by Jeremy Priest

The first time I met Pope John Paul II…well, perhaps “met” is the wrong word when you’re in a crowd of seven million people? Yet, as I think back to that World Youth Day in the Philippine Islands, “met” is the only word that describes what happened. I didn’t merely see John Paul II. No. Even in a crowd of millions, I had the feeling that he loved me. As his eyes fell upon each of us, I felt loved by him, as if his eyes were the very eyes of Jesus.

I can imagine Jesus looking at people with these same eyes. Pope John Paul II had so given himself to the Heart of Jesus that his eyes spoke with the Heart of Jesus. One can understand why the crowd that gathered that World Youth Day in the Philippines was the largest crowd ever assembled in human history: these young people gathered not simply to see Pope John Paul II; they crowded around the Bishop of Rome because in him they saw Christ.

Like the Philippines and so many other places Pope John Paul II visited, millions thronged the city of Rome when he died in April of 2005. They flooded the streets of Rome to be with him, to mourn his death, to rejoice in his life. They flooded the streets of Rome because they had lost a man who had become their “father in Christ Jesus through the gospel” (1 Cor. 4:15). One of my friends, a Protestant pastor, confided in me that after he heard the news that John Paul II died he immediately felt compelled to find the nearest Catholic church and pray. He had lost a father too.

This celibate man who so many of us knew as a spiritual father (pope means ‘papa’), thought that the 20^th century had gone off track. Amidst the horrors of the 20^th century (two world wars, millions of corpses, oceans of blood), Pope John Paul II thought that we as human beings had forgotten what it means to be human. He was convinced that in Jesus Christ we experience and see what it means to be human. John Paul II never tired of quoting these words from the Second Vatican Council: “Christ, the final Adam, by the revelation of the mystery of the Father and His love, fully reveals man to man himself and makes his supreme calling clear” (GS 22). Only through faith in Jesus will we find our way again.

Pope John Paul II has been described as a “Witness to Hope.” This poet, this playwright, this worker, who was philosopher, theologian, pastor, teacher, bishop, and pope; this man who was so many things was, at the last, a disciple of Jesus Christ and a witness (the Greek word is “martyr”) to hope: a witness to the hope that fills our lives when our eyes are fixed on Jesus.

On this day we celebrate his Beatification, his becoming a “Blessed.” While I still deeply miss him, as soon as he died I had the feeling that he was closer to me than he had been before. The Catholic doctrine of the Communion of Saints says that death cannot separate us from our brothers and sisters in Christ: they are more alive in God now than when they were living with us here on earth. And so, on this Divine Mercy Sunday, the liturgical anniversary of his death, his entry into eternal life, we both miss him and simultaneously know his closeness to us.

These are the closing words of Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger’s 2005 funeral homily for Pope John Paul II:

None of us can ever forget how in that last Easter Sunday of his life, the Holy Father, marked by suffering, came once more to the window of the Apostolic Palace and one last time gave his blessing urbi et orbi. We can be sure that our beloved Pope is standing today at the window of the Father’s house, that he sees us and blesses us. Yes, bless us, Holy Father. We entrust your dear soul to the Mother of God, your Mother, who guided you each day and who will guide you now to the eternal glory of her Son, our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

The Gospel of the Transfiguration of the Lord puts before our eyes the glory of Christ, which anticipates the resurrection and announces the divinization of man. The Christian community becomes aware that Jesus leads it, like the Apostles Peter, James and John “up a high mountain by themselves” (Mt 17:1), to receive once again in Christ, as sons and daughters in the Son, the gift of the grace of God: “This is my Son, the Beloved; he enjoys my favor. Listen to him” (Mt 17:5). It is the invitation to take a distance from the noisiness of everyday life in order to immerse oneself in God’s presence. He desires to hand down to us, each day, a Word that penetrates the depths of our spirit, where we discern good from evil (cf. Heb 4:12), reinforcing our will to follow the Lord.

This first part of this synopsis is an invitation into the great Christian mystery the Eastern Churches particularly honor: theosis. Or, as Benedict here terms it: “divinization”. In other words, it is becoming god—growing into the divine. The Holy Father tells us that it is Christ who leads us upward to the mountain of God. Here, in the presence of God is the true human exodus: a passing over from the Ego to the Theos—from the self into the Creator. This passage is a Christological mystery because Jesus Christ is the locus of the journey. It is no wonder that the divine voice of the Father declares: “Listen to him”. Christ is the measure of human fulfillment. There is no other. He is the Incarnate Word—the incarnate language of the divine—who re-communicates the Father to creation and who breathes the Spirit that animates.  Moreover, as the locus of the exodus into God, when one thereby journeys into God through the Mediator Dei—Christ—he, too, becomes a son in the Son. The Incarnate Words opens up filial relationship to God: love, intimacy, passion, trust, and hope.

His Holiness sees in this Gospel, also, the precursor to this theosis-exodus. He parallels this invitation with the invitation to “take a distance form the noisiness of everyday life”—in other words, to walk up into the mountains, the place of silent heights; countless beauties; and ineffable, infinite sights. If one is continuously clothed by the temporal order, by the worries of everyday life, or by affairs that do not reflect the divine rule, then there is essentially no possibility for an exodus. How can one pass-over without passing over? How can one communicate with the Lord without going to speak with and listen to Him? How can one become divine if his make-up is only the visible and temporal? There is no theosis without an authentic exodus of the self. That is why Benedict declares the importance “to immerse oneself in God’s presence”. Not the presence of the self; not the presence of society; not the presence of others. First the presence of God, and then all else unfolds according to His divinity and will. Certainly the life of the saints, and especially the Virgin Mother of God, attest to this.

In the last part of this Gospel synopsis, the Holy Father concludes beautifully, as we have already read: “He desires to hand down to us, each day, a Word that penetrates the depths of our spirit, where we discern good from evil (cf. Heb 4:12), reinforcing our will to follow the Lord.” It seems to me that there is a reference to Genesis here. Without the Lord, the human person is chaotic: impoverished, man is in need of divine order and love.

Is this not the state of the universe in the first creation story? “In the beginning, when God created the heavens and the earth, the earth was a formless wasteland, and darkness covered the abyss” (Gen 1:1, emphasis mine). How does God counteract this chaos? He speaks. In the beginning, it is the Word of God communicated that brings peace: “Then God said, ‘Let there be light,’ and there was light. God saw how good the light was” (Gen 1:3-4). The Word is the divine person who secures and establishes order.

Consequently, after sin and separation, the human person herself becomes a wasteland, in need of God’s voice to hold her together. And so the Divine Lover sends to the beloved His Son, who “penetrates the depths of our spirit”, granting us true power to discern the good from evil—contrary to Satan’s apple of temptation. It is the Word to whom we primordially belong, to whom our hearts beg to be touched and embraced by. It is the Word who is man’s ultimate and definitive source of well-being, nutrition and happiness—indeed the source of the heart’s very beat itself. He is the true rhythm of life: the beat that sets everything in proper relationship and order, and out of chaos establishes harmony.

To end, I am reminded of the words of  the Great Apostle: “He is before all things, and in him all things hold together” (Col 1:17).  The Word is “before all things”—He is the eternal exemplar. And Incarnate, He holds all things together—He recapitulates history and creation, thus to procure salvation: “in order to kill sin, to destroy death, and to give life to man”, as St. Irenaeus writes.

Let us pray for the grace that we may all follow Christ Jesus into God.

What Satan put into the heads of our remote ancestors was the idea that they could ‘be like gods’–could set up on their own as if they had created themselves–be their own masters–invent some sort of happiness for themselves outside G0d, apart from God. And out of that hopeless attempt has come nearly all that we call human history–money, poverty, ambition, war, prostitution, classes, empires, slavery–the long terrible story of man trying to find something other God that will make him happy.

This quote by itself could generate a post (if not more) alone. To be brief, let me point out one point that struck me. I think Lewis is suggesting that man will most mess up, when he attempts to be his own author. The self cannot self-construct itself. It may only be discovered in others, and in sum, in the Ultimate Other, namely God who is the Creator.We possess nothing: not ourselves, not the capability to invent or construct the self, and certainly not the power to invent entities of happiness or self-satisfaction. I propose that the most mature self is the emptiest, most kenotic, self. That’s when the “self” is, in fact, most itself: when it is in the hands of God at the service of others.

Shortly following this passage, the author continues:

A car is made to run on petrol, and it would not run properly on anything else. Now God designed the human machine to run on Himself. He Himself is the fuel our spirits were designed to burn, or the food our spirits were designed to feed on. There is no other. That is why it is just no good asking God to make us happy in our own way without bothering about religion. God cannot give us a happiness and peace apart from Himself, because it is not there. There is no such thing.

To be honest, I am not a fan of the terminology utilized: “human machine”. Regardless, Lewis’ message here is, at least as I see it, right on target. Separate humanity from divinity, and see what happens: the consequence will not be satisfaction or happiness, but more likely misery. The human heart is restless without God. Humanity belongs to God, and so without God the human spirit is hungry, starving for her authentic nutrition. Without the Lover, a beloved is empty, alone, searching for her source of energy, love and even life. Surely, many of the Psalms attest to this.

On a side, perhaps more personal, note, this is why I am so nervous about so many “social justice” organizations sprouting up. It’s the newest trend, and is quite popular in the college scene, might I add. Yet, it concerns me because I am wondering what kind of justice is even possible if it is a justice that is Godless. Without God, there is no liberation. And if there is a case where liberation is promised, and God is not a part of the equation, I caution the subjects. True justice is about God, as is happiness, peace, harmony, and life. A secular philosophy will never establish peace–in society or in the heart. That belongs to the work of God, in whose plan we are of fundamental importance.

[T]aking your life as a whole, with all your innumerable choices, all your life long you are slowly turning this central thing either into a heavenly creature or into a hellish creature: either into a creature that is in harmony with God, and with other creatures, and with itself, or else into one that is in a state of war and hatred with God, and with its fellow-creatures, and with itself. To be the one kind of creature is heaven…To be the other means madness…Each of us at each moment is progressing to the one state or the other.

This is quite the radical statement. As a preface to it–and this is by no means contrary to any of Lewis’ theology–I add here that in all things, everything is in God’s hands. Apart from God, we cannot turn into a heavenly creature. That is impossible. Grace is gratuitous, never merited, and it is only through God’s grace that the human person may mature, grow, and become holy. That said, we are also not God’s puppets or His robots.

What I love most about this passage from Lewis is it exemplifies the importance of existential orientation, namely, that to be oriented toward the Divine results in peace, and to oriented in any other direction results in madness. Every moment, moreover, is a moment of potential orientation: who am I facing? Myself or God? Money or God? Family or God? Literature or God? In every molecule of this penultimate existence, if the primary focus is not God, then there is an incompleteness, a soil for madness and interior agitation. An authentically abundant life, on the contrary, is God-centric, and in that central, over-encompassing orientation toward God, all things naturally follow in their proper order and relevance. Apart from God, there is disharmony. With, through, and in God, there is life.

________

San Francisco: HarperCollins, 2001. Quotes (in order given here): pp. 49, 50, 92

The Holy Father begins with an invitation to the Church: to intensify her journey in purifying the spirit, “so as to draw more abundantly from the Mystery of Redemption the new life in Christ the Lord”. Through this invitation, Benedict introduces Baptism, explaining that this life “was already bestowed upon us on the day of our Baptism, when we ‘become sharers in Christ’s death and Resurrection’, and there began for us ‘the joyful and exulting adventure of his disciples’”. After quoting from the writings of Paul, the Holy Father comes to a beautiful conclusion:

Hence, Baptism is not a rite from the past, but the encounter with Christ, which informs the entire existence of the baptized, imparting divine life and calling for sincere conversion; initiated and supported by Grace, it permits the baptized to reach the adult stature of Christ. (emphasis mine)

When we are baptized, we are thrown into the being of the Son, who is the “abundant life”. Therefore, the most authentic life of the “I” is never self-constructed. On the contrary, the self is most pure and mature when it is formed by the existence of the Divine Other. To separate the “self” from the Son is an ontological error that will indubitably lead to self-frustration.

But why does the Holy Father parallel Baptism with Lent? Because: “A particular connection binds Baptism to Lent as the favorable time to experience this saving Grace…[T]he Church has always associated the Easter Vigil with the celebration of Baptism: this Sacrament realizes the great mystery in which man dies to sin, is made a sharer in the new life of the Risen Christ and receives the same Spirit of God who raised Jesus from the dead (cf. Rm 8:11).” Benedict explains that this gift of grace must always be “rekindled in each one of us, and Lent offers us a path”.

Lent is a holy time to reintegrate one’s life with the life of Christ–to fast with Him, give with Him, and pray with Him. The love of God is infinite and how passionately He wants to hold each of us in palm of His hands, which “formed man out of the clay of the ground” (Gen 2:7). From Him our lives were molded: into Him the heart eagerly desires to ascend. And so He became one of us. How beautiful the story of God’s infinite love for His beloved creation!

At this moment, the Holy Father turns to the Gospel readings of Lent: “In order to undertake more seriously our journey towards Easter and prepare ourselves to celebrate the Resurrection of the Lord…what could be more appropriate than allowing ourselves to be guided by the Word of God?” (emphasis mine)

In a couple of days, the Church will celebrate the First Sunday of Lent, during which the Gospel

reveals our condition as human beings here on earth. The victorious battle against temptation, the starting point of Jesus’ mission, is an invitation to become aware of our fragility in order to accept the Grace that frees from sin and infuses new strength in Christ–the way, the truth and the life. It is a powerful reminder that Christian faith implies, following the example of Jesus and in union with him, a battle “against the ruling forces who are masters of the darkness in this world” (Eph 6:12), in which the devil is at work and never tires–even today–of tempting whoever wishes to draw close to the Lord: Christ emerges victorious to open also our hearts to hope and guide us in overcoming the seductions of evil. (emphasis mine)

Benedict XVI articulates here the human condition: poverty. The human person is fragile, and ontologically in need of grace. Without Christ, there is no way for man to walk, no truth to embrace, and no life to experience. Any ideology without Christ, without the God of Love, is void of fulfillment or authentic meaning because it fails to truly accept the human heart in her condition of poverty. But with Christ, divine greatness offers itself to humanity. That is why Benedict stresses that to be Christian, one must follow Christ and be in union with Him. Most important, above all else the Christian is to conform oneself with Christ–be a son in the Son–who is the Incarnate Word of God: the very center of the Triune Divinity. In Him, does man taste the infinite good and beauty of God’s life, the supreme end of human hunger. Man’s poverty is redeemed by the Triune God’s divine excess of life and love.

Lastly, His Holiness exhibits a theme of “victory” in this synopsis of the Gospel. Christ is victorious and that is a cause for joy. He is the the shepherd who “feeds his flock…gathers the lambs… [in his arms, and] carrying them in his bosom…[he leads] the ewes with care” (Is 40:11). He is our hope. When, in every direction, temptation pulls human hearts away from their God, may all remember Jesus Christ, who has emerged victorious and is always willing and wanting to “open also our hearts to hope and guide us in overcoming the seductions of evil”. Followers of a victorious king, may we, His humble subjects, serve Him with joy, zeal and unbroken fidelity. There is something so much greater than sin, and it is Love. That alone is credible, satisfying, and infinite: all else trembles at His feet.

Praised be Jesus Christ!

Wired with Sound

The average college-aged male spends between 4 and 14 hours a day in electronic media.  If you add-in sleep, our time for work, and personal interactions, there’s not much time for anything else.

I often find myself having to really focus on paying attention to people in everyday surroundings; avoiding the temptation to multi-task while I’m around others.

Entering Into the Silence: Reflection

The silence of the church is so different than the constant sensation we find outside.

Coming from such a sound and media-saturated environment, it’s hard to get settled into the silence.  Why do we find it so difficult?

Silence offers us the opportunity to be alone with ourselves, which is sometimes difficult on a college campus with roommates, classrooms, lounges, cafeterias, and football games.  When we’re not being bombarded with media, the silence affords the chance to reflect on what we’ve done, who we are, what we’re going to do.  Reflection helps us to know ourselves.  But, reflection only gets us so far.  It is primarily in relationship that we discover who we are.

From Reflection to Prayer: Silence with a Purpose

Reflection moves from self-evaluation into personal prayer when we place ourselves before the Lord who is always present.  “In this silence, unbearable to the ‘outer’ man, the Father speaks to us his incarnate Word” (CCC 2717).  God is everywhere, but the parish church is a privileged place for this encounter because Jesus is personally present in the Blessed Sacrament of the Eucharist, whole and entire: His body, blood, soul, and divinity.  God is present…personally present!

How To: Silent Personal Prayer

First, place yourself in the presence of God: “Lord, I know that you’re here, I know that you’re present, I know that you see me, that you hear me, that you love me.  I adore you profoundly.”  Or…more simply: “Okay, Lord, here I am.”

Second, thank God for who He is and what he’s done in your life.  What are you thankful for today, this week?  Thank Him for creating you; for sending His Son Jesus; for setting us free from sin.

Awkward Silence

Silence can be awkward.  But so can conversation.  Awkward silences are okay with God.  A “respectful silence in the presence of the ‘ever greater’ God” is good (CCC 2628).  Even my best friends are frequently those with whom silence isn’t awkward.  It’s okay to just be in the silence with God.  One who prays is never alone.

[T]hough he [Christ] was in the form of God, [he] did not regard equality with God something to be grasped. Rather he emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, coming in human likeness…he humbled himself, becoming obedient to death, even death on a cross. Because of this, God greatly exalted him and bestowed on him the name that is above every name, that at the name of Jesus every knee should bend, of those in heaven and on earth and under the earth. (cf. Phil 2:6-11)

In this passage, the writer interweaves Old Testament faith and culture with the Gospel of Christ. Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger explains that in this hymn the “apostolic Church takes up the words of promise in Isaiah 45:23: ‘By myself I have sworn, from my mouth has gone forth in righteousness a word that shall not return: ‘To me every knee shall bow.” In the interweaving of Old and New Testaments, it becomes clear that, even as crucified, Jesus…is himself God by nature. Through him, through the Crucified, the bold promise of the Old Testament is now fulfilled: all bend the knee before Jesus, the one who descended, and bow to him precisely as the one true God” [1]. The theologian eventually concludes that it is therefore in adoration, in this humble bowing down and kneeling to, that man partakes in the most authentic human culture: the culture of truth that loves the Creator and King. Hence adoration and prayer, which culminate in the Liturgical sphere, have a distinctively cosmic element; creation itself is most true and noble when everything that is becomes itself, and ergo gives praise to her God. Thus, if we look at this through an ontological and anthropological lens, we can conclude with Ratzinger: “The humble gesture by which we fall at the feet of the Lord inserts us into the true path of life of the cosmos” [2].

Furthermore, kneeling itself is a Christological gesture. In the Acts of the Apostles, the writer records Stephen’s martyrdom, and details that as they were stoning this loyal disciple of Jesus Christ, “he fell to his knees and cried out in a loud voice, ‘Lord do no hold this sin against them’” (7:60). Surely, this verse reminds one of Christ, who, in Luke’s Gospel, kneels in Gethsemane. Thus, Luke is showing that the kneeling of the first martyr is his entry into the prayer of Jesus. Something ontological, even mystical, is taking place here. When man abandons himself in his entirety, causing his knees to buckle, he falls to the ground, the dirt of which the first man was made. But in this descent of man to the ground, there is the humility of the God-man, Jesus Christ. In this descent of man to the ground, man encounters the prayer of Jesus Christ, and by acknowledging and crying out to the King of Kings, man is lifted into the clouds–into the realm of God Himself. Ultimately, the truest position for the human person that expresses his nature in relation to God is on one’s knees, looking up to the Crucified Lord and in that humble gaze of God’s glory, he tastes that blood and water–the elements of the Sacramental economy–from Jesus’ side that set man free, inundate him with grace.

Kneeling inserts man into the position of Him who is at the center of history, Jesus of Nazareth. How beautiful this Christological component of kneeling! It is no wonder that, according to a story of the Desert Fathers, the devil, appearing to “a certain Abba Apollo…looked black and ugly, with frighteningly thin limbs, but most strikingly, he had no knees“. Referencing this myth, Ratzinger declares that the very “inability to kneel is seen as the very essence of the diabolical” [3]. This is not an attack on any sort of physical inabilities that some unfortunately may suffer. The devil has no knees because he lacks so much that proper worship is literally impossible for him. May this serve as a reminder to us the harm and danger of sin, which deforms human nature–the knees of the soul, we could even say.

All of this reminds me of a quote by Pope John XXIII: “Man is never so great as when he is kneeling”. In an interview with Peter Seewald, Joseph Ratzinger addresses this very quote: “I believe that this attitude, which was already one of the primitive forms of Old Testament prayer, is something essential for Christians”. [4] But why is it so that this action and position is essential? What is the practical implication and understanding? In a society with philosophical structures that fail to see interiorly, it may appear that kneeling or standing–especially in the Sacred Liturgy, for-instance–don’t really matter, as long as one is merely “prayerful”; some may even propose kneeling to be archaic and now unnecessary. However, I disagree. We have noted the cosmic and Christological dimensions of kneeling, which should suffice to silent those groups that deem kneeling unimportant. Nonetheless, a critical look at the position is also revealing. In Ratzinger’s words: “It is the most impressive physical expression of Christian piety, by which, on one hand, we remain upright, looking out, gazing upon him, but, on the other, we nonetheless bow down” [5].

Lastly, any sort of discussion of kneeling is bound to remind one of its place and significance in the Liturgy, the culmination of prayer–as has already been stated. It is a miserable circumstance that kneeling, in some places, is losing its importance within the Mass. As the surest expression of abandonment and praise, what a perfect place for man to express his awareness of the reality that is the Divine Liturgy. Ratzinger writes powerfully:

It may well be that kneeling is alien to modern culture–insofar as it is a culture, for this culture has turned away from the faith and no longer knows the One before whom kneeling is the right, indeed the intrinsically necessary gesture. The man who learns to believe learns also to kneel, and a faith or a liturgy no longer familiar with kneeling would be sick at the core. Where it has been lost, kneeling must be rediscovered, so that, in our prayer, we remain in fellowship with the apostles and martyrs, in fellowship with the whole cosmos, indeed in union with Jesus Christ Himself. [6]

If piety and orthodoxy, as well as orthopraxy, have any importance for Christians, then may we kneel. May we kneel in adoration of Christ the King, the perfect Mediator Dei, from whose being the entire universe was formed. May we kneel as we gaze into the Heart of God’s only Son, and in that gaze, soar the heavens above the dirt of the earth. May we kneel in thanksgiving, praise, and petition to the Almighty One. Indeed, may we kneel because we are in love, and in that falling to one’s knees, fall deeper into that Vastness of Being, the Trinity.

______

1. The Spirit of the Liturgy (San Francisco: Ignatius, 2000), 174

2. Ibid.

3. Ibid., 193 (emphasis original)

4. God And the World (San Francisco: Ignatius, 2002), 410

5. Ibid., 409 (emphasis added)

6. Spirit of the Liturgy, 194

In an excerpt of some retreat notes, the Saint writes on the power and beauty of prayer:

[Prayer] is the only means of purifying us, of uniting us to God, and of allowing God to unite himself to us and be glorified in us. We must pray to obtain the apostolic virtues; pray that we may use them to help others, and pray also that we may not lose them while serving others.

Without a doubt, Saint Claude’s spirituality of prayer is intense. It is a means, and what he identifies as the only means, of purification and unification with God. This understanding of prayer is mystical, that prayer is a certain transportation of the soul into the arms of God. Saint Catherine of Siena, for-instance, explains that through prayer, the soul tastes truth and goodness, and “unites [itself] with God”.[1] This mystical theology of prayer is also how the Catechism of the Catholic Church defines prayer—using the words of St. John Damascene: “Prayer is the raising of one’s mind and heart to God” (CCC 2559). If prayer is about the transportation of the soul above, then the object of prayer is not just God, but more specifically, it is the presence of God. Prayer cultivates the Most High present within one’s own existential make-up. Prayer enhances the life of God within us by bringing us closer to Him: prayer awakens man.

The Saint continues, considering the counsel of Saint Paul to pray without ceasing: “[This] seems sweet to me and in no way impossible. It includes the practice of the presence of God…We always have need of God, therefore we must always pray”. Likewise and furthermore, the greatest charity is the giving of Jesus Christ to others. Not only, then, do we pray in order to be with God, but we pray to overflow with God: prayer, thence, becomes a way of being gift: “How can we help our neighbor? By prayer and good works. Preaching is useless without grace, and grace is only obtained by prayer. If conversions are few, it is because few pray.”

One cannot consider prayer without its component and fullness within the Holy Mass. Saint Claude goes so far as to write that “God is more honored by a single Mass than he could be by all actions of angels and men together”. He continues that it is in the Mass, in this “adorable Sacrifice”, that man can “find all things: graces, riches spiritual and temporal, favors for body and mind for life and eternity”. With such an understanding of the Eucharist, is it any wonder that the Saint also writes about the necessity of the Sacrament?

My daily Mass and Communion is my only hope and resource. Jesus Christ can do very little if he cannot uphold me from day to day. He will not fail to reproach me if I begin to relax; each day he will counsel me and give me new strength; he will instruct, console, and encourage me and give me all the graces for which I pray. [Emphasis added.]

These words ought to inspire the Christian of today. In the Holy Mass, the participating individual is able to encounter the authenticity of a hope that transforms and renews, to receive and be received into the communion of Jesus Christ and therefore eat the greatest nutrient of the human person: the bread of life (cf. Jn 6). To encounter Jesus Christ is a central component of the Liturgical life. By encountering Him, our souls are lifted and renewed, and our senses are opened and strengthened by the powers of faith, hope, and love. By encountering Jesus Christ we enter into the communion of creation that longs for the closeness of the Creator, in whom man’s true source of happiness rests. The Holy Mass is that place where the personality of the human person reaches its fullest expression in the adoration and reception of her God.

I was greatly touched in considering the thoughts that Jesus Christ has of me when I hold him in my hands: the dispositions of his Heart, his desires and plans for my soul. What sweetness and grace a pure and detached soul receives in this Sacrament.

I would now like to end with a brief passage the Saint wrote on charity and service to others:

God is in the midst of us, and it seems that we do not recognize him. He is in our neighbor and desires to be served, loved, and honored in him, and he will reward us more than if we served him in person…Let each one see Jesus Christ in his neighbor.

Religion has always been about the other, that is, some sort of divinity. However, in Christianity, the whole structure of the other is transcended and illuminated. Christianity is, in the first place, about being close with the Most High, the God of Love. In that communion with the Creator, however, man is received into the communion of creation; thus, because Christianity is about the Ultimate Other, who is the God of Jesus Christ, it always concentrates on the other. Christianity is therefore a religion of excess, of being radically and extensively pro-life. For true life is one of excess and fullness. Only from God can such spring forth into the human heart.

May these words on service inspire us to dive deeper into relationship with others, and to look into their eyes and see not a reflection of oneself, but, aided by light of faith, adore the eyes and presence of Christ.

Saint Claude la Colombiére, pray for us!

The primary Gospel message that Gregory is preaching on is Christ the Good Shepherd (Jn 10). He is speaking to encourage the flock to truly be flock, and by that he means true followers of the Heavenly Shepherd: “Ask yourselves whether you belong to his flock, whether you know him, whether the light of his truth shines in your minds. I assure you that it is not by faith that you will come to know him, but by love”. To be a sheep of the Good Shepherd is if to, not surprisingly, follow Him—and this requires love.

Moreover, to arrive at this conclusion, Gregory first read and interpreted the following passage: “I am the good shepherd. I know my own – by which I mean, I love them – and my own know me. In plain words: those who love me are willing to follow me, for anyone who does not love the truth has not yet come to know it”. Gregory, here, is drawing upon the Biblical tradition of knowledge, namely, that it is something more than a mere acknowledgement of a fact, that it, instead, involves an interior transformation and even a certain relationship with the truth. Thus, when we come to know God, we thereby come to love the truth—which He is—and so enter into discipleship.

The question, then, seems to be, “How do I come to know God?”. Gregory answers this question by tracing the path that the Son took. It is through love that man comes in communication with God. For the flock of Jesus Christ is a flock inundated with love, and that is the mark of Christianity, of being Christian (cf. Jn 34-35). The whole persona of Jesus is love. He is God Incarnate, the personification of Love. He came “to serve and give his life as a ransom” (Mk 10:45). Therefore, to come to know God requires that we come to know the mediator of God, Christ Jesus. This, in turn, necessitates a conformation-in-being with Jesus. And how one comes to this is through love: serving and giving his life to others. Living for the other is the atom of the Christian compound, so to speak.

Gregory quotes from the First Letter of John to emphasize the importance of love in knowing God: “anyone who claims to know God without keeping his commandments is a liar” (1 Jn 2:4). In a later passage, John writes: “Whoever is without love does not know God” (1 Jn 4:8). Just as God came down into the human condition through love, so man comes to know God through love, of which God Himself is the source and fount.

Thus, love really is a mystical power. By entering into life, into the “sheepfold through me [Jesus] he [one] shall be saved; he shall go freely in and out and shall find good pasture. He will enter into a life of faith; from faith he will go out to vision, from belief to contemplation, and will graze in the good pastures of everlasting life”.

The God of Love calls us to a life of love. When we therefore live charitably, generously, and gratuitously, we begin to follow His incarnate Son—the Bridge into the Divine. Love is the ingredient of mysticism, of coming into contact with the Infinite, of experiencing the closeness of God’s presence face-to-face.

The Pope closes his homily with beautiful words of inspiration that, still today, should be a source of encouragement for Christians: “Let us stir up our hearts, rekindle our faith, and long eagerly for what heaven has in store for us. To love thus is to be already on our way. No matter what obstacles we encounter, we must not allow them to turn us aside from the joy of that heavenly feast.” The excerpt accordingly ends with a message of joy. There is a certain, unique joy of knowing Christ. It is a joy that liberates, a joy that conveys true life, and a joy that nourishes the divine source of the human person. It is a joy that only comes from God, and it is a joy that is accessible only through love.

Thus, just as Deus Caritas est, may we, in turn be love, and so be with God, and allow our souls to experience their primal wings and soar the heavens with the Divine, once again.

Last Tuesday, April 20^th, Pope Benedict XVI delivered the homily at the funeral Mass for Cardinal Spidlík. As always, the words of the Holy Father are touching and practical; yet, at the same time, they are filled with great theological depth. In this particular homily, Benedict introduces themes of theology that appear consistently in his thought: hope, joy, and the significance of the heart. In this two-part post, I want to examine the homily of Benedict through the lens of these three theological subjects.

The Pope opens the homily with some of the Cardinal’s last words before his death. They are beautiful, and in themselves, a reflection could be written: “Throughout my life I have sought the Face of Jesus and I am now happy and at peace because I am about to go and see him”. In a recent post, we have already reflected—briefly—over the theological understanding of death, especially through the thought of Benedict. Not surprising, then, the Holy Father is drawing the same conclusion as before—this time, through the words of another Christian. In the person of Jesus Christ, the dark, unknown abyss has been opened, has been walked through; and not just that, but the abyss itself has been conquered. Love has defeated that sting of death (cf. 1 Cor 15:54-55 ); love has given birth to a hope, rooted in the supernatural, that grants man true life, thereby making it possible to overcome the burden of death.[1]

Benedict then uses Christology to further enlighten the Cardinal’s words. He sees a connection with the Gospel reading: “‘Father, I desire that they also, whom you have given before me, may be with me where I am, to behold my glory which you have given me in your love for me before the foundation of the world’ (Jn 17:24)…Christ’s desire is far more than an aspiration: it is a will…[And] it is precisely here, in this desire [of Christ] that we find the ‘rock’, the solid foundation for believing and for hoping. Jesus’ desire, in fact, coincides with God the Father’s and, with the work of the Holy Spirit, constitutes for the human being a sort of sure ‘embrace’, strong and gentle, which leads him to eternal life”. Man discovers eternal life, in the present, when he discovers Jesus Christ, who serves His own food, which is the will of the Father, to all those who come to Him. In addition, I think the Pope is also preaching, perhaps cryptically, an important message about our human will. It is most perfected and mature when it is at the same level of being as Jesus’ will; Jesus, the ‘last man’, who is the perfect image of God, shows that a holy will is not simply one in harmony with God, but one that is itself desire. It seems to me that Benedict is drawing a conclusion here, namely, that for the human person, he is most free, most able to will rightfully and in truth, when his will is a desire, and that means a longing, a reaching. Ultimately, when will equals total desire to and for love, then man experiences inner freedom, liberation, theosis.

The next part of the homily, the Pope reaches into the Cardinal’s personal life. He preaches about humor, to be precise. Those “immersed in… grace”, the Holy Father explains, are able to persevere through affliction “without losing trust, indeed, on the contrary… [they display a] keen sense of humor which is certainly a sign of intelligence but also of inner freedom”.[2] Here, we run into this Pope’s consistent message about Christianity: communicating joy to others. This is an invitation for all Christians and peoples: laugh. The Christian hope is in a God of joy, a God of salvific suffering: “Your sorrow will turn into joy”, He says (Jn 16:20). It is the same God who, in His intercession in the life of Sarah, causes her to say: “God has made me laugh; every one who hears will laugh with me” (Gen 21:6). The importance of communicating joy, of developing a sense of humor where one can look into another’s eyes and, because of his deep love for God, shares with them a taste of divinity, eternity, and paradise, is obvious. When we do that, the fruit is almost always laughter—a laughter that has its source in the human heart. When love touches the heart, the nucleus of the person, it expresses the “laughter of redemption”, a phrase Ratzinger has used before.[3]

Benedict sees the synthesis of hope and joy imbedded in the Easter message—hence its importance for Christians, Easter people. He begins to lay out this synthesis, where hope and joy meet, by first drawing upon the fulfillment of Psalm 16 in Jesus Christ: “I saw the Lord always before me, for he is at my right hand that I may not be shaken; therefore my heart was glad, and my tongue rejoiced; moreover my flesh will dwell in hope” (Acts 2:25-26; cf. Ps 16[15]:8-9). This verse outlines the fruits of redemption. First, foundation: humanity has truth, in Person, which serves as man’s true food, and a bedrock for his being; secondly, gladness and joy; and thirdly, living by dwelling in hope. Returning to the the Psalmist’s prayer, it encounters “superabundant fulfilment when Christ…is not abandoned in Hades. He was the first to know ‘the path of life’ and was filled with joy by the Father’s presence (cf. Acts 2:27-28; Ps 16[15]:11)”. Additionally, “[t]he hope and joy of the Risen Jesus are also the hope and joy of his friends…[by the] action of the Holy Spirit”. The whole person of Jesus Christ can be understood as pro-existence, as existing-for-others; thus, His victory on the Cross disseminates throughout creation, and is magnified in the lives of those closest to Him—those close to His heart, which is closest to the Father’s (cf. Jn 1:18), the source and being of Happiness. At the same time, a component of pneumatology enters into the dialogue. Living in the spirit of Jesus Christ’s Resurrection is living, simultaneously, within the ministry of the Holy Spirit. By the action of the Holy Spirit, hope and joy are communicated to others. When we enter into dialogue with Jesus Christ, the whole spectrum and relationship of the Trinity is before us.

[2] See Joseph Ratzinger, Behold the Pierced One (San Francisco: Ignatius, 1986), 111-121 for a reflection on Easter, in which the theologian includes a theology of laughter.

[3] Ibid.

Recently my wife and I have been reading through St. Francis de Sales’ masterful spiritual classic, Introduction to the Devout Life. St. Francis de Sales’ preface has a great passage that I think has much to say on these matters. 

He explains that he is not writing for the vowed religious in orders or monasteries, but for

those who live in town, within families, or at court, and by their state of life are obliged to live an ordinary life as to outward appearances….just as the mother of pearl fish lives in the sea without taking in a single drop of salt water, just as near the Chelodonian islands springs of fresh water may be found in the depths of the sea, and just as the firefly passes through flames without burning its wings, so also a strong, resolute soul can live in the world without being infected by any of its moods, find sweet springs of piety amid its salty waves, and fly through the flames of earthly lusts without burning the wings of its holy desires for a devout life.¹ 

In short, we are all called to become Saints, regardless of our vocation or state in life. This is the “universal call to holiness” about which the Second Vatican Council taught (5^th Ch. of Lumen Gentium). We can pray at all times (e.g., 1 Thess. 5:17) by practicing the presence of God, offering short prayers before we work (e.g., cleaning dishes, typing at the computer, attending meetings, fixing plumbing, etc.) thereby transforming our very work into prayer, and even silently praying brief prayers while we work (e.g., “Jesus, I love you,” “O God come to my assistance,” etc.). All of us can share our faith with others. We can do this by telling our family members, friends, colleagues, about how God has worked in our lives. We talk to people about our friends, spouses, parents, and children; we can also talk to people about our relationship with God, since that relationship is the most important one we have. Sometimes we’ll be called upon to explain the faith to the best of our abilities. This will take study and experience, but we all have to begin at some point if we are ever to gain such important experience. Finally, we can serve others in numerous ways that are simple (but not easy) every day: pray for others, offer our work and sufferings as prayers for others; doing the little things well (smiling for others, cleaning up for others, simple greetings and courtesies, offering to lend a hand when the opportunity presents itself, being better listeners, etc.). 

Soup kitchens and service/mission trips are wonderful. But we all have daily opportunities which can draw us closer to God, and through which can draw others closer to God. Religious orders and communities are wonderful, necessary, and essential. But those of us who are not called to such vocations must not use that as an excuse to neglect God. God desires all of us to become Saints. For those of us who are called to live in the midst of the world, the very world becomes our monastery; the streets, the workplace, the many varied vehicles of transportation we use, all of these locales become for us our houses of prayer, our temples, and at the same time our mission field. The most important of these will always remain our home, where we are called upon to spread Christ’s love among the members of our family. In St. Francis de Sales’ words, we are to become souls living “in the world without becoming infected by” the world. 

St. Francis de Sales

All of us can become Saints. Such sanctity is achievable, although the path is arduous, and I’m as far away from it as you, further away probably than most of you. As Catholics we must not neglect the aid of the Communion of Saints, on earth, in purgatory, and in heaven, for we are called to bear one another’s burdens (e.g., Gal. 6:2), and how wonderful such brotherly and sisterly aid can be. We should also frequent the Eucharist, the source and summit of our lives (Lumen Gentium no. 11), precisely because the Eucharist is Jesus’ gift of Self, of His very life, and Jesus is the center of our lives. We will invariably fall down, again and again. Thanks be to God for the Sacraments, including Confession! What lavish gifts the Lord has provided for us! He has given us all the means to grow in holiness. Let us then strive to become Saints. For those of us called to a secular vocation as described by St. Francis de Sales, let us become Saints in the midst of the world. We can do it with God’s grace. Put simply, we must follow Jesus, walking by faith every day.

1. St. Francis de Sales, Introduction to the Devout Life, trans. with an introduction and notes by John K. Ryan (New York: Doubleday, 1989), 33-34.