Breaking Through the Darkness

I've taken to listening to a podcast by a Catholic biblical scholar named Michael Barber. He interviewed a convert (Steven Ray) and the subject of conversion came up a few times. It reminded me just how much I love conversion stories. A useful exercise from my CPE days was to ask: what's behind that?

For the sake of starting with a positive point, I'd say that a big reason I love conversion stories is the hope it gives me. In the daily life of any Christian, a painful martyrdom sounds easier than living a consistent, holy life. Praying every day, living a true Christian charity, and taking up one's cross in the littlest ways. We need to fight the good fight, run the race; it's easy to lose sight of the goal and focus on the fight itself, the race itself. Once we do that, we're toast. We'd be crushed under our own burdens. Hearing about a conversion story restores that hope--hope founded in the promise of salvation.

Not only do we have hope restored, but our thoughts are refocused on that hope. Salvation! Heaven! What we were truly made for! Our compasses need constant refocusing, especially when it comes to moral decisions. But focusing on our eternal destination doesn't just help with morality; it helps us bear the burden of suffering, gives us the "big picture" when we're drowning in the minutiae of life, and most importantly, it provides that little reminder that God loves us enough to fashion us an eternal destination.

On an emotional level, hearing a conversion story is very affirming. To be totally honest, part of the feeling is pride. "See, I'm right!" That's simple human nature. If the affirmation stops there, it's useless and our pride cancels out the grace sent our way. Any warm, fuzzy feeling of affirmation has to be founded in the truth. As a Catholic I believe the Church contains the fullness of truth--as founded & established by Him who is the Way, the Truth, and the Life.

Lastly, don't forget the power of God. We have the Scriptures with us every day and we're very comfortable with the that our God kind and loving. That's very true, but our Lord is a God of words and deeds. Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead! He fed 5,000 people! He spoke and the stormy sea subsided! Our Lord can work similar wonders in our soul!

O Patron, My Patron

Today is the feast of the glorious apostle, evangelist, sprinter (John 20:3-4), and theologian: St. John. Earlier today I planned to write a glowing post about the surpassing awesomeness of my patron. Alas, for this close to bedtime, some scattered thoughts will have to do.

I can't imagine what John's life was like after the resurrection of Jesus. John shared some intimate moments with Our Lord during His Passion: resting his head on Jesus' chest during the Last Supper, following Jesus up the road to Calvary, and then being given charge of Mary... from Jesus, as He was dying. How crushed John must've been to see Jesus die!

Maybe that's why John ran so quickly to the empty tomb. There must have been some glimmer of hope, hanging on for dear life... perhaps from John's learning? Schooling? Something about being raised on the third day... If John & Peter knew what backflips were, they would've been doing them all the way back to the upper room.

What a blessed life he had! Knowing Jesus personally and then taking care of Mary for the rest of her life. The conversations they must've had! Imagine going to their house for dinner and hearing their stories! ("You know, John, you should really write all this down...")

St. John, pray for us!

Just Like Breathing

Back in the seminary, a common homiletics technique was to start a homily with a story. Ever since my time in the seminary, I'm not incredibly fond of that technique. It can be effective if done well, but often I find it distracting and a waste of time.

One of the stories I heard in a homily was the story of a wise, holy man instructing a young man on the importance of prayer. They were walking by a river and the wise man motioned for the young man to kneel down next to the water. The old man suddenly takes the young man's head and forces him underwater. After a little time had gone by, the old man jerked the young man's head out of the water. Shocked and gasping for air, the young man looked angrily at the old man. "When you realize that prayer is as important as breathing, then you will learn how to pray."

I hated this story, and not just because I later saw it in a book by the heterodox Jesuit, Anthony DeMello. Isn't there a non-violent way to convince a person that prayer is vital? How about a way that doesn't involve drowning? Maybe it spoke to some people, but not to me. I couldn't help but envision myself as the young man, eager to learn from the wise man... and that if that happened to me, the lesson I'd come away with is not to ask old, wise men for help.

Still, the underlying principle (prayer is important) is a huge lesson. And, I begrudgingly admit, the lesson is one that everyone has to learn by some sort of experience. It doesn't really matter how much someone tells us the importance of prayer. For us to truly believe its value, we have to experience it.

Recently, I had a wake-up call in my prayer life from a very unlikely source. I started doing push-ups every day, and I have done multiple sets of push-ups every day (but one) in the past two weeks. It was the inspiration of the Holy Spirit that getting healthier involved doing little things each day... and that I didn't have to lose 40 pounds in a week. I've averaged about 60 pushups a day on week days and far fewer on the weekends. Let me tell you, the effect it had on me was incredible.

My spirits were higher. Things didn't get to me half as easily. I felt like a million bucks those first few days! Chalk it up to endorphins or slowly developing discipline... whatever the exact cause, the effect was amazing. What I came away with? I can't believe I didn't do this before; something so simple making that big of a difference!

I immediately thought of my prayer life in the same way. Holiness is gained on the battlefield of everyday life. Many saints have said it; this isn't an original thought. Doing push-ups has been that experience for me--the convincing, lived experience. Doing small things well on a daily basis makes all the difference in the world!

Another Highlight

Today I went to daily Mass at St. Joseph's and discovered another great change in the new translation. In Eucharistic Prayer 3, the previous line was "may He [Jesus] make us an everlasting gift to you..."

The new line now has "eternal offering." I don't mind too much about everlasting/eternal, although the latter seems to point more directly to heaven than the former. The main thing that stood out was the word "offering." Gift is a synonym of offering in some senses, but they're not an exact match. An offering brings more baggage, so to speak. All the Old Testament sacrificial offerings (most notably the Passover lamb) come to mind. The word "offering" also brings up the sacrifice of Jesus on Calvary... and our participation in it!

1 Cor 10: 16-18 "The cup of blessing which we bless, is it not a participation in the blood of Christ? The bread which we break, is it not a participation in the body of Christ? Because there is one bread, we who are many are one body, for we all partake of the one bread. Consider the people of Israel; are not those who eat the sacrifices partners in the altar?"

Col 1:24 "Now I rejoice in my sufferings for your sake, and in my flesh I complete what is lacking in Christ's afflictions for the sake of his body, that is, the church"

With these two passages, St. Paul is trying to convey how intimately we're involved in the sacrifice of Jesus. We're not just outside observers! We are partners in the sacrifice and we can take our own sufferings and offer our sacrifices in union with Christ's sacrifice on Calvary.

Having "offering" in Eucharistic Prayer 3 adds layers of richness to the words.

New Liturgical Year, New Translation for Mass!

Today is the first Sunday of Advent! Gone is the season of Ordinary Time... gone are green vestments... the apocalyptic readings of the past month have taken a back seat to the great time of preparation. Also gone is the translation of the Mass that was used for my entire life. It's a bit surreal to think about, not to mention that this will be the translation of the Mass that I'll hear until I die. The third edition of the Roman Missal was used today at our parish for the first time--and I have a number of thoughts about it. Here they are, in no particular order of importance.

• I've read a lot of articles and blog posts on this subject, and there's frequent mention of the passing of the previous translation as if a loved one had died. There were other less charitable comments sniping at the Magisterium, infuriated that the bishops didn't ask them about their feelings on changing the translation. My experience has been nothing like that, however. I can't relate to either of those at all... and the "pastoral sensitivity" reflex I gained in the seminary screams at me, that I'm wrong for not relating to those feelings. I don't feel guilty in this case, however. In fact, I look with a degree of scorn on ICEL of the 1960s and the authoring of the previous translation. I don't have a problem with Magisterial authority that promulgated the old translation. I do have a problem that ICEL left out words, phrases, and watered the prayers of the Mass down. Hearing some of the more poetic language today (in addition to bigger, theological words like 'consubstantial'), regaining the riches of the Latin text... LOOK AT WHAT WE'VE BEEN MISSING FOR 40 YEARS!!!!!!!!!!!!! You can dismiss me as a church geek but that's my story and I'm stickin' to it. (shout out to Fr. Brooks Beaulaurier!)
• One of the best quotes I found about the above sentiment is a brief quote from a "First Things" article by Wolfhart Pannenberg, quoted in the Magnificat companion. I believe he said it so well that I need not comment about it: "The absolutely worst way to respond to the challenge of secularism is to adapt to secular standards in language, thought, and way of life. If members of a secularist society turn to religion at all, they do so because they are looking for something other than what that culture already provides." (full article here)
• As I experienced greater liturgies as a result of my time in the seminary, I started to view the style of Mass I saw from my youth as very horizontal. Yes, the horizontal dimension of the liturgy is very important... but it's secondary to the vertical dimension. We don't come to pat ourselves on the back or be in community: we come to worship God. Every other aspect of the Mass flows out of that. The language of the new translation seems to recapture the vertical dimension. It was never absent (nor could it be) but it was not highlighted as prominently.
• One of my favorite lines was: "Behold the Lamb of God, behold Him who takes away the sins of the world. Blessed are those called to the supper of the Lamb." Love it on multiple levels! For one, this is cool for me because I'm reading through the Book of Revelation right now. The "supper of the Lamb" comes right from Revelation, referring to the wedding feast of the Lamb (Rev 19:9). Secondly, I like how it highlights the marriage/wedding imagery of the covenant between Christ and his Church. I love the intimacy of the image... and it means so much more to me now that I've been married for a little over a year. I have a better picture of the love God has for me because of the love that my wife has showed me.
• Fr. Philip, our pastor, noted some things about the new translation that were worth writing down. He related a point from a talk by Fr. Jeremy Driscoll, a.k.a. best teacher ever: elements of the prayers come directly from Jesus (the institution narrative at the last supper), directly from St. Paul's pen (the introduction to the Mass, "Grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ be with you..."), and come from the history and tradition of the Church. How amazing is that???? The Roman Missal is so much bigger than us! (my words, not Fr. Philip's, lest he get in trouble) We can't forget in the varied reactions to the new Missal that it transcends country, century, and culture! When we participate in Mass every week, we are joined to the one Eucharistic sacrifice; we are in mystical communion with the Holy Trinity, the Angels, the Communion of Saints, and with every Mass said "from the rising of the sun to its setting" (Euch. Prayer 3, Mal 1:11). To quote The Matrix, that'll bake your noodle. What an amazing blessing that the Church cares so much about the Mass that she has given us this new translation to better enter into it!

I don't always speak my mind such, especially on the first bullet point. Pressing the 'publish post' button makes me a little nervous. If anyone other than my parents, father-in-law, and sister reads this and would like to discuss it further, please, let's discuss! I'd ask your gracious consideration of my opinion and I will return the favor.

Light Bulb Moments

I thought I'd set a personal record for posting twice in one week. As I was reading the Book of Revelation, I had one of those "light bulb" moments. In cartoons since I was a kid, if any character died or pretended to die, an angel-version of that character (Wiley Coyote, for example) with wings and a harp would slowly ascend up to heaven. I never thought much of it. There are angels in heaven, harps are peaceful instruments, heaven is peaceful; there you go!

In Revelation, St. John has a number of visions of heaven. In Rev 14:2, he describes a voice coming from heaven that "was like the sound of harpers playing on their harps." Later in Rev 15:2, there are "those who had conquered the beast... with harps of God in their hands."

I found that very interesting! What better place to look for a visual image of death & heaven than the book of Revelation? I don't know what it says about me that my first thought was in the direction of cartoons rather than anything pious. Still, I think it's a reasonable conclusion that someone on the Looney Tunes animation team was a Christian. There may be other reasonable explanations, but I haven't consulted the omnicient Google yet...

In the Garden

It's official, I'm just as lazy with this blog as I was with past ones. Eh. The following was a post I meant to publish (doesn't that sound official!) a few weeks ago. Actually, it's probably more like a month ago.

My father-in-law hauled over his rototiller and went through the backyard. I helped and later cleaned the gutters. As I worked in the yard, it struck me how many spiritual lessons could be garnered from the garden. One of the first was general frustration. How many of us want the beautiful yard but would rather not do the work? The thing is, you can't expect polished yard without sweat and hard work. People who can hire a landscaping company aren't a part of this example, by the way. Too frequently we forget that the finished product depends on the hard work and is a result of the sweat.

Another lesson is from weeds. Unattended weeds take over a yard quickly and get exponentially worse. Some have diabolical, pernicious root systems that are nearly impossible to remove. In that they're strikingly similar to the bad habits/regular sins. The longer we tolerate sin and refuse to eradicate our bad habits, the more they dig in. You can strike at the weed/the sin above ground, but the true way to get rid of it is to uproot it. And they're maddening to eradicate; every time you think you got rid of them, they come back.

I was digging up & turning over dirt next to the fence where the rototiller couldn't reach. Looking at my shovel and the length of the fence, I swore. Isn't the spiritual life the same? If we look too far ahead and see all the work we have to do, who wouldn't despair? Or think that it would be easier to give up than it would be to start? Once I did start digging & turning over the soil, I'd get a few feet and look back at how far I'd gone. Next I'd question the point of doing that much, since it felt like I hardly made a dent.

Progress is an odd thing in the spiritual life, since it often comes in times we don't expect. That is, those little good works that feel meaningless (like spading dirt along the fence). Those times of suffering when it felt like anything but growth. God knows us and perfectly understands what we need to grow--so He sends us people that love us, a Church to guide us, and consolations along the way.

Incidentally, thinking about the yardwork in a spiritual way was one of the few times I'd ever really felt like I was doing my work for the Lord. I've always known that I could, and I can connect the dots intellectually. But feeling it? That's new! Damn I'm a slow learner.