A wealth of Christian thought lies at our disposal, ways in which the believer can approach our creator. Our intimacy with the Lord becomes our earthly spiritual home built on the foundation of our Church. These explorations will shed light on the faith that can feed the childlike and offer a depth of understanding to satisfy the most inquisitive. Presenting the richness of our faith is the purpose of this blog. May it bring its readers an ever growing closeness to Jesus.
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Bette Midler sings that "God is watching us . . . from a distance." (Cf. Ps.11:4). This is not exactly how Christians understand God. The Christian God, while radically transcendent, is as close to us as our most intimate thoughts and concerns. There, in the depths of our soul, God awaits us, and speaks words of love and healing. (The "distance" is made by ourselves, putting God off, casting Him away.)
I had the marvelous good fortune of hearing Jesus' intimate voice of comfort and power last Wednesday morning (Jan. 15) while in the throes of passing a kidney stone in Semachaca, Guatemala. A more forlorn place to suffer that ailment I can't imagine! About three in the morning, after two hours of active discomfort and pain, I was sitting uncomfortably, having prayed for whatever deliverance was possible. (Besides the intense pain, another disagreeable aspect of kidney stones is that you can't predict how long it will take for the pain to subside.) I then heard these words inside me: "Tom, your pain gives you an idea of the suffering I endured for you. Now I will take the pain away." And from that moment, not really believing the words I heard, I gradually became aware that the pain was gone.
My own experience of Jesus' intimate presence and power testifies to his radical closeness. 'Doubting Thomas' that I am, I think that my suffering brought me to the place within myself where I could finally hear Jesus' words of consolation and healing. Reflecting on the experience buoys my trust in Jesus' intimate, caring presence during my daily life when I am tuned to other things. For my experience of Jesus' presence and power, near to me when I am not, I can only, in awe, give God thanks and praise!
I happened to watch a PBS show (Nova) on telescopes. Helping to extend man's "eye" on the world, they literally opened new horizons in human experience and knowledge. Particularly poignant was what Galileo saw with his primitive telescope. He discovered imperfections in the moon (a supposedly "perfect" heavenly body). He also saw, for the first time, that moons rotated around Jupiter, and realized that the earth revolves around the sun in the same way.
In other reading I came across the following:
Our experiences, when really taken seriously, are painful, for they make us discover that we are full of needs, unresolved problems, sorrow, and ignorance. If these experiences are truly taken seriously, they unequivocally require something else "else," something "beyond"; that is, they possess a genuine religious dimension.
If our experiences are taken seriously they are an authentic prophecy (expectancy, hope) of what we do not yet have.
What we still lack is the meaning of all our experiences. And we await it, perhaps unconsciously.
If we are truly aware of this expectancy, of our human incapacity and of what our nature relentlessly tells us, then this expectancy is bound to become prayer. It will become prayer to a mysterious Other who will be able to help and will provide a solution. It will become a prayer to that God who elicits our question and who will provide the answer.
Thus, prayer is simple petition, entreaty; our most simple, heartfelt, and fundamental act of human awareness. The most realistic person is the one who prays: that person takes his or her experience seriously.
The Journey to Truth is an Experience, Luigi Giussani, pp. 57-58.
Galileo's experience caused him awe, wonder, euphoria. Maybe this experience wasn't initially negative for Galileo, but it certainly was for others, and later for him as well. You can understand why: Dislodging a settled understanding of the earth's centrality in the solar system (universe) caused uncertainty about man's place in the universe and opposition to truths that seem to contradict our traditions.
The Epiphany is another story of star gazers. Benedict XVI (in his Epiphany homily) emphasizes the restlessness and courage of these "wise men":
These me who set out towards the unknown were . . . men with a restless heart. Man driven by a restless quest for God and the salvation of the world. They were filled with expectation, not satisfied with their secure income and their respectable place in society. They were looking for something greater. . . . They above all wanted to know what is essential.
They were also, and above all, men of courage . . . [which] was needed to grasp the meaning of the star as a sign to set out, to go forth -- towards the unknown, the uncertain, on paths filled with hidden dangers. We can imagine that their decision was met with derision: the scorn of those realists who could only mock the reveries of such men.
Restlessness can impel one to seek what is real, what is essential in life. Restlessness to raise one's eyes and look about, to embark upon a pilgrimmage, to follow our star. But to act requires courage to face a prevailing mindset (maybe your own!).
Restlessness and courage: Galileo had such qualities. Plus, he was a devout Catholic who tried to avoid confrontations with the powers that be, and regularly prayed for God's guidance and strength. Can we say the same as we gaze upon a star?
In yesterday's reading (John 1:19-28) priests and Levites asked John, "Who are you?" John immediately told them he was not Christ. He said he was "the voice of one crying out in the desert, make straight the way of the Lord." In other words, in speaking he was speaking on behalf of someone else, of God, the one who called him to prophesy. And in today's reading (John 1:29-34), John repeats what God had told him about Christ, the one who will baptize with the Holy Spirit: ". . . the one who sent me to baptize with water told me, 'On whomever you see the Spirit come down and remain, he is the one who will baptize with the Holy Spirit.' Now I have seen and testified that he is the Son of God."
A marvelous example of a person, John the Baptist. In all his rough simplicity John's uniqueness and "voice" as a human being emerged from another, God, speaking through him.
Jesus himself spoke only the words of his Father. He counted himself "sealed" by his Father in his baptism, and promised that what his Father made known to him, he in turn made known to his apostles and disciples. (John 15:15)
A person literally is a "per-sona", a speaking through. I become a person when I speak on behalf of, give voice to, another. That other, for Christians, is Jesus and his Father, and all they stand for: justice, mercy, forgiveness and love. The voice that makes us persons is participation in the grace of the Holy Spirit of that Trinitarian relationship. It is a harmony, a dancing with a divine partner, in beauty. Grace makes beauty and helps to re-make the sinful world we live in.
Dante had a similar comprehension of his craft. In the Purgatorio (24:522-54) he wrote (speaking of his poetry, which captured his persona): "I am one who, when love inspires me, take note and, as he dictates deep within me, so I set it forth.
The same understanding is voiced by the saints, e.g., Mother Theresa, "I am God's pencil."
How do we hear that voice and repeat it in our lives, thus becoming persons? Adriaan T. Peperzak, in his The Quest For Meaning, at p.44, writes:
To follow Jesus does not lead one away from das Man, but purifies one from Sin, that is, from the loveless, arrogant, and idolatrous concerns that imprison individuals within themselves. The turn of heart demanded by Christ is the acceptance of Love as the unique and overall secret of heaven and earth. Since the very existence of the Son is the result and proof of God's absolute and complete self-giving, the Spirit in which the Father generates the Son repeats this gesture in the complete self-giving of Jesus' Passion, for which the Christians say thanks when they receive it in the eating of his body and the drinking of his blood. The gratitude expressed in this eucharistia is translated into practice when their involvement in body, world, and history shows itself inspired by the same Spirit through a self-giving equally complete insofar as their deaths reveal in retrospect how their entire lives have been lived in love.
Turning away from the idols -- that is, the divinized powers of Money, Fame, Knowledge, Pleasure, or Autarchy -- presupposes the acceptance of an infinite desire that is met by the love revealed in Jesus Christ and the saints. Conversion to Christ is therefore unconditional receptivity, acceptance, and recognition of the most incredible, yet most desirable, gesture of a God who accepts human involvement in everyone's world and history. Instead of the pleasures and pains of idolatry, confidence, joy, and peace become possible because of the absolute and total self-giving that enables desiring humans to live without finite gods. Though not engaged in sin, the saints are no less involved in the affairs of bodies in the world and their everyday activities, albeit in a different manner. Purification has now received a new meaning: growth in the practice of the truth that "tout est grace", including existence, world, and history itself. Not onlyl forgiveness, protection, guidance, and fulfillment, but creation itself are received as gifts of the Spirit, that is, as expressions of God's internal communication.
(emphasis added).
Today's first reading reminds us of the same need for purification. John (1 John 2:29-3:6) says to be like Jesus is our hope and "[e]veryone who has this hope based on him makes himself pure, as he is pure."
May our prayer be to be pure voices of Jesus in the world. Then we will be real persons.
The surrender and acceptance entailed in living in Christ is well shown, in my view, in Leonard Cohen's "If It Be Your Will."
Gabriel
Marcel believed that we become real only by "participating," that is, only in relationships. We don't exist in solitude. Our relationships are life. In that we reflect God, who is trinitarian. It makes sense: love is about relationship. A person (per-sona) is a giving voice to another, a muse or a spirit, in communication with another. In being that voice of another we become real, take on a persona. The Christian faith invites us to imitate Christ, the perfect man, to imbue his spirit, speak his life. Christ's mission of love can be our vocation.
Not giving up on love is part of life's challenge. After all, neither we or the ones we love are exactly perfect!
In a review of a book (A Life in Words) by French philosopher Alain Badiou the reviewer observed:
In In Praise of Love Badiou writes: "While desire focuses on the other, always in a somewhat fetishist[ic]
manner, on [physical attributes of the beloved], "love focuses on the very being of the other, on the other as it
has erupted, fully armed with its being, into my life that is
consequently disrupted and re-fashioned." (emphasis added)
In the end, love is about companionship that staves off loneliness. Of course, lover and beloved have to respect each other's position. Friendship is not an exclusive coupling. Willing the good of the other means loving faithfully, selflessly, aiding when needed, affirming, caring. But the joy of loving is the very being of the other, i.e., to see with God-like eyes why He needed to create her (or him). How few such relationships we have in our lives! Yet we can create more with an attitude of charity and friendship, of welcoming and openness.
Dante wrote the premiere poem of Christian and western culture, The Divine Comedy. It is the story of a pilgrim's journey of conversion, and Dante's offer of the pilgrim's journey as a template for our own lives. At the core of the story is love, personified in the love of Beatrice -- the beautiful and beatified and good woman -- who captured his love early in life only to marry someone else and die at an early age, yet who intervened from heaven in Dante's earthly life to save him from being lost. All is told in the story, a classic!
Earlier, Dante wrote of Beatrice -- her love opened a new life for him -- Vita Nuova. Listen to the song of one of his lyrics in this poem. It gives a glimpse of a love that can move us far beyond our mundane lives, into the world of divine love. Dante came to see this love as needing purification, and he placed in Hell Paolo and Francesca who never advanced beyond sensual love. The love Dante experienced with Beatrice was spiritual, and lasted beyond her death, conferring a salvific blessing on Dante as Beatrice condescended to save him and direct him to a higher love, love of Jesus Christ. Judge for yourself: In listening to a song from the Vita Nuova, what must the experience of God's love be like?
Christ said that the basis of the spiritual life is prayer, fasting and almsgiving.Thus we beg our God to "show us the way," and we purify ourselves so we can see God more clearly. The love that God evinces, penetrates us in works of love, growing out of our yearning faith and hope to be complete in Him.
Ubi
Cartitas is taken from the antiphons sung during the ceremony of the
Washing of the Feet at the Mass of the Last Supper on Holy Thursday. As
is the entire Mass of the Last Supper, this hymn is intimately connected
with the Eucharist, and is thus often used during the Exposition of the
Blessed Sacrament. Recent tradition has the first line as "Ubi caritas
et amor" (where charity and love are), but certain very early
manuscripts show "Ubi caritas est vera" (where charity is true). The
current Roman Missal favors this later version, while the 1962 Roman
Missal and classical music favors the former.
UBI caritas et amor, Deus ibi est.
Congregavit nos in unum Christi amor.
Exultemus, et in ipso iucundemur.
Timeamus, et amemus Deum vivum.
Et ex corde diligamus nos sincero.
WHERE charity and love are, God is there.
Christ's love has gathered us into one.
Let us rejoice and be pleased in Him.
Let us fear, and let us love the living God.
And may we love each other with a sincere heart.
UBI caritas et amor, Deus ibi est.
Simul ergo cum in unum congregamur:
Ne nos mente dividamur, caveamus.
Cessent iurgia maligna, cessent lites.
Et in medio nostri sit Christus Deus.
WHERE charity and love are, God is there.
As we are gathered into one body,
Beware, lest we be divided in mind.
Let evil impulses stop, let controversy cease,
And may Christ our God be in our midst.
UBI caritas et amor, Deus ibi est.
Simul quoque cum beatis videamus,
Glorianter vultum tuum, Christe Deus:
Gaudium quod est immensum, atque probum,
Saecula per infinita saeculorum. Amen.
WHERE charity and love are, God is there.
And may we with the saints also,
See Thy face in glory, O Christ our God:
The joy that is immense and good,
Unto the ages through infinite ages. Amen.
Latin from the Liber Usualis & the Gregorian Missal, Solesmes 1990. Tr MWM.
There are no shortage of debunkers of the Christmas story, from out and out atheists (of the Freedom From Religion ilk) to mythologizers -- those who believe the Christ story is yet another retelling of the age-old myth of the sun. Here is an interesting one:
However, it shouldn't be too hard to see that the mere similarity of the Jesus story to myth is not proof that the Jesus story is simply made up. For starters, there are many, many miracles attesting to the living reality of the resurrected Christ (from the Shroud of Turin to the appearances of the blessed mother, to name but two).
What is quite distinctive of the Christian idea of God is that, for Christians, God exists outside of nature and the cosmos, and is not just the highest part of the cosmos as the pagan myths relate. God is not a "being" at all, in the sense we think of being. So the Christian God does not exist as the sun or as a star like Sirius. Rather, those stars, and all physical reality, bow to the Creator God, and do God's bidding. The Christian God is therefore quite different from the idea of God presented by the de-mythologizers of Christianity. Christians believe the Jesus story is yet another proof of God's utter transcendence to the world, so transcendent that God can be immanent, i.e., enter into it as a human. This paradox defines a central Christian principle, and sets it apart from pagan myth.
For more, see Robert Sokolowski, The God of Faith and Reason and Eucharistic Presence. You can read an essay of Sokolowski, "Christian Religious Discourse" here.
And so, when Jesus enters the realm of the hear and now, "heaven and nature sing." After all, like us, they are the Lord's. That includes the star that led the magi to Bethlehem.
