or lands, for my name’s sake, will receive a hundredfold and will inherit eternal life.” (Matthew 19:29)

    But today’s words seem like more than other statements about worldly renunciation. He’s talking about our most cherished relationships here on earth. If this sounds extreme, well, yes — I think it is. It’s impossible to hear Jesus in the gospels without hearing this type of “all-or-nothing” message. He tells the would-be-follower who wants to bury his father, “Leave the dead to bury their own dead. But as for you, go and proclaim the kingdom of God” (Luke 9:60). !!! I mean, that’s pretty extreme. We think of funerals as a respectful, God-forward practice, but in the face of God Himself, this ritual pales in comparison. Without a doubt, this Sunday’s gospel challenges us to be “all-in” in regards to following Jesus. 

    Jesus follows up this sentence with words of preparation: “Whoever does not carry his own cross and come after me cannot be my disciple.” With how often-referenced this sentence is, we can lose track of its power. The cross is sacrifice, undoubtedly, but it to his listeners, it was likely more charged with the understanding of spectacle and shame. After all, it wasn’t until his Resurrection that the shame and spectacle of the Cross turned into the glory of sacrifice. 

    Jesus is preparing his listeners to be true followers. He is letting them know that those closest to them will likely disagree with their newfound faith in Jesus Christ. He is presenting them with the fact that they must hate/reject those closest to them when they cast suspicion and begin to shame these new Christians and even make a spectacle of them. Jesus is both preparing them and trying to give them courage. This is why the end of the gospel reading focuses on “calculating the cost” of discipleship. Jesus wants his listeners to know the cost, to brace themselves and find the courage to follow him.

    When is the last time we felt that we were carrying shame or spectacle by following Christ? Not that we should seek these things out, but I think we perhaps instinctively shy away from these, as anyone would. But this gospel is for us as much as it is for first-century Jews. When is the last time you boldly made the sign of the cross and said a prayer before your meal in a restaurant? This small gesture of thanks to God is essential with everything we do, but most often we don’t want to draw attention to ourselves in public. Are you picking up your cross here or just leaving it on the ground? When is the last time you walked in a Eucharistic procession in your town? I can recall a number of them on the University of Utah campus, including the catcalls and obscenities occasionally yelled at us. Atheistic culture wants to make Catholics feel ashamed, out-of-date, and ridiculous for something as beautiful and just as a procession! It is our responsibility and honor to stand with Christ, to process him in public as our King and Savior. When is the last time you talked about prayer or Jesus to a friend or colleague? Does it feel too awkward for you? When was the last time you asked someone not to use your Lord and Savior’s name in vain by shouting “Jesus Christ!” when something surprised them? The virtue of religion, St. Thomas Aquinas tells us, is part of the virtue of justice — that is, giving God what is due to him. We must consider that Jesus’s words in this gospel are telling us about the repercussions of holding this virtue of religion. Shame, spectacle and sacrifice are part-and-parcel of following Jesus and giving God what is due to him. The question is, have we dumbed down what our religion demands to simply “being nice to others?”

    If we read the last few verses following today’s excerpt in the 14th chapter of Luke, we hear Jesus tell these same listeners, “Salt is good, but if salt has lost its taste, how shall its saltiness be restored? It is of no use either for the soil or for the manure pile. It is thrown away.” Remember that in the Beatitudes, Jesus tells his disciples that they are the salt of the earth — so clearly his meaning in this reading is that his listeners must retain their saltiness, that is, their openness to sacrifice, spectacle and shame, or be discarded from the Kingdom. 

    Salt of the Earth, contemporary, Alison Hale | Image from https://alisonhale.co.nz/paintings-archive/glass-works-sold/salt-of-the-earth/

    From Aquinas to St. Paul

    I’d like to bring up one last lens within which we can examine Sunday’s gospel, and through this lens, make our way to the second reading, St. Paul’s Letter to Philemon. The lens here is to actually challenge the reading above that hate isn’t really hate. What if we follow the Scholastics, St. Thomas in particular, in thinking about hate? In the Summa Theologica, St. Thomas writes, “hatred is a movement of the appetitive power, which power is not set in motion save by something apprehended” (II, ii, q43, a1). To unpack this, what he is saying is that hatred is a movement of the intellect (aka, an “appetite”) that is only set in motion when you apprehend something. In other words, first, hatred is something natural in our soul and intellect, God-given and for a purpose. Second, it’s not a state of being but something that arises in us in response to something we encounter (a thought, a person, a thing, whatever). So, hatred is not an evil thing, but a natural thing, an appetite that we must work to regulate just like all of our other passions and appetites.

    Why would God make us with this appetite of hatred, or any of the passions that we tend to regulate poorly, for that matter? In the case of hatred, Thomas tells us, “the object of hatred is evil.” Aha! So, God gives us hatred as a natural repugnance for evil and sin. When regulated well, hatred will turn us from evil and sin.

    But regulating this appetite takes prudence and good judgment. After all, Thomas warns us: “Just as a thing may be apprehended as good, when it is not truly good; so a thing may be apprehended as evil, whereas it is not truly evil.” This is why studying and contemplating the truth in the scriptures and Catholic tradition are so important. We train ourselves to better apprehend and recognize good when we see it and evil when we see it.

    So why would anyone hate what is good? Because they reject God’s revelation of truth and himself to humanity. Instead, throughout history, people cling to the world around them — what their senses tell them and what passes for “good” in their culture. Is the sound of applause and shouts of praise good? Our senses and culture tell us yes, but Jesus tells us that the meek are blessed because he sees that the cost of fame and recognition is the diminishment of others. Is the pursuit of money good? Pretty much everything in our culture says yes and pretty much everything in scripture says no. What about the flipside of this – what do we mis-apprehend as evil? Let’s think about one of the most common commands in the epistles – to “exhort” and “correct” one another in staying true to the teachings of Christ. But this is difficult to do because nobody likes to be corrected, and our contemporary culture has developed an incredibly robust system of moral idols in diversity and inclusion that make it an evil to tell someone that what they are thinking or doing is wrong. I truly think that today one of the most obvious ways a person can be a spectacle and shame for Christ is to openly tell someone that something they are doing is not morally right or a perspective they are defending is not the truth. In the name of acceptance of others, this is just not OK (so we are told)! But, Jesus commands us to be the salt of the earth, to take up our crosses and be his disciple. Which will you listen to — your culture or your Lord?

    But surely our family members can’t be summarily judged as evil and thus worthy of hate! I guess that depends on the culture you live within. For Jesus’s listeners, the cultural voice resided in the Pharisees, Sadducees and scribes, most of whom were in disagreement with him on many aspects of his teaching (especially the core teaching about the conversion of one’s heart to God). Certainly, the broader cultural voices of Rome and of Greek culture were at odds with his teachings. In this context, it likely wouldn’t be too far off the mark to apply hatred towards voices that denied the Good News. 

    Perhaps referencing family members was way of giving an evocative example of earthly matters. With this reading, we can see that Jesus is being consistent with his other teachings about rejecting the worldly in preference to the spiritual life with God. But, I don’t think this is just rhetorical pyrotechnics. I think Jesus references family members specifically because his Apostles have already had to leave their homes and families to follow him. He has likely seen in the course of his ministry plenty of family arguments, anger and division over following him. This isn’t a hypothetical.

    More important than this historico-critical reading of the passage is the understanding that there is a reason Jesus tells us this. The Divine Mind has a plan for our own good, for our reconciliation and union with Him. Remember the first reading: “you had given wisdom and sent your holy spirit from on high … And thus were the paths of those on earth made straight.” So what might this reason be? Jesus tells us time and again that God loves his children — that he will leave the whole flock just to save the one who has strayed — that he welcomes back the prodigal with open arms. All we have to do is to remain faithful to him. This means trusting him and putting him first, above all other concerns (including our family members and other worldly worries). Jesus is reminding us how we have to fulfill our end of the covenant, putting God above all else.

    And in return? God perfects us with his grace and his love. He helps us be the loving humans he wants us to be, that he has created us to be. He fills us with his own love and sends us back into the world to love our neighbors (including those family members we judged to “love less” than him). Let’s not think we’re the only ones who are active in our lives! Our part is actually quite small — a continual conversion of heart to God — and then his blessings infuse us and those who we touch in our lives. His is the powerful work in the world, transforming it, not ours. 

    In other words, the whole point of hating your “own father and mother and wife and children and brothers and sisters” is to allow God to perfect you and give you the ability to love those same people better than you ever could have without his help.

    The Creation of Adam, Sistine Chapel ceiling (1511), Michelangelo | Creative commons, Wikimedia.

    The second reading (the only one in the Sunday lectionary cycle from the Letter to Philemon) is seemingly weird and out-of-context, but blossoms with this understanding of the gospel reading. Paul, writing from jail, is sending Philemon’s slave back to him after this slave, Onesimus, has spent time following Paul and learning about Christ. Onesimus has fled his master, perhaps even owing him money — is this not someone who “hates” his “father”? And, having been nurtured at Paul’s breast, he is returning to his “father” in an act of love by Paul. This is a parallel to what we can read in the gospel account. 

    Add to this the overtones of Paul’s Letter to the Galatians, where he writes, “So you are no longer a slave, but a son, and if a son, then an heir through God” (Galatians 4:7), and a rich tapestry emerges. In Sunday’s reading, Paul sits in the seat of a redeemed child of God — bearing his cross in jail for proclaiming Christ to the world, but acting with the power of the Father because of it. He sends back a former slave to his family, but not as a slave, but a fellow heir to the Kingdom: 

    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. 

    It is now Philemon’s turn to hate the teaching of his culture and the logic of the world, to accept Christ as Paul is urging him to, and to offer his forgiveness to a slave who has so obviously been healed by God. So, if we, like Onesimus the slave, hate our family in order to receive Christ and love him above all else, the divine logic decrees that this enables us to return to our families, even in debt or disgrace, in order to love them with clear eyes and a God-filled heart.

    I hope that this contemplation of the Sunday readings have struck a chord with you, that perhaps they have helped move you to approach the gospel with open ears and without the urge to compare Jesus’s words with what we think love and forgiveness should look like.

  • My Soul Magnifies the Lord

    My Soul Magnifies the Lord

    Thursday of the Fourth Week of Advent, Year A: 1 Samuel 1:24-28, Luke 1:46-56.

    Today the Church reminds us how humanity has been working in concert with God, 1,000 years apart; specifically, how unlikely mothers bore a child who would be a special link for the people to their God (see readings).

    Hannah, the mother of the great Jewish prophet and leader, Samuel, is a forerunner of Mary in her complete devotion to God and assent to keep her covenant with her God. Mary echoes Hannah’s words in the amazing Magnificat prayer, and supersedes Hannah in perfection. Both women work with God (as do their sons).

    In a past post, I compared their incredible prayers side-by-side. Today, I’d like to reflect on what this working with God might be – something more, surely than “living right,” or even doing God’s will. These women are in scripture because they inaugurated a special kind of cooperation with God.

    The Visitation,
    Dorothy Webster Hawksley (mid 1900s) | Image from melaniejeanjuneau.blog.

    We are accustomed to the word “cooperate” in our catechism: “Grace responds to the deepest yearnings of human freedom, calls freedom to cooperate with it, and perfects freedom” (CCC 2022). “Cooperate” in the religious sense means that our will gives over to God’s will, knowingly. It is different than the way we might cooperate with someone to, say, build a community garden. It’s not really just a cooperation of our intellect; it requires faith. Furthermore, it requires that our faith draw us into a correct relationship with God wherein we recognize His sovereignty and give ourselves over to His grace and love. We fully assent and He guides and draws us to Himself. If this sounds a little slippery and difficult, then we need to work on strengthening our faith, trust, and relationship with God.

    Jean Corbon, OP, prefers the Greek word synergeia, which he defines as “combined energy” or “joint activity,” instead of cooperate. His book Wellspring of Worship is a deep dive into the liturgy, where synergy plays an important role: “when [God] elicits our response to his multiform energy, the Spirit and the Church become one in an astounding ‘synergy’: the liturgy” (66).

    Mary is the first person where the liturgy as we know it forms; her will is completely turned over to God. The Holy Spirit dwells in her, in fact, impregnates her with divinity. She fully cooperates with God. She achieves an astounding synergy with God in forming Jesus. As Corbon writes, “When the river of life joins the energy of acceptance, it acquires a name: JESUS” (39).

    Let’s turn to just one small piece of textual analysis: Mary’s first line in the gospel reading. The lectionary says, “My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord,” but this common English translation has removed perhaps the most intriguing and potent word from the original Greek: Megalynei (to magnify). The original Vulgate Latin got it right: Magnificat anima mea Dominum. Heck, that’s why we call this prayer the Magnificat! The literal translation is “My soul magnifies my Lord,” and it is a perfect way for Mary to describe what is happening within her.

    Mary is both growing a human child and also cooperating spiritually with God to magnify His image, not only within herself but for the whole world. I say “magnify his image” because this is what the Church has always taught. In his Homilies on the Gospel of Luke, Origen of Alexandria explains that, while we cannot enlarge God in His nature, we can enlarge His Image within us. Likewise, in his Commentary on Luke, St. Ambrose elaborates:

    Truly the Lord is magnified: for you read somewhere else, ‘Magnify the Lord with me’ (Ps 33:4). This does not mean that human speech can add anything to the Lord; it means rather that the Lord grows within us. ‘Christ is the image of God’ (2 Cor 4:4), and therefore the soul that acts justly and devoutly magnifies this image of God, in whose likeness it was created (cf. Gn 1:27). It magnifies that image and – while magnifying it – participates in some sort in its grandeur and is made sublime. It appears to reproduce this icon within itself by the brilliant colors of its good deeds; and by its virtue it seems to copy the original. (2, 27).

    Yet even Mary is awaiting a more perfect sacramental synergy that won’t be gifted to humanity until Christ fulfills his life, sacrifice, and resurrection. This is another piece of the waiting and preparation we can connect to Advent. The reason we anticipate the Christ child so expectantly is that he will usher in a new life for us all, one where the gates of heaven are opened to us. One where we, too, can cooperate and achieve synergy with God along the lines of what Mary experienced. A life where our souls can magnify the image of God and through our charity we can be a source of inspiration for others to join the Church in liturgy.

    Synergy, Alex Raynham (contemporary) | Image from Saatchi Art.

    The Catechism (which Corbon had a hand in helping to write) provides us with a summary: “The desire and work of the Spirit in the heart of the Church is that we may live from the life of the risen Christ. When the Spirit encounters in us the response of faith which he has aroused in us, he brings about genuine cooperation. Through it, the liturgy becomes the common work of the Holy Spirit and the Church” (CCC 1091) [emphasis added]. This is our Church, the one, holy, apostolic, Catholic Church, instituted before time began and in a special way in history with Mary’s great “yes” to God.

    May we reverence her and see how she is a great signpost pointing to God, showing us how to cooperate, participate, and commune with the Spirit in the great liturgy that gives us life.

  • A Place for Fire

    A Place for Fire

    Second Sunday in Advent: Isaiah 11:1-10, Romans 15:4-9, Matthew 3:1-12.

    It is not in fashion to bring up damnation as a part of our religion. Heck, people look at you like you’re a superstitious nut if you mention Satan. The decades after Vatican II in America attempted to make Mass more “engaging,” and the catechism of both children and adults in the past 50 years … well, it softened, for lack of a better word. In a discussion with our first year Lay Dominican inquirers, several of us shared stories of priests we knew in our childhood telling people that more strict matters of doctrine and moral teaching were optional (or at least they would turn their heads and ignore it). Lest we think this is just anecdotal evidence, a 2021 Pew research poll asking if you could go to heaven if you don’t believe in God showed that 45% of non-Catholic Christians said yes to this prompt while 68% of Catholics said yes. Heaven without believing in God! Worse yet, a full 10% of the Catholics surveyed said they don’t believe in heaven (!!). What’s more, 26% of these Catholics don’t believe in hell. 

    Mosaic depiction of Satan in Hell, Baptistery of Saint John in Florence, Italy (1260-75) | Image courtesy Holly Hayes on Flickr. More on this image below, at the end of the reflection.

    These are fundamental aspects of our faith. Christ didn’t come to earth to start a feel-good-about-yourself community of do-gooders. If we deny the whole point of our faith — going to heaven to be in union with God — then there is no point in calling ourselves Christian. Let’s put this another (more positive) way … if we believe in Jesus Christ, it would do good to listen to what he promises us: heaven for those who walk in his Way, hell for those who don’t. This is reality for eternity, of course, which might be the very thing that people don’t want to come to grips with. 

    Why bring this up now, in cosy, rosy Advent of all times? Well, I’m just following the Lectionary here. Today’s readings give us the same first reading from Isaiah that we encountered on Tuesday of week one, paired with Matthew’s introduction of St. John the Baptist. I reflected on much of the Isaiah reading on Tuesday, but I’d like to focus on two different lines from this passage today: “He shall strike the ruthless with the rod of his mouth, and with the breath of his lips he shall slay the wicked.” Isaiah is, of course, referring to the Anointed One, the shoot from the stump of Jesse, who we know as Jesus Christ. In the midst of passages that glow about his wisdom, fear of the Lord, and faithfulness, Isaiah puts in these lines about striking the ruthless and slaying the wicked. If these lines seem out of place, then we must remind ourselves of God’s plan. 

    The key word that unites these concepts of peace and retribution occurs in the very next line: “Justice shall be the band around his waist.” God’s justice is that the pure of heart are rewarded while the wicked are punished. Both of these, reward and punishment, are part of God’s promise to His People. We can’t choose to ignore this.

    Thus, the line after this also follows logically: “and faithfulness a belt upon his hips.” The Messiah is, above all, faithful to the Lord whom he loves and fears. It is faithfulness to the Father’s will that makes the distribution of justice happen. Aren’t these great qualities, justice and faithfulness? Then why do I still sense some Catholics squirming with uneasiness at these words?

    This was always the job of the prophesied Messiah: to bring peace and justice. Why have we skewed so far towards the peaceful Lamb of God rather than the Lord of Justice in our modern age? What is it about divine justice and retribution that disturbs us? Perhaps it is because we have ingrained in ourselves a very correct Christian morality of upholding life — not harming others and not judging others. This is good! But let’s not apply the rules of the servants to the master. It’s like ants in a little plastic ant farm looking out at the human caring for them and saying, wait, why aren’t you rooting around in sand? What has been given to us for our own good is not for us to turn around and try to apply to God.

    Last Judgement, Giotto (1306) | Creative Commons, courtesy Wikimedia. The Last Judgment at the Arena Chapel (Cappella Scrovegni), in Padua. Christ in Majesty is surrounded by a rainbow mandorla and angels, flanked by the Apostles. The Heavenly Host is above, while the saved and the damned are shown below, rising to Heaven or being dragged to Hell. What would our faith be without Christ as rightful judge at the Last Judgement? We can’t excise this from our beliefs and still call ourselves Catholics.

    In fact, God is the only just judge. It is his rightful role. To tell him not to judge is like telling a fish not to swim. It is what He was always meant to do. Instead of fretting over this, we should thank him endlessly for his love and mercy (and for being God, because only the one who knows us better than we know ourselves would be qualified to be our judge). So, why be uneasy with the fact that the just judge will come to dispense justice?

    Maybe it’s because we think the punishment doesn’t suit the crime (amateur, unqualified mini judges that we are). We might argue that just because someone does some bad stuff here on earth, that doesn’t merit eternal damnation, without parole! Apart from the fact that we’re breaking rule #1 (it’s not our place to judge or weigh merit), there are two problems with this line of reasoning. First, we have forgotten that actions in this life have consequences beyond the immediate ones. Think of the butterfly effect. On a physical level, a drunk driving accident that paralyzes a person impacts them and their family and acquaintances for generations, far beyond what we could know or anticipate. A worse crime might occur on a spiritual level, where our sins might spiritually cripple someone, even cause them to turn from God and lose their own salvation. This is a grave crime indeed.

    Second, and related, we misunderstand what type of beings we are, having a body, mind, and soul. This makes us believe a weird version of the Las Vegas slogan, “what happens on earth stays on earth.” In fact, what we do on earth has impact in the afterlife, precisely because our soul is irrevocably wrapped up in the actions of our mind and body. Our soul receives the stain when we sin with our body. God has given us a physical life here as well as a greater life that our soul is already a part of, even while we’re here on earth. Thus, our eternal soul is committing crimes that resonate in eternity while we are here on earth. Even to our limited rational mind and logic, the punishment suits the crime.

    The scarier part here is that atheists and others who don’t take heaven and hell seriously are not exempt from justice and punishment just because they mistakenly choose to stick their heads in the sand about the whole matter. They are committing crimes in eternity without even accepting the moral teaching that would help them avoid sin and repent for the ones they have committed. We should have pity on them. This is why the salvation of souls is such an important goal for Dominicans (and all Christians), and something that will always be needed.

    So, can we Catholics accept the fact that God, our just judge, will come to both reward and punish?

    No? You say God is love and he would never punish because that’s evil? Ho, ho – one final objection to overcome. I won’t dwell on the fact that we are in no place to dictate what God can’t do, and that we live in faith, meaning in the totality of the faith and revelation that has been handed down to us (including the bits about divine retribution). Instead, I’ll attempt the more rational, logical argument, following Aquinas’s lead. The point that God is pure love and goodness is the very proof that punishment and banishment to Gehenna must happen. Pure goodness cannot exist alongside evil. That would be impossible, like trying to make oil become part of water. God’s goodness is like a white hot, purifying flame, and those who have been tested in the fire during life, like gold purified from slag, will glory in the pure flame of God’s love (this is reward). Meanwhile, those who have remained slag, or perhaps piled on more muck that they created themselves, will smoke and burn and writhe in the presence of God’s love.

    Perhaps this is hell, the burning out. Perhaps it is a place in the underworld. I don’t know. But what I know is the promise, in the words of Jesus Christ: 

    Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you are like whitewashed tombs, which on the outside look beautiful, but inside they are full of the bones of the dead and of all kinds of filth. So you also on the outside look righteous to others, but inside you are full of hypocrisy and lawlessness … You snakes, you brood of vipers! How can you escape being sentenced to hell?  (Mt 23:27,28, 33).

    I bring up all of this is to get us to the point of understanding St. John the Baptist, who makes his appearance every Advent as we contemplate the coming of Jesus Christ. I love John. What a figure! The final prophet, the bridge between the old covenant and the new, the voice crying out in the wilderness. In our reverence of this saint, however, let’s not lose sight of just what a wild figure he was. “John wore clothing made of camel’s hair and had a leather belt around his waist. His food was locusts and wild honey.” This is not normal — not now, not then. Setting the fashion for centuries’ worth of future desert ascetics wasn’t his only standout quality, though. He was a true fire and brimstone preacher, and famous throughout the land. Something was different with him and his message. 

    Altar Frontal from Gésera, Spain (1200s) depicting John the Baptist preaching in the desert, surrounded by wild animals | Image from Museu Nacional d’Art de Catalunya, Barcelona.

    We are told that his message was, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand!” This is something that Jesus would echo throughout his ministry, too. So, after God spent centuries preparing His People to develop their faith, culminating in the woman who would bear God as the Ark of the New Covenant, John spends these last moments before Jesus begins his ministry by preparing the people to bear the Word in their hearts. 

    John and Jesus share a fondness for calling out Pharisees: “When he saw many of the Pharisees and Sadducees coming to his baptism, he said to them, ‘You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the coming wrath?’” We cannot turn a blind eye to the fact that John and Jesus’s message was one of preparing for the Final Judgement, the “coming wrath.” Today’s readings put this uncomfortable fact front and center. Advent is about preparing for Jesus, and that preparation has very, very serious stakes.

    Consider how central “fire” is to St. John’s short speech about God’s judgment. “Even now the ax lies at the root of the trees. Therefore every tree that does not bear good fruit will be cut down and thrown into the fire.” Fire consumes the trees that do not bear the fruit for which they were planted. And then: “His winnowing fan is in his hand. He will clear his threshing floor and gather his wheat into his barn, but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire.” Fire immolates the leftover and useless chaff that was separated from the life-bearing grain. In both instances, fire is the judgement rendered, and importantly that fire cleans. It is a way to finalize the harvest season, to reset an ordered existence. 

    Fire Blaze, Carol Carter (contemporary) | Image from CCarterWatercolors Etsy page.

    So, when John also tells us that Jesus “will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire,” we must realize that the cleansing, ordered, perfect fire of God is present with us from the very beginning of our journey to Him. Our baptism is conducted with the grace of the Holy Spirit and the soul-cleansing effect of fire. Fire is there in the beginning and it will be there in the end. There is a place for fire.

    After all, there is even fire (in a positive sense, as in baptism), for those who will enter heaven. Being united to the divine glory that is the fiery love and goodness of God, our earthly concerns will be immolated by the great love we will bear in our whole beings, participating fully in that irresistible and never-ending flow of love in the Trinity.

    If we are still bugged by the question of how do we feel about a God who judges harshly, then I think we need to contemplate the wild, frightening words of St. John the Baptist. We must take seriously the covenant God has made with us. We must repent for our sins, convert our hearts, and strive with all of our beings to be on the right side of the judgement. And we have to understand that there is a rightful place for fire.  

    Christ and the Last Judgement, mosaic in Saint John Baptistery in Florence, Italy (1260-75) | Image is a preview download from Alamy.com. Here we have the fuller composition of the image at the top of this reflection (apologies for the watermarks). Note that the damned in hell are presided over by the council of prophets and angels – in particular, note the wild-haired St. John the Baptist on the far left. This is a good reminder of our doctrine: hell is a sentence that is passed on those who have not “born good fruit” in life and accepted God; it is just and ordered, promised from the beginning. Unlike popular culture conceptions of good and evil fighting it out in an almost-equal battle (think of Star Wars), we condemn that heresy as dualism. Evil and Satan certainly exist, but they serve as part of the crucible of perfecting ourselves in this life and then as the jailers of hell in the afterlife. God has no equal and Jesus has already defeated death and Satan. The other important aspect of this mosaic is that it shows the deep medieval understanding of the important truths of the faith that are inaugurated with baptism. This magnificent Battistero di San Giovanni reveals to the initiates on the inside of its walls in glorious fashion the mysteries of our faith, including the fact that they are being baptized with the Holy Spirit and fire. They are being brought into the faith that promises a Final Judgement by fire from the very beginning.

     

  • Laboring for the Master’s Harvest

    Laboring for the Master’s Harvest

    aturday in the First Week of Advent: Isaiah 30:19-21, 23-26, Matthew 9:35–10:1, 5A, 6-8.

    I have reflected in the past on the use of agricultural metaphors in scripture (see The Generous Harvest Without Cost, and Laborers for the Harvest), and today’s readings provide another opportunity to do so. The backyard gardener in me loves these metaphors – there is something so wholesome, so fundamentally human about working the land and then transforming its products into food and drink. The harvest, in particular, connects to something even deeper – life itself in those plants, which has reached a ripeness that yields fruit; this is the germ of the new generation, whether eaten by humans or plowed back into the earth for next year’s crop.

    The Harvesters, Léon Augustin Lhermitte (1888-1889) | Creative Commons, courtesy the Art Institute of Chicago.

    I’ll get philosophical here and claim that the fecundity of Creation reaches an inflection point in the harvest. OK, two $5 words there. Fecundity, meaning all of the potential fertility of a system. Inflection point, which my mathematician wife would happily define for us as the point on a curve when it changes concavity (convex to concave or vice versa) – imagine the very crest of a wave. If life on earth has a cyclical nature, then harvest is one inflection point while germination is its twin. 

    The entire cycle of germination ⇔ harvest is graced by the Creator, as Isaiah tells us today: “He will give rain for the seed that you sow in the ground, And the wheat that the soil produces will be rich and abundant.” But let’s not confuse this with “praying for rain” as in pagan nature worship. Isaiah is talking about God’s providential grace, His purposeful blessing of His People that is outside of the natural course of random weather patterns and such. This is a promise of something special and new: “No longer will your Teacher hide himself, but with your own eyes you shall see your Teacher.” Images of nature and harvest in scripture always serve as signs of something greater. Thus, Isaiah promises with apocalyptic language, “The light of the moon will be like that of the sun and the light of the sun will be seven times greater … On the day the LORD binds up the wounds of his people.” Once again, let there be no doubt that this is the promise of a great intervention on the part of God for His people. And, as we have reflected nearly every day of this first week of Advent, that great intervention is Jesus Christ, God made flesh.

    So, what do we make of these agricultural signs once the promise is being fulfilled? 

    As he works his ministry of healing bodies and souls, Jesus has compassion on the “harassed and helpless” crowds (or “troubled and abandoned” as the lectionary states). He tells his disciples, “The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few; therefore ask the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into his harvest.” The harvest – the inflection point where the ripeness of Creation is given over – is no longer portrayed as a harvest of wheat but a harvest of souls. The master of the harvest in the Time of Promises (Old Testament) would have always been a human, harvesting food for the good of the human community. But now, Jesus explains that the master of the harvest is God Himself, and what is being harvested – the ripe fruit of Creation – are souls in need of saving.

    This is a fairly huge point. Jesus has compassion on a particular group: the helpless, abandoned crowds of troubled people. These poor, sick, demented, sinful people are his ripe fruit! He does not send the apostles to go harvest all the priests and Pharisees who uphold the Mosaic law down to the tiniest restriction. Jesus sees with the eyes of the Father, past the sin and ailments to the soul. This is the great message of hope that Jesus brings us: we are all children of God, all worthy to be saved. The outward trappings of failure matter little to God. It is faith and a contrite heart that God looks for.

    Detail from October Harvest, Van Matino (contemporary) | Image from Art Leaders Gallery. When I first saw this detail crop of the larger painting, I honestly couldn’t figure out what it was at first – the glowing pear on the right was so lustrous that I thought it was an abstract painting. The richness of the colors in the fruit is a nice analogy for what God must see in us – our shining souls – rather than how we picture ourselves.

    And what of the cycle? If harvest is the first inflection point, what of germination? What will come of this harvest? 

    Jesus tells them, “As you go, make this proclamation: ‘The Kingdom of heaven is at hand.’ Cure the sick, raise the dead, cleanse lepers, drive out demons.” These are things you do for people in spiritual trouble; rather, that you do for souls in need of saving. Jesus makes it clear that the disciples and his own ministry are operating on a new plane: a spiritual one that transcends the physical one. The Kingdom of heaven is at hand! The new life that Jesus is in the process of begetting with this harvest of souls is infinitely greater. It is eternal life in heaven.

    Cycles are abolished with this set of inflection points to end all cycles. The harvest that Christ began in his ministry and successfully established with his sacrifice to the Father has changed the concavity of history. We exist now in the end times, able to be a part of the harvest of souls as laborers and the harvested. We await the final germination of our souls in the Kingdom of Heaven, that final inflection point upward. This is explained in the letter to the Hebrews:

    For Christ did not enter a sanctuary made by human hands, a mere copy of the true one, but he entered into heaven itself, now to appear in the presence of God on our behalf. Nor was it to offer himself again and again, as the high priest enters the Holy Place year after year with blood that is not his own; for then he would have had to suffer again and again since the foundation of the world. But as it is, he has appeared once for all at the end of the age to remove sin by the sacrifice of himself. And just as it is appointed for mortals to die once, and after that the judgment, so Christ, having been offered once to bear the sins of many, will appear a second time, not to deal with sin, but to save those who are eagerly waiting for him.  (Heb 9:24-28).

    Yes, may we all be “eagerly waiting for him,” harvested and ready to gain new life in the Kingdom. And, particularly for those of the Dominican charism, we must hear the call to be laborers in this harvest – the salvation of souls must be our heart’s desire, just as it is God’s.

     

  • Pylons of Faith, Sweat of the Brow

    Pylons of Faith, Sweat of the Brow

    Thursday of the First Week of Advent, Year A: Isaiah 26:1-6, Matthew 7:21, 24-27.

    The beginning of the first week of Advent has set our eyes upon the goal: Christ’s entrance into the world and – at the same time – the fullness of the Kingdom that will come. Today’s readings remind us that to partake in this prize that we anticipate, we must have faith and do God’s will.

    As Jesus says in the gospel reading, “Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the Kingdom of heaven.” Maybe it’s just me, but those words send a chill down my spine. The thought of not spending eternity in God’s presence is my greatest fear. Perhaps we run the risk of getting too comfy with the thought of our ever-merciful, ever-loving God that we forget we have a real covenant with Him, one that we must uphold on our end, too.

    Isaiah is given this knowledge, as he relates in the first reading: “Open up the gates to let in a nation that is just, one that keeps faith.” These are the two ingredients: keeping faith in God (and, as we shall see with Jesus, in His Son), and being “just,” which means acting according to God’s will.

    Justice is a big theme in the Old Testament, and it boils down to the application of God’s law to human situations. Justice is where the rubber hits the road, as they say. We read in the Psalms: “Blessed are they who observe justice, who do righteousness at all times!” (Ps 106:3). Justice was understood as an active thing that people do, and righteousness is specifically applied to those who act justly.

    Justice and righteousness, of course, cannot be understood outside of their relationship with God, who is the ultimate source of justice and good. A person’s righteousness is measured against how much his “doing justice” is in line with God’s goodness and justice. And it is God’s will that we act justly and be righteous, as we read in Proverbs: “To do righteousness and justice is more acceptable to the Lord than sacrifice” (Pro 21:3). 

    The Good Samaritan (Le Bon Samaritain), Théodule Ribot (1870) – Musée des beaux-arts de Pau | Creative Commons, courtesy Wikimedia. I can’t think of a greater example of “doing righteousness” than the one Jesus gives us in the parable of the Good Samaritan. I particularly like Ribot’s use of chiaroscuro and style of realism that anticipates the brushstrokes of impressionism because they heighten the ever singular nature of righteousness as the application of God’s will in a particular encounter between humans, often without any observers.

    Jesus ratifies this understanding of active justice = righteousness, and raises the stakes when he says in today’s gospel that the one who will enter Heaven is “only the one who does the will of my Father.” This is new. Before Jesus, there was no way for humanity to gain entry into the Kingdom for eternity – this was not on the table for the Jewish nation and thus their hope took on a more worldly, nation-building aspect. But with Christ, the horizon of hope and the aspirations of humanity became immeasurably greater.

    With Jesus, the prophecies about a triumphant Jerusalem were shown to be about a heavenly Jerusalem, not an earthly one. The true temple is now understood as the Body of Christ, and the laws of the prophets is perfected in the Way of Love that he demonstrated.

    The first ingredient for salvation is faith in Jesus Christ: if you don’t accept that he is the true Son of God, then you can’t accept the new Jerusalem, the new temple, or the Way of Love as the only path to Heaven. All of those things rest in the person of Jesus Christ. But today Jesus reminds us that this is not all – “Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the Kingdom of heaven.” Why is this not all? Because Jesus himself is but the fullest expression of loving the Father and doing His will. Jesus always points back to the Father, insists that “His will be done.” 

    And, crucially, His will is not to be done passively. Doing God’s will means … well, doing.

    Even though God could act decisively in Creation without us doing anything (after all, He created it to begin with!), His will is precisely that we act in the same love He brings to Creation. Jesus could not be clearer in today’s reading: “only the one who does the will of my Father in heaven” will spend eternity in Heaven. Emphasis on “does the will,” not “accepts” or “watches” or “approves of.” This doesn’t mean that we should run out and start a mission house for the poor or sell everything we have and give it to the Church (unless you hear God’s call to do that). We don’t have to invent things to do. Instead, let’s consider every act we already do throughout our day and weigh them against whether they are in line with God’s will.

    The words that we do (or do not) offer to someone in greeting as we pass them – are they in line with the Father’s will? How about the thoughts that enter our head before we even formulate words of greeting? Is our heart conformed to God? Do we think generous thoughts about people we know as well as strangers? If not, now’s the time to start praying for God’s mercy to enter our hearts, to soften them, to fill our minds with positive, generous, loving things. This is the work of resisting the temptations to hate, jealousy, resentment, etc. that Satan spends his hours insinuating in our minds. It takes prayer, reliance on God’s power, and placing ourselves at His feet. He is our armor of light and will protect us.

    But something, too, should be said about engagement and encounter. Especially in today’s pandemic-conscious environment, we have become accustomed to a certain amount of personal, sanitized space. Whether working from home or avoiding that person who is coughing, we live in a very different world than just a few years ago. Yet we have to admit that God is found in encounter with others, and the Church is fundamentally a community and communion of many. God’s will is particularly meaningful when applied to others. The great commandment is to love God above all else AND love our neighbors as ourselves. This demands some type of encounter and engagement. This doesn’t have to be face-to-face (especially for those who are sick, immunocompromised, etc.), but for most of us, the post-pandemic era perhaps tempts us to be a little more selfish with our space and time.

    House Built on Rock, Sandi Hester (contemporary) | Image from paintingtheword.com.

    One last thing resonates with me about today’s gospel reading. Jesus’s analogy is interesting: “Everyone who listens to these words of mine and acts on them will be like a wise man who built his house on rock.” The first half of his statement is a repetition of what he said earlier about doing God’s will, only this time God is configured as “these words of mine” (this is coming from the Word of God, the Logos himself, of course). Remember Jesus’s words, “If you know me, you will know my Father also” (John 14:7a). Next, the analogy is to build a house on a rock. The force of this analogy is the solidity and permanence of the structure. If faith is the firm ground upon which we stand in life, then the full Way of Christ – faith plus doing God’s will – is that solidity multiplied and lasting, carrying us all the way to Heaven.

    It makes sense that Jesus presents this analogy as a man building his house because it is by the sweat of our brow, the good work we do, that we multiply the solidity of our faith. You may have noticed this in practice. Have you ever felt bad about giving some money to someone in need or providing a cheery hello to someone and seeing their expression change to a creaky grin, surprised at the random niceness sent their way? God has built within us a natural reinforcement for doing His will – it feels good. It is the companion to our conscience, which alerts us when something against God’s will is afoot. This positive reinforcement for acts of love and generosity is baked into the very acts themselves. It’s the true source of happiness. It’s doing God’s will.

    Today’s readings echo resoundingly the active preparation we are called to do in Advent upon which we reflected on the first Sunday of the season. May we all prepare actively through prayer, praise, feast, and love!

  • Feasting in Christ

    Wednesday in the First Week of Advent – the Feast of Saint Andrew, Apostle: Romans 10:9-18, Matthew 4:18-22.

    Today we celebrate the Feast of an Apostle – St. Andrew, to be precise. The readings mark his calling and celebrate the evangelical work of all the apostles. Feasts stud the liturgical calendar like cloves spiked into the oranges of a fragrant mulled cider. They interrupt liturgical seasons like prairie dogs sticking their heads out of their holes in seemingly flat landscape. Yet despite their seeming incongruity and randomness with respect to the liturgical seasons, they always point back to the great revelation of God in our midst and help us deepen our ongoing festival of the Lord.

    Andrew the Apostle, detail of the mosaic in the Basilica of San Vitale, Ravenna Italy (526-547) | Creative Commons, courtesy Wikimedia.

    What does it mean to feast? What is the nature of a festival? German Catholic philosopher Josef Pieper (1904-1997) has written several books that look closely at these questions and provide us with a proper understanding. Pieper acknowledges that a festival is a “day of rejoicing” and, more profoundly, that “joy is the response of a lover receiving what he loves” (In Tune with the World, 18). He musters St. John Chrysostom as proof – the great saint wrote, “Ubi caritas gaudete, ibi est festivitas,” “Where love rejoices, there is festivity.” True joy, true festival, means that love is at work, responding to something sublime that is the object of what the feasting person longs for. The next move Pieper makes in his small, must-read book, In Tune with the World, interestingly uses a note from Frederich Nietzsche in Book IV of his Will to Power: “To have joy in anything, one must approve everything.” Pieper latches onto this insight and writes:

    Festivity lives on affirmation. Even celebrations for the dead, All Souls and Good Friday, can never be truly celebrated except on the basis of faith that all is well with the world and life as a whole. If there is no consolation, the idea of a funeral as a solemn act is self-contradictory … Consolation exists only on the premise that grief, sorrow, death, are accepted, and therefore affirmed, as meaningful in spite of everything. … To celebrate a festival means: to live out, for some special occasion and in an uncommon manner, the universal assent to the world as a whole  (21, 23).

    Finally, Pieper can connect the dots for us: “there can be no more radical assent to the world than the praise of God, the lauding of the Creator of this same world. One cannot conceive a more intense, more unconditional affirmation of being” (24). Aha! So, my praise of God is an assent to all that He has created. Can I get an Amen?? To me, this makes a lot of sense. Folding back in Chrysostom’s phrase, where love rejoices, this compounds the need to define festival in relationship to God, who is pure love. True festival and feasting mean partaking in the very joyous love that God offers us, it means stopping our usual utilitarian work and activity to simply feast with Him on love.

    I go to the trouble of defining feasting because, as Pieper details, there are many false festivals in today’s culture. We can’t simply make ourselves happy without reason. We can’t pretend to celebrate something that is hollow in its core. True feasting, with thankfulness for God and his Creation at its heart, is the most important activity that humans can do – and the highest form of this feasting occurs in the liturgy. Our rituals of prayer, thanksgiving, sacrament, and community are the truest and purest form of festival that we can encounter on earth. All other festivals have meaning to the degree that they participate in liturgical festivity. Fourth of July? Not so much. Halloween? No, sir. Christmas? Of course (if done right)! 

    Photo of the Divine Liturgy at Holy Virgin Russian Orthodox Cathedral – Joy of All Who Sorrow – in San Francisco, CA | Image from anothercity.org. Tell me this doesn’t look like a festival! 

    Special feasts during the liturgical year are not interruptions of a season, but punctuations. Every aspect of liturgy participates in the gift of the Holy Spirit, the constantly reciprocated divine love that is the Trinity. Feasts allow us to contemplate different ways the love of the Trinity has dwelt with humanity. Notably, Christ is the center of these since he is the Incarnation of the divinity, our Chief Priest, our intercessor with the Father. When we celebrate a feast day, we have the opportunity to dwell with God outside of work and utilitarian effort, to reflect upon the focus of the feast and rejoice in thankfulness. What’s more, we celebrate alongside the saints and angels in heaven!

    So, we celebrate with Andrew, brother of Simon Peter, today. We consider his courage and the ray of faith and trust that must have pierced his heart when Jesus met them on the shores of Galilee, inviting them to drop their nets and follow him. We pat him on his heavenly back for such courage and faith! We put our arms around his shoulders to walk with him during Christ’s ministry, Passion, death and Resurrection. And then we gaze on him lovingly as he sets about evangelizing in the world after the Holy Spirit descends and sets the apostles afire. For, as St. Paul writes in the first reading today, “But how can they call on him in whom they have not believed? And how can they believe in him of whom they have not heard? And how can they hear without someone to preach?” Feasting with St. Paul and St. Andrew, they reveal to us that they didn’t think twice about traveling around the Levant and Asia – souls needed to hear about Jesus Christ so that they could be saved. As we remember the great stories of St. Andrew in the Byzantine Church – that he went through what was to become Constantinople, traveled all around the Black Sea into what is today’s Ukraine, all the way up the Dnieper River to the future location of Kyiv, where he erected a cross on the site where the Saint Andrew’s Church of Kyiv currently stands, and where he prophesied the foundation of a great Christian city – we can imagine hearing his great seafaring tales over mugs of beer. This is a feast, after all! We affirm the world that God created, in its need for salvation, in its tales of adventure, sacrifice, strife, joy, and love.

    Saint Andrew erecting the cross on the hills of the Dnieper River; a prophecy of the city of Kyiv (15th century) | Creative Commons, courtesy Wikimedia. This is from the Radziwiłł Letopis, also known as the Königsberg Chronicle, which is an Old East Slavic illuminated manuscript from the 15th-century; it is believed to be a copy of a 13th-century original.

    And of course feast days can shed light on the liturgical season in which they fall; they are both rooted in the same constant festival of the liturgy. The Feast of St. Andrew sheds light on the Advent season, too. Andrew and the Apostles are our link to the Christ Event that we prepare for. They are the ones who saw and believed, who preached and spread the Word so that we, too, could become brothers and sisters in Christ. Without Andrew and the other Apostles, we would not be celebrating Advent and would be stuck in pagan ways, ignorant of the saving grace of Christ. So, with them and the angels, we await to greet Christ at his birth and again at his second coming.

  • Joy in Revelation

    Joy in Revelation

    Tuesday in the First Week of Advent: Isaiah 11:1-10, Luke 10:21-24.

    When I read today’s readings, it’s hard to contain my sense of expectation for the Kingdom. Isaiah’s poetic language gives sparkling life to the visions God has revealed to him. Luke then shows us an intimate moment outside of his teaching and miracles when Jesus speaks directly to his Father, thanking Him. “The kingdom of God is at hand,” Jesus says earlier in this chapter of Luke, and the impact of today’s readings urges us to share Jesus’s gratitude for what God has given us in history.

    Much like we saw in Sunday’s reading from Isaiah, chapter 2, today we also find a vision of Christ’s coming into humanity followed immediately by the more eschatological vision of God’s kingdom yet to come. This is Advent! We celebrate and await both of these events simultaneously. The first part of today’s passage describes Jesus in lyrical imagery: “A shoot shall sprout from the stump of Jesse, and from his roots a bud shall blossom.” This naturalistic image of regeneration from something old and thought to be dead is yet another reminder of God’s constancy. The kingdom of Judah to which Jesse belonged fell to the Assyrians during Isaiah’s lifetime. It seemed to be the total destruction of God’s people, as the kingdoms of Israel and Samaria had fallen some years earlier. But God shares a great promise of redemption and regeneration with Isaiah. The “stump” of Jesse is not dead – God still has plans for His people.

    The Tree of Jesse, unknown artist from a psalter in Würzburg, Germany (1240-1250) | Image courtesy the Getty Museum. From the Getty description: “In this image, as was traditional in representations of this theme, Jesse appears as the root, from which sprouts a tree supporting the Virgin and Child. Above Jesse, two prophets hold scrolls with verses that were understood to refer to the Virgin. Along with two prophets whose scrolls were never filled in, they point towards the Virgin and Child. At the top of the tree, the Virgin presents an orb, symbol of the Messiah’s dominion, while Jesus raises his hand in blessing.”

    Isaiah is shown that the Spirit of God will rest upon His Messiah: “The Spirit of the LORD shall rest upon him: a Spirit of wisdom and of understanding, A Spirit of counsel and of strength, a Spirit of knowledge and of fear of the LORD, and his delight shall be the fear of the LORD.” The Holy Spirit is key to today’s readings. Isaiah is taught that the Spirit gives specific gifts and, of these, the fear of the Lord is especially prized. What does this teach us? The Book of Proverbs tells us that the fear of the Lord is “the beginning of knowledge” (Prov 1:7), “a fountain of life” (Prov 14:27), and that “To fear the Lord is to hate evil” (Prov 8:13). The gifts of the Spirit find their strength in this greatest gift, the fear of the Lord. By delighting in his God-given fear of the Lord, Jesus devotes himself entirely to God’s will, fighting evil, and establishing the Kingdom as God intends. Can we imagine what having a Spirit of fear of the Lord – and delighting in it – might be like, personally? Could it be a knowledge of our utter dependence, leading to an aching and a joy to do His Will? Could such a sublime giving over of ourselves to the fear of the Lord be the fabric of miracles?

    Then Isaiah gives us some shocking images almost humorous in their unbelievability: “Then the wolf shall be a guest of the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the kid; The calf and the young lion shall browse together, with a little child to guide them.” Whaaaa?? I particularly like the image of a lion eating hay and a baby frolicking in a cobra’s den. But let’s not dismiss this as fancy or hyperbole. This is a divine vision of the kingdom! Isaiah makes this clear: “There shall be no harm or ruin on all my holy mountain; for the earth shall be filled with knowledge of the LORD, as water covers the sea.” He employs the same prophetic imagery of the holy mountain that signals the meeting of humanity and divinity, and we see that, in addition, all of creation is caught up in God’s will. All of creation is suffused with God in the kingdom; this means that they shun evil like oil avoids mixing with water. Love is simply incompatible with harm, and we receive a remarkable vision of heaven where even the base instincts and hungers that we consider to be “natural” simply fade away in the presence of God. Even a leopard will lie down peaceably with a baby goat. This is a vision of life perfected, of the resurrection, where things still exist bodily and in distinct kind, but their “trueness” is one revealed and perfected by God, according to His plan. We might say it’s like the Garden of Eden, but it’s even greater.

    At the end of this passage, Isaiah says something that might be confusing to some readers: “On that day, the root of Jesse, set up as a signal for the nations, the Gentiles shall seek out, for his dwelling shall be glorious.” What is clear here is that non-Jews will seek out Jesus Christ, who shines in the world as a “signal,” guiding them to his glorious kingdom. What is less clear is the phrase “on that day.” Without a knowledge in prophetic language and faith in how Christ’s reign has revealed itself in history, we can run into problems like fundamentalist Christians who attempt to read every passage in scripture literally. A small digression here: to read scriptures strictly literally is to deny the richness of human culture (poetry, lyricism, allegory, etc.) but also to deny the difficult-to-express but ever-so-important language of mystical revelation. Our faith, from Abraham until now, has as its hallmark the revelation of God in the hearts of humans, too fragile to ever truly contain His Word. Not just a facet of our religion, but it’s hallmark. God speaks to Abraham, Moses, David, Jesse, all the prophets, Jesus … and then to countless saints, famously including St. John of the Cross and Theresa of Avila who attempted to describe the way all Christians can strive to have a mystical experience of God. Revelation and mystical experiences of God confound language and intellect, as they necessarily must since they have the divine essence at their root. Thus, when we read revelation, we must understand that language itself is struggling to express the glories revealed to us, and must employ allegory, symbols, poetry, and more just to convey a bit of what was revealed.

    Back to “on that day.” We must understand that Isaiah is speaking in kairos time, not chronos time. In fact, all of revelation is primarily about kairos time. The Greeks understood kairos as the proper or supreme moment, a time when something is fulfilled. In this passage, the “day” Isaiah is talking about is the “day of the Lord,” or the coming of Christ into humanity. As discussed in Sunday’s reflection, we can properly call this the Christ Event, which is not just the Incarnation or Nativity, but the sum of everything Christ means to us, including the Day of Judgment and final establishment of the kingdom of God. We exist now within a thread of historical time that is superseded by and subsumed within the great Christ Event that is ongoing. So, Isaiah’s vision of the Kingdom is rightfully associated with the coming of Jesus Christ as understood in kairos time.

    Byzantine icon of the Nativity, provenance unknown | Image from orthodoxcityhermit.com. It is interesting to compare images of the Nativity from Western art to those from Eastern Orthodox art. Icon “writers” are masters of depicting kairos time. From a Western perspective, we prioritize realism, even in our religious art, and thus a specific moment is usually depicted from a chronos perspective. But in highly symbolic Eastern icons, moments like the angels proclaiming to the shepherds, the arrival of the three magi, Joseph questioning the illogic of the Incarnation (and being tempted by a Satan figure to disbelief), and the trinity shining down on the birth of Christ can all happen in the same painting. In fact, one might argue that the spiritual significance of the Christ Event would be lessened if such details and other symbols were absent. 

    And so, with Isaiah’s words ringing in our ears, Jesus picks up the holy resonance and trumpets his thankfulness for the Spirit of the Lord resting upon him:

    Jesus rejoiced in the Holy Spirit and said,
    “I give you praise, Father, Lord of heaven and earth,
    for although you have hidden these things
    from the wise and the learned
    you have revealed them to the childlike. 
    Yes, Father, such has been your gracious will.” 

    Contextually, this appears in the gospel of Luke right after the 70 disciples return from the mission he sent them upon. This is the very first incarnation of the Church, the followers of Christ who he infuses with his Holy Spirit to work miracles in the world. They return jubilant, saying “Lord, in your name even the demons submit to us!” Jesus shares their joy and adds, “Nevertheless, do not rejoice at this, that the spirits submit to you, but rejoice that your names are written in heaven” (Lk 10:17 and 20). In other words, do not rejoice at the powers you have here on earth, for they belong to God, not you; instead, rejoice that you have been chosen by God to be a part of His plan and will. 

    Today’s passage occurs immediately after and is a continuation of Jesus’s joyous thankfulness. And he is directly talking about revelation: “you have revealed [these hidden things] to the childlike.” As we consider this, we realize that this is the same revelation shared with Isaiah. Jesus, the blossoming growth from the stump of Jesse, has the Spirit of God upon him and is establishing the kingdom for humanity. And consider the significance of how this played out: Jesus shares the Spirit of God with his disciples so that they can defeat evil in the world and bring about the nearness of the Kingdom. Have you ever heard someone wonder if Jesus could have just snapped his fingers and saved humanity/ended suffering while he was alive? Being God and all… Well, the answer is that he exists exclusively to do the Father’s will. If that was the Father’s will, then, yes, that’s possible. But clearly that wasn’t the Father’s will. Instead, He willed that Jesus establish a Way for us to follow, establish a Church on earth for us to work God’s will ourselves, and establish our justification to belong to Heaven as his brothers and sisters, thanks to his own merit and sacrifice for our sins. Today’s gospel passage occurs as Jesus and the 70 disciples see the middle part of the plan, the establishment of the Church for our own benefit.

    Still, it is Christ alone who sees the great revelation being played out and the stunning graciousness of God’s will. This is how we must all feel about God’s will for humanity: joyous thankfulness. Perhaps this is why Advent is not canonically known as a penitential season but instead is treated as “penitential lite” (sic). We celebrate the fruits of revelation occurring in our midst! We must be utterly thankful and joyous over this. As Jesus says to his disciples, “Blessed are the eyes that see what you see.” No matter how much we might be disappointed with humanity, with Catholics, with the ungodliness of our existence, we must never forget this. We must celebrate the great spiritual gifts and divine will that has given us Christ and the Church.