Atonement is not an accountant's trick. It is not a kindly overlooking; it is not a not counting of what must count if anything in heaven or on earth is to matter. God could not simply decide not to count without declaring that we do not count.
But someone might say that, if God is God, he could do anything. Very well then, God would not decide not to count, because he would not declare that we do not count. And yet God's "would" implicates and limits his "could." The God of whom we speak is not, in the words of Pascal, the God of the philosophers but the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. He is the God of unbounded freedom who willed to be bound by love. - Fr. Richard John Neuhaus, Death on a Friday Afternoon
There's this lingering, insidious concept, that has been around for centuries but has thrived in a new way since the sexual revolution of the 1960's. It proclaims the superiority of free love, unhindered by petty jealousy and possessiveness, which knows no boundaries. It suggests that any restriction on our expressions of love are an adulteration of what love should truly be.
What it calls love is really selfish hedonism, and it ignores a fundamental truth: the central requisite characteristic of love is the willingness of the lover to be bound by it. It isn't that love costs the lover his or her freedom of choice; rather, the lover subjugates his or her freedom of choice to what best benefits the beloved.
This is not to say that, in human relationships, love makes the lover a doormat. It is usually not best for the beloved for that to be the case! But the simple fact is that, if love is to be worthwhile, to be treasured, it must be way more than feelings without cost. Love's value depends on what the lover is willing to invest in it.
It isn't that I couldn't decide to cheat on, or in some other way stop loving, my wife. Rather, I can't do so without altering the fundamental nature of who I have become, without being unfaithful to myself in the process. Likewise with God's love. But God's fundamental nature is infinitely less fickle than our own!
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
The awful truth
God became man. We say it trembling. We say it puzzling. But more often we say it rotely, counting on routine to buffer what we cannot bear. What can we do with the burden of such a truth? This is the awful truth: that we made necessary the baby crying in the cradle to become the derelict crying from the cross. The awful truth - as in awe-filled, filled with awe. - Fr. Richard John Neuhaus, Death on a Friday Afternoon
It's important to understand that Fr. Neuhaus is not being accusatory when he says that the awful truth is that we made this necessary. More specifically, he isn't suggesting that we should be all the more ashamed of the wrong we have done because it resulted in the death this innocent man-God. Rather, we should be filled with awe over the lengths - the depths - of love to which God is/was willing to go to be reconciled with us. Once we ate from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, there was no way we were ever going to be willing to live according to God's vision. And the awe-inspiring truth is that from the outset God knew this would be, and planned for our reconciliation.
I love how Fr. Neuhaus embraces the chief objection that rational man has to this faith: this is too improbable to be believed. Ahh, but once we truly believe it, beyond repeating the words from memory as part of an ancient creed, it makes all the difference in how we view ourselves and our God. God cares for us this much?? How can that be?? But I must be pretty special for the Creator of the universe to go to such extreme measures to counter my stubborn disunity.
Amazing love! How can it be that Thou, my God, should die for me? - Charles Wesley, And Can It Be That I Should Gain
It's important to understand that Fr. Neuhaus is not being accusatory when he says that the awful truth is that we made this necessary. More specifically, he isn't suggesting that we should be all the more ashamed of the wrong we have done because it resulted in the death this innocent man-God. Rather, we should be filled with awe over the lengths - the depths - of love to which God is/was willing to go to be reconciled with us. Once we ate from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, there was no way we were ever going to be willing to live according to God's vision. And the awe-inspiring truth is that from the outset God knew this would be, and planned for our reconciliation.
I love how Fr. Neuhaus embraces the chief objection that rational man has to this faith: this is too improbable to be believed. Ahh, but once we truly believe it, beyond repeating the words from memory as part of an ancient creed, it makes all the difference in how we view ourselves and our God. God cares for us this much?? How can that be?? But I must be pretty special for the Creator of the universe to go to such extreme measures to counter my stubborn disunity.
Amazing love! How can it be that Thou, my God, should die for me? - Charles Wesley, And Can It Be That I Should Gain
Sunday, March 27, 2011
The real world
We contemplate for a time the meaning of Good Friday, and then return to what is called the real world of work and shopping and commuter trains and homes. As we come out of a movie theater and shake our heads to clear our minds of another world where we lived for a time in suspended disbelief, as we reorient ourselves to reality, so we leave our contemplation - we leave the church building, we close the book - where for a time another reality seemed possible, believable, even real. But, we tell ourselves, the real world is elsewhere. It is the world of deadlines to be met, of appointments to be kept, of takes to be paid, of children to be educated. From here, from this moment at the cross, it is a distant country. - Fr. Richard John Neuhaus, Death on a Friday Afternoon
There are lots of aspects of our spirituality in which we can encounter the same tendency. The physical world scoffs at our spirituality not only because it isn't the real world, but because it has little to do with the real world. The physical world insists that it alone is the real world. And at least part of our mind agrees with the physical world.
There are lots of aspects of our spirituality in which we can encounter the same tendency. The physical world scoffs at our spirituality not only because it isn't the real world, but because it has little to do with the real world. The physical world insists that it alone is the real world. And at least part of our mind agrees with the physical world.
Friday, March 25, 2011
Our daily bread
Trusting God to provide all that we need is a liberating thing.
It was crunch time, getting close to 1:00. Each Friday I'm frantically engaged in wrapping up the weekly summary of activity on our new product line for a 3:00 meeting. I was finished with the number crunching, but still had to finish dropping the week's accomplishments and roadblocks for each site into the report, when my computer started acting up again around lunch time. And wouldn't recover.
While my computer was rebooting I made my way, full of frustration, to fill my cup at the water fountain. As I was leaving to return to my desk, I thought of the mission I'd participated in all week, and prayed: "Give us, this day, our daily bread." With those words was reminded that I can trust that God will provide for all that we need. Yes, there's more that this part of this prayer calls me to, but it calls me first to trust in God's providence, then to respond by being an instrument of God's providence for others.
That report got done during the meeting instead of before, but y'know, it got done, and I had way more peace in my heart than I've had in many a Friday afternoon.
It was crunch time, getting close to 1:00. Each Friday I'm frantically engaged in wrapping up the weekly summary of activity on our new product line for a 3:00 meeting. I was finished with the number crunching, but still had to finish dropping the week's accomplishments and roadblocks for each site into the report, when my computer started acting up again around lunch time. And wouldn't recover.
While my computer was rebooting I made my way, full of frustration, to fill my cup at the water fountain. As I was leaving to return to my desk, I thought of the mission I'd participated in all week, and prayed: "Give us, this day, our daily bread." With those words was reminded that I can trust that God will provide for all that we need. Yes, there's more that this part of this prayer calls me to, but it calls me first to trust in God's providence, then to respond by being an instrument of God's providence for others.
That report got done during the meeting instead of before, but y'know, it got done, and I had way more peace in my heart than I've had in many a Friday afternoon.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
The far side of death
"When I came to you," writes St. Paul to the Corinthians, "I did not come proclaiming to you the testimony of God in lofty words or wisdom. For I decided to know nothing among you but Christ and him crucified." Stay a while. Do not hurry by the cross on your way to Easter joy, for we know the risen Lord only through Christ and him crucified. The philosopher Alfred North Whitehead said that the only simplicity to be trusted is the simplicity to be found on the far side of complexity. The only joy to be trusted is the joy on the far side of a broken heart; the only life to be trusted is the life on the far side of death. Stay a while, with Christ, and him crucified. - Fr. Richard John Neuhaus, Death on a Friday Afternoon
I had no intention of including the whole paragraph, but it builds on itself so well that I felt I couldn't omit any of it.
35 years ago, my wife and I were high school sweethearts. We reunited a couple years after graduation, still very young, intensely in love. I'm pretty sure that she'd agree with me that the only love to be trusted is the love on the other side of trial - the trials that life has brought us and God has brought us through. Love that has been tested in fire becomes pure, without alloy. Along the way, we've too much broken each other's heart by our own choices and actions, and it is true that we couldn't trust the joy we knew until we were healed of our brokenness. We've each had to let part of our self die: our vision of what love should be and of how we relate to each other, our ideas of just what sort of thing could and couldn't ever be forgiven, our desire for a relationship different from - in our minds, better than - the one we thought we could have together. So the life we have together, that we can now trust, is already on the other side of a sort of death to ourselves. As we experienced the laying down of our lives for one another, as the immature relationship we once shared was put to death, we have found a resurrected love far deeper and more wonderful than that we thought so marvelous at the outset.
It's important not to linger at Good Friday in the wrong way. It isn't merely a reason to tolerate or even embrace all the crap that life brings us, though it is good for us to unite ourselves with Christ in all our sufferings as well as our joys. Nor is it just a helpful way to console ourselves over the bad things that happen to good people. It isn't a reason to beat ourselves up some more over the wrong choices we've made, and is especially not a license for those wrong choices we might be considering. In fact, there are many shallow ways to think about this day of glory and suffering, and the purpose of lingering at the foot of the cross is to put them aside to plumb a bit further the depths of unfathomable love.
I had no intention of including the whole paragraph, but it builds on itself so well that I felt I couldn't omit any of it.
35 years ago, my wife and I were high school sweethearts. We reunited a couple years after graduation, still very young, intensely in love. I'm pretty sure that she'd agree with me that the only love to be trusted is the love on the other side of trial - the trials that life has brought us and God has brought us through. Love that has been tested in fire becomes pure, without alloy. Along the way, we've too much broken each other's heart by our own choices and actions, and it is true that we couldn't trust the joy we knew until we were healed of our brokenness. We've each had to let part of our self die: our vision of what love should be and of how we relate to each other, our ideas of just what sort of thing could and couldn't ever be forgiven, our desire for a relationship different from - in our minds, better than - the one we thought we could have together. So the life we have together, that we can now trust, is already on the other side of a sort of death to ourselves. As we experienced the laying down of our lives for one another, as the immature relationship we once shared was put to death, we have found a resurrected love far deeper and more wonderful than that we thought so marvelous at the outset.
It's important not to linger at Good Friday in the wrong way. It isn't merely a reason to tolerate or even embrace all the crap that life brings us, though it is good for us to unite ourselves with Christ in all our sufferings as well as our joys. Nor is it just a helpful way to console ourselves over the bad things that happen to good people. It isn't a reason to beat ourselves up some more over the wrong choices we've made, and is especially not a license for those wrong choices we might be considering. In fact, there are many shallow ways to think about this day of glory and suffering, and the purpose of lingering at the foot of the cross is to put them aside to plumb a bit further the depths of unfathomable love.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Follow me
In this killing that some call senseless we are brought to our senses. Here we find out who we most truly are, because here is the One who is what we are called to be. The derelict cries, "Come, follow me." Follow him there? We recoil. We close our ears. We hurry on to Easter. But we will not know what to do with Easter's light if we shun the friendship of the darkness that is wisdom's way to light. - Fr. Richard John Neuhaus, Death on a Friday Afternoon
These words could seem accusing: " . . . here is the One who is what we are called to be." I find I have two natural responses that grip me.
On the one hand, I protest: I know I'm supposed to be that, but I'm so much less than that. But these words are not offered in accusation, to lead us to despair. They are meant to remind us that we are called beyond ourselves, but that we can be transformed into the image of Christ in the world by the work of the Holy Spirit only to the degree that we are willing to embrace this destination. In the cross we see agony, while Christ sees perfect love.
At the same time, I run. I do what I can to self-fulfill the first part of Jesus' prayer, "Let this cup pass from me," without the humble acceptance of the second part, "Not my will, but Thine be done." Yes, this is the natural response. After all, there is no wisdom in embracing pain for pain's own sake. Yet we often seek to avoid even pain that we know in our heart is ours to bear.
Contrast mere masochism, though, against the pain we bear for the sake of true, selfless love. Not perverse codependency. Not delusional obsession. Rather, the real giving of myself for the sake of another's needs.
That's different from any mere "martyr complex," yet goes way beyond sharing the leftovers of our life. I've got to be willing to walk through the darkness for the sake of the light that can only be found on the other side of it.
These words could seem accusing: " . . . here is the One who is what we are called to be." I find I have two natural responses that grip me.
On the one hand, I protest: I know I'm supposed to be that, but I'm so much less than that. But these words are not offered in accusation, to lead us to despair. They are meant to remind us that we are called beyond ourselves, but that we can be transformed into the image of Christ in the world by the work of the Holy Spirit only to the degree that we are willing to embrace this destination. In the cross we see agony, while Christ sees perfect love.
At the same time, I run. I do what I can to self-fulfill the first part of Jesus' prayer, "Let this cup pass from me," without the humble acceptance of the second part, "Not my will, but Thine be done." Yes, this is the natural response. After all, there is no wisdom in embracing pain for pain's own sake. Yet we often seek to avoid even pain that we know in our heart is ours to bear.
Contrast mere masochism, though, against the pain we bear for the sake of true, selfless love. Not perverse codependency. Not delusional obsession. Rather, the real giving of myself for the sake of another's needs.
That's different from any mere "martyr complex," yet goes way beyond sharing the leftovers of our life. I've got to be willing to walk through the darkness for the sake of the light that can only be found on the other side of it.
A People of Bread
Give us, this day, our daily bread.
Fr. Satish focused tonight's lesson in our parish mission on this passage. He's been reflecting on aspects of this prayer each night. An Abba People. A Kingdom People. It has been good stuff. Tonight's was good, too, but I think he missed an important point.
Yes, we are called to pray this, to trust in God to provide for all that we need. And yes, we in turn are then to be the instrument through which God provides for what each beloved son and daughter needs. These grow out of our relationship with God and with one another that are underscored for us as we pray "Our Father." And they are the specific fulfillment of our prayer that God's will be done.
But here's what I think he missed: most of us don't really put our trust in God to provide what we need. We really think it's up to us to provide for our own needs, even if we pay lip service to acknowledging that we're doing so out of the gifts, talents, etc. that God has provided.
When we really believe that God will provide all that we need, we will not hesitate to be the instruments through which God provides what others need.
I am not there yet . . .
Fr. Satish focused tonight's lesson in our parish mission on this passage. He's been reflecting on aspects of this prayer each night. An Abba People. A Kingdom People. It has been good stuff. Tonight's was good, too, but I think he missed an important point.
Yes, we are called to pray this, to trust in God to provide for all that we need. And yes, we in turn are then to be the instrument through which God provides for what each beloved son and daughter needs. These grow out of our relationship with God and with one another that are underscored for us as we pray "Our Father." And they are the specific fulfillment of our prayer that God's will be done.
But here's what I think he missed: most of us don't really put our trust in God to provide what we need. We really think it's up to us to provide for our own needs, even if we pay lip service to acknowledging that we're doing so out of the gifts, talents, etc. that God has provided.
When we really believe that God will provide all that we need, we will not hesitate to be the instruments through which God provides what others need.
I am not there yet . . .
Monday, March 21, 2011
Caring timelessness
I do not ask you to forget the present and imagine that it is Holy Week. Rather, I invite you to be open to the thought that you are now calling the present is Holy Week, for all time was there, is there, at the cross. - Fr. Richard John Neuhaus, Death on a Friday Afternoon
Why do young people fall in love so easily? Carefree timelessness! - Matthew Kelly, The Seven Levels of Intimacy
I've written about the timelessness of Christ before, numerous times, including (at least) here, here, here, here, and here. (Note to self: create an Eternity label and add the appropriate posts to it!) Now I find the concept near the very beginning of Fr. Neuhaus' book, where I must have read it before I started reflecting in detail on my initial reading, last year. And I also find myself thinking of Matthew Kelly's insightful observations on the power of timelessness in relationships, and Fr. Satish's comments tonight about the central importance in prayer of focusing on God's love.
I don't believe any of us would ever characterize Jesus' Passion as "carefree." Quite the opposite. And yet no believer would deny that it was an incredible act of love, and that the least of Jesus' concerns was how long it was taking. So there we see at least one aspect of timelessness that was at work on Good Friday. Our approach to our deepest relationships is never focused on how long things are taking; we are rather so absorbed in whatever sharing of life is taking place that time often seems to stand still for us. So, we're up with good friends all hours of the night (unless, of course, we're sick as a dog when we visit!), or we're reunited after years of separation and it's as if we haven't spent more than a day apart.
The culmination of all timelessness occurs in the eternal heavenly liturgical banquet. The original and annual Hebrew Passover celebration finds its fulfillment there. Every Eucharistic celebration, beginning from the first Holy Thursday - which was a Passover meal - is present for all eternity in this feast. Every moment of time is simultaneously present and fulfilled; each pain is united with Jesus' pain, each joy united finds its place within that of the resurrection. So it is that each moment is also inextricably linked to the cross. This is the ultimate in timelessness, and we participate in it at each Eucharist, and indeed, each time we enter into the Lord's presence.
Each of our relationships grows to the degree in which we allow this attitude of timelessness to have its sway. It is "carefree" in the sense that we don't care about the time. But I believe it's mostly a matter of caring more about the present than about the time. It isn't that the passage of time isn't important; it's that we care more about the other person we're with, or who we're doing something for. It is a "caring" timelessness.
Christ lived this way throughout his Incarnate life. From his inception/Incarnation through his Passion and death, Jesus was more concerned with his relationship with his beloved (that would be each of us!) than with anything else, including time. And this was never more true than in the fullness of time, when he completed his mission on earth.
And so it is that each moment is part of the eternal Holy Week. We may as well immerse ourselves in it now, as it is our destiny forever!
Why do young people fall in love so easily? Carefree timelessness! - Matthew Kelly, The Seven Levels of Intimacy
I've written about the timelessness of Christ before, numerous times, including (at least) here, here, here, here, and here. (Note to self: create an Eternity label and add the appropriate posts to it!) Now I find the concept near the very beginning of Fr. Neuhaus' book, where I must have read it before I started reflecting in detail on my initial reading, last year. And I also find myself thinking of Matthew Kelly's insightful observations on the power of timelessness in relationships, and Fr. Satish's comments tonight about the central importance in prayer of focusing on God's love.
I don't believe any of us would ever characterize Jesus' Passion as "carefree." Quite the opposite. And yet no believer would deny that it was an incredible act of love, and that the least of Jesus' concerns was how long it was taking. So there we see at least one aspect of timelessness that was at work on Good Friday. Our approach to our deepest relationships is never focused on how long things are taking; we are rather so absorbed in whatever sharing of life is taking place that time often seems to stand still for us. So, we're up with good friends all hours of the night (unless, of course, we're sick as a dog when we visit!), or we're reunited after years of separation and it's as if we haven't spent more than a day apart.
The culmination of all timelessness occurs in the eternal heavenly liturgical banquet. The original and annual Hebrew Passover celebration finds its fulfillment there. Every Eucharistic celebration, beginning from the first Holy Thursday - which was a Passover meal - is present for all eternity in this feast. Every moment of time is simultaneously present and fulfilled; each pain is united with Jesus' pain, each joy united finds its place within that of the resurrection. So it is that each moment is also inextricably linked to the cross. This is the ultimate in timelessness, and we participate in it at each Eucharist, and indeed, each time we enter into the Lord's presence.
Each of our relationships grows to the degree in which we allow this attitude of timelessness to have its sway. It is "carefree" in the sense that we don't care about the time. But I believe it's mostly a matter of caring more about the present than about the time. It isn't that the passage of time isn't important; it's that we care more about the other person we're with, or who we're doing something for. It is a "caring" timelessness.
Christ lived this way throughout his Incarnate life. From his inception/Incarnation through his Passion and death, Jesus was more concerned with his relationship with his beloved (that would be each of us!) than with anything else, including time. And this was never more true than in the fullness of time, when he completed his mission on earth.
And so it is that each moment is part of the eternal Holy Week. We may as well immerse ourselves in it now, as it is our destiny forever!
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Not a dismal prelude
(Good Friday) is not simply the dismal but necessary prelude to the joy of Easter, although I'm afraid many Christians think of it that way. Every day of the year is a good day to think about Good Friday, for Good Friday is the drama of the love by which our every day is sustained. - Fr. Richard John Neuhaus, Death on a Friday Afternoon
I love that phrase, "the dismal but necessary prelude." I think this once described my own attitude toward Jesus' passion and death, as I failed to appreciate the beauty and victory of sacrificial love. Giving ourselves fully in love is never tragic, as long as that's what we're really doing. Too often we mistake dysfunctional self-centered longing for the true giving of ourselves in selfless love. The latter is marvelous and always victorious; the former is pitiable and often tragic. But since we view all pain as distasteful, we tend to lump all of it together.
I know someone who is experiencing an excruciating trial now. I know that she will somehow manage to love the one who has hurt her unspeakably, and that watching her go through the process of managing to do that will be an amazing thing. It isn't often that we get to know in advance that we're going to witness a miracle of God's Spirit of love at work. I'm so sad for my friend; my heart aches with hers for her loved ones, lost in such different ways. Yet I also find myself hopeful for how the Lord is going to be at work in her in the weeks and months ahead.
To love selflessly - even when it costs us greatly - is never a tragedy; as we'd consider it, it isn't a dung heap from which a beautiful rose may happen to grow but which is, in essence, still dung. Sacrificial love is itself always a victory shrouded in mystery. This is true of Good Friday, which is the type and fulfillment of all such love, the context in which true love finds its being.
I love that phrase, "the dismal but necessary prelude." I think this once described my own attitude toward Jesus' passion and death, as I failed to appreciate the beauty and victory of sacrificial love. Giving ourselves fully in love is never tragic, as long as that's what we're really doing. Too often we mistake dysfunctional self-centered longing for the true giving of ourselves in selfless love. The latter is marvelous and always victorious; the former is pitiable and often tragic. But since we view all pain as distasteful, we tend to lump all of it together.
I know someone who is experiencing an excruciating trial now. I know that she will somehow manage to love the one who has hurt her unspeakably, and that watching her go through the process of managing to do that will be an amazing thing. It isn't often that we get to know in advance that we're going to witness a miracle of God's Spirit of love at work. I'm so sad for my friend; my heart aches with hers for her loved ones, lost in such different ways. Yet I also find myself hopeful for how the Lord is going to be at work in her in the weeks and months ahead.
To love selflessly - even when it costs us greatly - is never a tragedy; as we'd consider it, it isn't a dung heap from which a beautiful rose may happen to grow but which is, in essence, still dung. Sacrificial love is itself always a victory shrouded in mystery. This is true of Good Friday, which is the type and fulfillment of all such love, the context in which true love finds its being.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Revisiting Fr. Neuhaus
Good Friday is not just one day of the year. It is a day relived in every day of the world. - Fr. Richard John Neuhaus, Death on a Friday Afternoon
I have picked up this excellent book again, as I am sure that even with as much reflection as I did on it last year, I must have missed some things, or forgotten them. Blessed Lent!
There is a depth in these opening words belied by their surface simplicity. Every day of the world, there is unspeakable suffering which only makes sense when we realize that an all-powerful, all-loving God suffers with us. This week, with the real and potential devastation in Japan, the heavy-handed dictatorship clinging to power in Libya, even my own son-in-law in the midst of war, brings this to mind afresh. Either these events are the circumstantial, unavoidable fluctuations of a random, complex world in which we strive to assign meaning at all costs to sense, or they gain their sense only in the context of a loving God who is willing to suffer unspeakably with and for us.
I have picked up this excellent book again, as I am sure that even with as much reflection as I did on it last year, I must have missed some things, or forgotten them. Blessed Lent!
There is a depth in these opening words belied by their surface simplicity. Every day of the world, there is unspeakable suffering which only makes sense when we realize that an all-powerful, all-loving God suffers with us. This week, with the real and potential devastation in Japan, the heavy-handed dictatorship clinging to power in Libya, even my own son-in-law in the midst of war, brings this to mind afresh. Either these events are the circumstantial, unavoidable fluctuations of a random, complex world in which we strive to assign meaning at all costs to sense, or they gain their sense only in the context of a loving God who is willing to suffer unspeakably with and for us.
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