Holy Thursday

On Holy Thursday, I think it is important to reflect on an oft-missed detail that has tremendous applications.  Jesus sent the two disciples, Peter and John, into the city to prepare for the feast by telling that they would meet a man carrying a water jar.  They were to follow him, and, entering the house which he entered, tell the head of the house that the Master was to have the Passover there with His disciples.  This man would show them a large upper room, fully furnished, and there they were to prepare the meal.

Why Jesus used such a cryptic way of pointing out the house was to keep Judas unaware of the place, for Jesus knew that the traitor was looking for an opportune time to have Jesus arrested, and the Lord did not want the Last Supper to be interrupted by the temple guards. 

It is also evident that Jesus knew this man who owned the house, and had arranged something in advance, even if it was simply that this unknown man was a hidden disciple, or at least a friend of Jesus.

This man had the privilege of having the First Mass, the First appearance to the apostles of the Risen Lord, and Pentecost in his home.  Some traditions say he was the father of John Mark, of Gospel fame, but the Gospels themselves are silent on the matter.  Whatever the case, his simple friendship of Jesus and the welcoming attitude of this man gave him a grace of unimaginable joy. His family shared this joy and they were among the first Christians to be sure.

The opportunity is not lost to history, for Christ seeks friendship with all. A welcoming home is among His greatest joys.

Reflections on the Prodigal Son

There is no question this is a story of mercy and generosity.  Prodigal can mean wasteful, but also lavishly generous.  Many commentators note that the father is prodigal with his love for his younger son, in the sense of generous, whereas the younger son was prodigal with his inheritance, as in wasteful. 

The younger son’s sin is not just the wasteful way he spent his share of the inheritance, but that, in asking for his share, he basically told his father that he might as well be dead.  Interestingly, the father, not holding a grudge, knew that his son was “killing” himself in leaving the family as he did.  “He was dead, but has come back to life.”  It is in the midst of the divine family that we have life, and leaving it, squandering the graces we’ve been given through mortal sin, is to die in our souls.  God Who raises the dead is able, and more importantly, willing to grant us life again.

It’s also interesting to note that the son, when he’s in the midst of the pigs, does not think of the father in very generous terms.  His desire to return is rather forced upon him by his hunger.  Even in thinking of his father, he does not say, “He still loves me and will take me back”, but he only considers his father’s generosity with the servants.  His penitence is incomplete and imperfect, based upon his own desperate condition. What is more, his awareness of the father’s goodness is incomplete as well.  He doesn’t remember how willingly the father had given him the share of the inheritance.  He doesn’t reflect upon the times he certainly must have enjoyed with his father.  He only remembers the abundance of his father’s wealth, shared by those who served him.

I’d venture to say that the elder son is wasteful in his own way, as he seems to squander his father’s love.  Though he was very cautious and diligent with respect to his father’s wealth and business, he missed out on the love of his father.  One wonders if he ever asked for a young goat to celebrate with his friends.

In this light, I think it is important to remember that, as much as the story reaches out to sinners who need to know how kind and forgiving God the Father is, Jesus told the story for the sake of the Pharisees and scribes who were angry and scandalized when Jesus ate with sinners and tax collectors.  The Lord was attempting to instruct them on what they were missing in the God of the Covenant.  God demands obedience to His law, but He is a God of mercy more than anything.  The blindness of the elder son is pointed out by the Lord in the kindest way possible.  While on several occasions the Lord was “in the face” of His enemies, on this occasion He gently instructed them through this and the preceding two parables of the lost sheep and the lost coin. Did they grasp the meaning of His words, “My son, you are with me always, and everything I have is yours. . . “?  They needed to hear that God was indeed pleased with their fidelity, even if it was incomplete.

Finally, eating is so very central to the story.  It’s the Lord eating with sinners that brings on the criticism of the Pharisees. The younger son most likely feasted while he had his father’s wealth.  His return home is driven by an empty belly.  The father calls for a feast to celebrate his son’s return, killing the fatted calf. The elder son calls feasting with his friends a sign of gratitude from the father.  And of course, the fatted calf is very much an image of the heavenly banquet where we will feast eternally with the Lord.  Eating was part of the cause of our fall; eating the Body and drinking the Blood of the Lord is a major part of our journey towards heaven; heaven itself will be a big party where the Lord will feed us eternally with His divine Love.

How should we view evil? Look to Christ

                When innocent people die, it hurts those who hear of such news.  It means something went wrong.  Those closest to the victims feel the worst of it, of course, but I’ll get to that.  When the victims are miles away and not known to us, it’s possible to disengage from the event, though one’s level of sensitivity often dictates how deeply one feels the sorrow.  Or other emotions, for I’ve seen an awful lot of anger expressed by some after Friday’s sad event. 

                After 9-11, the magnitude of the event almost required a certain disengagement, especially considering the nature of the attack, for the desire for vengeance was huge in the hearts of many.  Life had to go on for most people, so it was possible to put the sorrow and pain on hold and go about one’s daily duties.

                Following Friday’s events, the whole nation was moved by the news of innocent children and school officials being gunned down so insanely.  So many people were moved by the sorrow of this event. 

                What struck me personally was seeing the faces of the children and adults who were killed.  It was as if, seeing them alive and happy, I knew them.

                I’m philosophically disposed to look at these events from a certain point of view.  Yet, it’s impossible for anyone to be totally detached from human sufferings. 

                Of course, people have brought politics into the whole event.  Pro-gun control/anti-gun control are rampant on the internet.  I don’t understand why people cannot take a few days to grieve before getting into all that.  Who in the history of the world has made a rational decision after a tragedy? 

                But to move on to my point: How do we deal with such a horror?  I have to look to Jesus.

                When some people told Him of the Galileans whose blood Pilate had shed, He responded, “Do you think they were any more guilty than others?”  He brought the discussion back to salvation and relationship to God.  He went on, “And what of those twenty-two on whom the tower of Siloam fell?”  And then He warned His listeners about being just and repentant. 

                When Jesus spoke of the destruction of the world, He seems to have done so without emotion.  He was rather matter-of-fact.  He spoke of hell a lot, but His emotions were never recorded. 

                Yet, He wept at the future destruction of Jerusalem.  He knew it would happen, and felt the sorrow of that day and what it meant, for He had a great love for that Holy City. 

                The other time He showed sorrow, and in a profound way, was when His friend Lazarus died.  The shortest line in Scripture is John 11:35: “And Jesus wept.”  It hurt for Him to know His friend had passed away. 

                I don’t know if this gives us a pattern to follow.  I’m just struck by the facts of the Lord weeping at the death of His friend, crying at the future destruction of Jerusalem, but not seemingly sad at what He knew was the loss of souls at the final judgment along with the salvation of the just. 

                What does this mean for us?  Maybe it all comes back to personal relationship: We weep for those we know who die; we grieve for those who will suffer; we are philosophical and reflective about the end-times.  Maybe that says more than I can figure out how to describe.

Why Catholics Love the Mass

             On mother’s day the year my father died, I had a picture of my father turned into one of those painting-like portraits.  I don’t even remember what company did it, but it was done very professionally and arrived about 4 days before mother’s day.  The picture was a profile of him, taken at a Christmas party a few years earlier.  It perfectly captured his personality: pensive and thoughtful, looking off into the distance.  The background shows that it was a Christmas setting, with lights on the tree somewhat blurred, but that only adds to the rather mysterious quality of the image.

                When the picture arrived, I was so blown away by it that I couldn’t wait to give it to my mother.  I surprised her with it, and she was overcome with emotion. It was as if he had taken a step out of eternity to join us again.  It now hangs above the piano in her living room, and journeys with her in the summer to her lake refuge. It’s not my father, but it sure reminds us of him, as he presides over family gatherings as if he were there with us still.  He is remembered and loved, and his love is mysteriously made present to those who knew him well.

                Memory is an amazing thing, for it shows our connection to the past and makes present what happened then.  Memory can be a curse, if our view of the past is negative, or we bring up painful things that we endured.  Those who have gone through trauma can feel just as bad by memories of past sufferings as they did when they endured them.  On the other hand, memory is a blessing when we recall past joyful events, gifts given and received, the love of friends and family who may have passed away. 

                When the Lord Jesus instituted the Eucharist, He commanded the apostles “do this in memory of me.”  Of all the things that were done and said at the Last Supper, the blessing of the bread and wine are significantly pointed out by three evangelists and Saint Paul.  From after the Resurrection until this very moment, the Church has obeyed the command of Christ.  While the apostles probably did not understand the significance of what Jesus was doing at the time, they certainly learned later on with the gift of the Holy Spirit.  They also recalled His words in Capharnaum about eating His Body and drinking His Blood.  In the light of the Last Supper and by the gift of the Holy Spirit they came to know that what Jesus had given them was the means of receiving, eating and drinking His Body and Blood. 

                Those words of institution also led them to realize that what happened to Jesus on Good Friday was not a mere railroad job, but a deliberate act on His part.  He did not just acquiesce to the brutality of His enemies; He was literally giving His body and shedding His blood on purpose.  The Last Supper words and deeds of Jesus showed that His death was a true sacrifice, a giving over of His very self in obedience to the Father.

                Putting two and two together, under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, they realized that Jesus had designed a way to make Himself present to them in the here and now, even though He had ascended into heaven.  Jesus did not command what He would not make possible by grace. As He commanded that we must eat His body and drink His blood, and as He had told them to do with bread and wine what He did, so He had made possible the fulfillment of both. And that is the Mass.

                When the Mass is celebrated, the priest, ordained in the line of the apostles, does what Jesus said to do: Take and eat, This is my Body; take and drink, This is my Blood.  What Jesus did at the Last Supper is made present. And since the reality of the Real Body and Blood of Christ is made present, so Christ Himself, risen from the dead, is present, more than any picture or image.  Furthermore, the gift of His sacrifice, foreshadowed by His own words at the Last Supper, is also made present; not in a bloody manner, for “Christ, once raised from the dead can never die again”, but in the reality of His now Risen Body. 

                So what the Mass offers to us is the marvelous way that Jesus can be with us in the here and now, hidden behind the appearance of bread and wine, and bringing with Him the intimate celebration with His apostles in the Upper Room, the bloody and painful death of the Cross, and the glorious power of His risen Body.

                The memory of what Christ has done for us is supernaturalized by the Holy Spirit for us.  It does not just bring Him to mind; He really is there, and abides there afterwards in the Tabernacle, so that we can remember what He has done for us, and wants to do for us who believe in Him.

Take up your cross, the Savior said

“And He said to all, ‘If any man would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me.’”  Luke 9:23

Carrying one’s cross is a necessary component of being a Christian.  In the early Church, it was literal for many.  In fact, it took awhile for images of the Crucified to be accepted, since the reality of actual crucifixions was evident in the lives of real people nailed to crosses.  Nero, it is said, lined the highway with crucified Christians who were then lit on fire to light the way at night.  Strangely symbolic.

At any rate, we are so far from grasping the reality of what a crucifixion does to a person, and we are numbed to the image of Christ Himself on the cross, because this image is not just common, but also denigrated in many ways.

Nevertheless, bearing one’s cross is part of following Him. 

The key is to discover what the cross means for each of us individually.

For some, their cross is quite evident.  They have been wounded either physically or otherwise by the wickedness of someone else.  They bear the pain every day.  For some, the cross is a difficult family situation: a negligent spouse, a troubled child, an unsympathetic parent, an ogre of a boss.  Such crosses can be easily identified, and should be embraced not in the evil that exists in them, but in the attitude one has towards them, seeing them as means to virtue and union with Christ.

But what if we have no major sufferings, no dramatic or pressing difficulties, but just the ordinary stuff of life?  How does the cross appear?

It may appear in the form of dealing with illness, unknown to others; it could be in crushing financial difficulties; it could be in the form of our own conscience and the way we can be tempted to punish ourselves or others because we know our weaknesses and failures. 

I’ve always thought that each of us designs our own cross of ultimate suffering by the choices we make, and the consequences that occur because of those choices.  We take time to cut the wood, mold its shape, determine its size and shape, and then begin to mount that cross depending on how outside forces affect us. 

It occurs to me that Jesus always knew what form His own cross would take, and He “set His face” towards that end on purpose.  While we do not know how our ultimate end will be, one thing that God gives us is the choice to take up the cross that our choices and circumstances determine.  If we take the time to consider how life is going for us, we can find shadows and splinters of the cross every day: the frustrations with goals unmet, the struggles we have with our weaknesses and failures, the opposition we encounter from others from day to day, or on an ongoing basis. 

Faith is the ability to see God’s truth in the midst of every circumstance.  Sometimes, it requires that we give thanks for His blessings that we acknowledge; other times it requires that we release the angst we can feel in the face of suffering and difficulties, not in a some esoteric or mindless way, but into the hands of the Lord, hands that are pierced with nails.  It is not a passive acceptance of the uncontrollable, but a deliberate choice to say, “This is part of my cross, and I willingly embrace what is odious for the love of Jesus, Who willingly took up His cross for me!” 

This is not an easy task.  Our minds come up with reasons why we should flee; our bodies can feel repugnance to the pain involved; our emotions can go any which way.  But our will can focus, and say, “yes”, and be united with Jesus.  One reason He endured His suffering was that we would have a model, and a source of strength, to deal with what we hate, because of what, and Whom, we love.

The Dark Night of the Soul

The Dark Night of the soul has several stages.  The first is the detachment from sin willfully committed, especially mortal sin.  This requires a “darkening” of the intellect on our part: that we cease to view sinful things as good, and recognize them for what they are: evil.  This requires effort and oftentimes disgust with the consequences of sin.  It also requires, before any of that, the light of God’s grace to penetrate our conception of reality.  This is why He oftentimes allows those consequences when we go down the wrong path and suffer for our own mistakes.  It can take many attempts on His part to break us free, since we tend to be stubborn and prideful, the root of all sin.

The next stage is seeking to practice virtue, which is the beginning of our ascent.  We encounter opposition: from our sinful nature, from the world, and, sadly, from those who are around us and want us to be “the way we used to be”.  At this point, our hearts are being broken up between the high aspiration to be good and the concupiscence that is the result of original sin and our own past choices.  Yet, God is even more active in us now, as each victory elevates us a little bit more, and each fall, if seen in the light of faith, provides us with new information about what “not” to do.

Spiritual lights can begin to shine and enlighten us in this stage, but often in brief glimpses.  Yet, they remain at the level of the imagination and the senses: good in themselves, but not the end of the journey.  They are like little missives from heaven about what awaits us, pale in comparison to the reality, but good.  The danger on this level is thinking that we’ve somehow already “made it” because we no longer commit big sins, even if we are blind to the little faults that can precipitate a later, larger fall.  Caution must be taken that we are not safe until heaven, and humility must be the basic virtue to keep us on the path.  Humility, with a mix of a developing trust that God certainly does want us to be saints with Him in heaven.  That trust begins to require more and more effort on our part, because we can see more and more faults as we get closer to the light, and feel as if we are backsliding.  That’s a good thing in so far as it keeps us humble; it’s a danger if we get discouraged, which is the principal tactic of the devil at this point.  His voice is often very clear: it’s not worth it; just give up; why are trying so hard?, life could be easier if you just go along with the world.  The clear voice of the devil is allowed by God in certain moments so that we will see that he, the devil, is always trying to lure us off the path, and not just when we “hear” the voice of discouragement.

As we progress in the spiritual life, care is needed that we rely more directly on God for growth (even though He is responsible for all progress), because the sensual awareness of God is not really directly from God.  Since He is beyond our senses, we cannot really sense Him. This sense of His presence is a result of a spiritual grace that has already touched our innermost soul and spirit.  His presence is always there in the soul filled with sanctifying grace, but He does not always show Himself to our intellect, much less to our senses.

If we get caught in the sensual perception of God, we remain stunted, for God is far greater than our ability to feel Him.  We have to take steps to withdraw from those sense feelings of Him, and this is done by fidelity to prayer for set times and methods.  It can happen that when the sense feelings of God’s presence cease, we will be tempted to stop praying or trying.  The rhythm of the Church’s liturgy understands this, which is why the Liturgy of the Hours is so regular, and that we are called to formal prayer at least once a week at Sunday Mass, and even daily if our schedule permits.

At a certain point, God withdraws from our senses, and begins to draw us more spiritually.  He takes over, as it were, and grants us graces that are not sensible.  We may not even realize that He is doing this, but prayer can become routine; meditation can be dry; thoughts of heaven seen unreal and unrealistic. 

The true “dark night” is when our minds themselves cannot clearly focus on a thought about God.  The apparent absence of God is like the darkness that Abraham felt when He offered the sacrifice and was overtaken by a dark fear.  The exterior sacrifice was necessary, for God commanded it, but it was only a prelude to a deeper communion with Him. 

So, our senses no longer feel God’s presence; our minds no longer focus on Him.  That’s a good thing, even though it can cause tremendous suffering interiorly.  We are still like little children, and our souls cry out and we “believe” we are not being heard.  Faith in its purest form begins to actuate our souls and spirits.  Since God is not just beyond our senses, He is beyond our imagination and our intellectual capacity.  Even the angels are struck by His Glory and can only cry out, “Holy, Holy, Holy!”  There is nothing more to be said. 

This process can take years to develop, or in some few chosen souls, a matter of an instant.  Saint Paul received such a “blast” of divine inspiration, as a reminder in his person of the absolute Gift that is knowledge of Christ.  But even Saint Paul had to go through the rest of his life in faith, and still underwent sufferings of soul and body before he was to accomplish his mission. 

God is present everywhere and in everything.  Logic and faith know this, but the ultimate knowledge of God is what He gives us when He wills and when He has prepared us for that moment. 

Go in Peace

                I’ve never seen the Jerry Springer show.  Or Montel Williams. Or Oprah, when she was on. Well, except for an occasional clip that may have popped on a youtube video or the news.  From what I understand, oftentimes there are folks on those types of shows that bear all before the audience and the public at large.  Being rather a private person myself, I don’t quite understand the desire to spill one’s guts in front of even a few people, let alone millions of television viewers. 

                Some people like it, though.  Perhaps it is a moment of catharsis for them.  I can understand that.  The thought of writing an autobiographical story sounds like something everyone should do, even if it is not read by anyone or published.  Saint Augustine is credited with writing the first autobiography of any length or depth.  His Confessions is a unique piece of literature, philosophy and theology.  Of course, the term “confessions” that he uses is not first and foremost a listing of his faults, though he describes many of his own in almost shocking detail.  He was confessing the Glories of the Lord who had saved him from his life of error and debauchery, so the primary purpose of that great work was to extol the goodness and love and mercy of God, the “Beauty ever ancient, ever new”. 

                There is though something of the cathartic in speaking one’s failures and faults, of owning up to them in a verbal way; close friends and especially spouses understand this, especially when facing trying times in a relationship where words are in fact necessary.  And oftentimes, the sooner the words admitting of one’s failures are spoken, the faster any damage done to the relationship can begin to heal.  “I was wrong and I’m sorry” are powerful words when spoken in sincerity and humility.  The hardest heart can often be swayed to mercy by such an honest admission.

                Now the first reason Catholics go to the Sacrament of Penance is because Jesus gave the Sacrament, and the power behind it, to the apostles on the night of the resurrection: “If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.” John 20:23.  As with the command to baptize and celebrate the Eucharist, so with the command to forgive sins, the Church does what Jesus told her to do.  Why two sacraments for the forgiveness of sins?  Baptism washes away whatever sins a person has on their conscience and especially original sin, and that person is renewed in Christ.  But what of sins committed after baptism? History and common sense, and personal experience, show that the baptized are not immune to falling again into sins of one kind or another.  Does the sacrament of baptism work forward, that is, does it effect forgiveness into the future, so there is no need for future mercy?  That’s an interesting idea, but post-baptismal sins carry with them their own damage that is distinct from the damage of original sin, which is washed away only through baptism.

                Thus it was in the early Church that confession of sins and the penances ascribed to them were for sins of graver consequence; sins that kept one from participating in the Eucharistic life of the Church.  Heck, there were times in Church history where one was forbidden even to enter the celebration of the Liturgy for years because of seriously grave offenses that indubitably harmed not only the individual but the community at large.  Murder and adultery come to mind.  Nevertheless, confession of such serious sins was deemed necessary not only to the spiritual healing of the sinners, but for the overall health of the Church community.  A breach of justice and charity occurs with every sin, but some are worse than others.  These mortal sins require a more serious response on the part of the Church.  The public penances that used to be imposed (and still are in the rare occurrences of excommunication or interdict) were designed as deterrents to others who might be likewise tempted.  Other lesser penances for less grave sins grew up in the practice of the Church even to the point of rule books being used by confessors to assign different penances for the different types of sins committed.  The goal was always the restoration of justice through some form of restitution, where required, and the conversion of the sinner back to a shared communion with the Church community.

                And speaking to that last point, here we see how what the Church has been doing for centuries is being discovered in a different way by the television shows mentioned above as well as in the growth of the use of counselors, psychiatrists and psychologists.  Human beings have a need to speak what is within them, especially when their consciences have made the determination that a thought, word of deed was so bad that something harmful now dwells within the soul and must be expunged.  There has been a rift in relationship that must be restored somehow.  How does the saying go?  A burden shared is half as heavy? 

                And this is precisely what grave sin is: it is of such a nature that the loving relationship that God initiated through bestowing the grace of adoption via baptism is scorned by a deliberate, willful act of sin on the part of a Christian.  Sanctifying grace, given by baptism, is lost, even though the Christian continues to have the everlasting character of being sealed as a child of God in Christ.  In simpler terms, a grave sin is like choosing to leave the castle of the King and live in the swamp outside the moat.   All sin weakens one’s connection with God; grave, mortal sin disrupts that connection.  Since it is of its nature an offense directly against God’s love, only God can restore the relationship.  He has given the authority to restore that relationship to His Church in the ministry of priests: If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven.  As Jesus gave the authority to teach in His name to the apostles, so they could carry on His mission of preaching the Gospel, so also He gave them the authority to forgive sins, thus continuing His mission of bring mercy to sinners.  Incidentally, those who objected to a man forgiving sins were the enemies of Jesus.  Those who received His pardon didn’t object.  They knew and felt that mercy.

                Now, some sins are obvious to the world; most are not.  Indeed, there are sins which are known only to the sinner himself, and to God.  Sadly these can be the most damaging for it is possible to keep up a front of piety while on the inside one is filled with the consequences of chosen evil.  Why not just confess them to God, and be done with it?  Not a bad idea and Scripture is filled with prayers composed precisely as ways of appealing to God for mercy.  Yet sin does more than damage the individual.  If I commit a sin that only God and I know about, there is still damage to the community of the Church, for I have become less of a man and have voluntarily deprived myself of the grace I need to be a faithful member of the Church.  It has to come out of me, and the Sacrament of penance is the way to get it off my conscience and into the open, so to speak, without at the same time causing further harm through scandal, such as happens when people flagrantly confess their sins to the world on television or facebook.  As a representative of the Church, the priest has received the authority from Christ to forgive sins and to welcome the sinner back to the communion of the Church.  Since confessions take place in the privacy of the confessional, only the priest hears those sins, so the person can feel at ease in being honest and open about his faults and failures of virtue.  He is morally bound to keep what he hears secret, even to the point of never revealing that a particular person went to confession.  Sweeter words have rarely been heard than “I absolve you from your sins.  Go in peace!”  Grace is restored; the chance to begin anew is received. 

                Having been on both sides of the confessional, I can speak to the power of the sacrament in restoring hope.  When one comes to the point where God is real in the existential situations of life, sin shows itself for what it is: a turning away from the Love of a Merciful God.  Hearing the words of absolution is a relief that knows no equal.  For priests, granting that absolution is beyond description especially when the penitent has been putting him or herself through the ringer over sins that were real, but never so big that God cannot pardon them.  I have met great saints and terrible sinners in the confessional, and everything in between.  One of my favorite confessions ever heard was. . . . 

                Of course I’m not going there.