Upside down world

To those who are accustomed to living in a world turned upside down, setting it right cannot help but appear to be turning it upside down. - Fr. Richard John Neuhaus, Death on a Friday Afternoon

Oh, this is so true, and not merely in the ways which we consider obvious, the disordered priorities and skewed values that our society embraces. Even when we have begun to accept the impossible reversal of judgment which God has accepted on our behalf, when we have begun to agree that the ways which we have been taught are valuable are in fact empty vapors, we continue to make evaluations in the same ways we have learned.

I am appalled by how hard and judgmental we are with one another and with ourselves. We see the harshness of the cross and somehow we interpret that as God's way rather than as ours, and we are unrelenting in continuing to think of ourselves as better than those around us, or as worse. Perhaps it is because we are afraid of what it will cost us to accept and love our brothers and our sisters and our selves in the midst of their brokenness as God has done for us. We see the scandal and complete heartbreak of the cross and it confuses our upside down minds for us to know that this is the glory of healing, transforming, boundless love.

So in the midst of trying to take ten minutes to reflect on this, I find myself locked in frustrated conflict with a five-year-old, and modeling this love for her is a challenge that I find beyond me.

Incredible collusion

The Father and the Son have colluded in a thing most astonishing, a thing on the far side of our ability to be astonished. Justice cries out to be satisfied; something must be done. From the blood of Abel, to the prison camps of Siberia, to the nine-year-old who this afternoon died of leukemia, justice cries out.  These things must not be permitted to have the last word . . . All the Adams and all the Eves join with the brightest and the best of philosophers to declare that this is just the way the world is. And who is responsible for that? And with that question was born what philosphers call the question of "theodicy" -- how to justify to humankind the ways of God. And thus was God put on trial. If God is good and God is almighty, how did evil come about? If there is evil, how can an almighty God be good or a good God be almighty? - Fr. Richard John Neuhaus, Death on a Friday Afternoon

Beyond our ability to be astonished? Absolutely. Beyond our willingness to believe. The thing is, this final question is rooted in our inability to truly believe in eternity. We ask our questions as if sense must be made on the basis of this world and this life alone. These things - God is good, God is almighty, God made all things, evil exists - are incompatible if this world is all the reality there is, if this life is the only life. They are barely reconcilable if there is indeed another life that is better than this one, even perfect. Couldn't an all good almighty God have made this life perfect?

And thus we conclude that there cannot be a God. We kill him just as dead as we killed his Son. And rather than condemn humanity for our temerity, God loves us still. In love he created us, in love he reconciles us, in love he draws us into this life that he desires for us, in which we would never remain without tasting the true results of our will and our resulting death. He gives us the gift of having our own way so that we will eventually trust that his way is unspeakably better than our own. Is this why some of the angels fell?

What an incredible collusion. Indeed, we cannot credit it. Surely a God who could become man could have created us so that we did not need for that inscrutable event - the entire life of Jesus - to ever happen. Surely God could have created our world so that it was never corrupted. That would seems easier and more convincing than the plan he actually conceived and executed, we think, as if there were anything easy about the bringing home of a single human heart upon the shepherd's shoulder.

Indeed, rather than be carried home we have convicted God, and put him to death, and Jesus has carried out our penalty. And perhaps all of the "fulfillment of the law" was intended from the outset solely to give us a hope of recognizing him.

Knowing that I did the deed

I may think it modesty when I draw back from declaring myself the chief of sinners, but it is more likely a failure of imagination. For what sinner should I speak of if not for myself? Of all the billions of people who have lived and of all the thousands whom I have known, whom should I say is the chief of sinners? Surely I am authorized, surely I am competent to speak only of myself? When in the presence of God the subject of sin is raised, how can I help but say that chiefly it is I? Not to confess that I am chiefly the one is not to confess at all . . . and by our making of excuses is our complicity compounded . . . - Fr. Richard John Neuhaus, Death on a Friday Afternoon

For over two decades, I have had not the slightest qualm about declaring myself the chief of sinners. For the longest time I soaked in that judgment, luxuriated in the balm that this knowledge was against the wrong that I had done, the hurt I had inflicted upon one who should have been able to utterly trust me. Thankfully have I finally accepted the grace that many loved ones strove to impart to me, that I might grasp it as my own despite my unworthiness - for after all, if any of us were worthy it would not be grace.

About the chief of sinners I do not know, but what I know about sinners I know chiefly about me. We did not mean to do the deed, of course. The things that we have done wrong seemed, or mostly seemed, small at the time. - ibid.

And if it did not seem small, at least by the end, I nonetheless had my own excuses for it, in a sense. Though I did not blame my actions upon the dysfunctions in which I was raised nor the abuse I received, still I excused my actions as being beyond my ability to control. (Omitting entire course of therapy learning how lack of control is actually the application of unhealthy control.) So yes, what I did seemed small at first, then grew into something undeniably big but nevertheless excused. I am so grateful to be free of that dynamic.

Now I find that the sin that remains seems small in comparison to that of my past. It is a different facet of the distorting lens of comparison. If I compare myself today to where I have been, then my sin seems small. This is, as Fr. Neuhaus emphasizes elsewhere, a matter of minimizing the great transformation in holiness with which God wishes to bless us. So the things that I do are not small. The sins of act and of thought - the entertainment of negative thoughts, that is, not the passing ones - make me less than the person God is calling me to. The purpose of this truth is not that we might flagellate ourselves over our shortcomings and become scrupulous in our dealings with ourselves and those around us. It is to call us to open ourselves to the grace of God at work in practical ways to transform us into what we cannot hope to be on our own: the very image and likeness of Christ shining the light of his love and mercy on everyone around us.

All the trespasses of all the people of all time have gravitated here, to the killing grounds of Calvary . . . . It was not only for our sins, but surely for our sins, too. What a complex web of complicity is woven by our lives. Send not to know by whom the nails were driven; they were driven by you, by me. 
Is there a perverse presumption in confessing that we did the deed? There could be, I suppose. But there is also prudence. - ibid.

Good Friday makes us uncomfortable when we consider our role in it. But considered rightly, this discomfort is good for us. If it calls me to turn away from those things that make me less of a vessel, less of a mirror, less of a servant of God's love than the One I follow would have me be, then it is a good thing. When I realize that this calling is not a burden upon me but an unfathomable gift to me, it is a very good thing.

More on humility

The story is told of the rabbi and cantor who, on Yom Kippur day, the Day of Atonement, lament their sins at great length, each concluding that he is a nobody. Then the sexton, inspired by their example, laments his sins and declares that he, too, is a nobody. "Nuh," says the rabbi to the cantor, who is he to be a nobody?" - Fr. Richard John Neuhaus, Death on a Friday Afternoon

How this story sums up our struggle with true humility. My mom was a huge Mac Davis fan, and I'll always remember his tongue-in-cheek song,

O Lord, It's hard to be humble, when you're perfect in every way
I can't wait to look in the mirror, 'cause I get better looking each day
To know me is to love me. I must be a hell of a man
O Lord, it's hard to be humble, but I'm doing the best that I can.

There's a pretty clear difference in my mind between thinking that I must be more humble and realizing that I think entirely too highly of myself. There is also a difference between humility and self-deprecation or worse, self-loathing.

I think that perhaps Fr. Spitzer's emphasis on striving to identify with our contributive identity rather than the comparative one serves us well on this topic, too. If I find my own value only through perpetual comparison with others, I am unlikely to able to find healthy humility. On the other hand, if the primary sense in which I come to realize that I am somebody is an awareness that I am somebody the eternal Son was willing to come carry home, then I have both the humility of knowing I need him and the worth that comes from knowing that I am his.

There remains an interesting trap, though, in allowing the Spirit to apply this humility to all areas of our lives. We can be completely in balance in some areas and have others that remain problematic for us.

So while he had the wrong reasons in mind, Mac at least had the title right.

Irreverence leads to . . . ?

So I guess that this book by Fr. Neuhaus gets into my brain even when I don't have a chance to open the pages, because I'm pretty sure that where I ended up in my thoughts were close to an idea he expresses in the pages I'm reading. But getting there was a quick and interesting thought trip.

Yesterday on the way home from Cincinnati we passed the Solid Rock Church adjacent to I-75. This church is semi-famous for a pair of massive statues that it has erected facing the highway. The first, the King of Kings statue, was locally referred to as Touchdown Jesus (not to be confused by the mosaic at The University of Notre Dame in South Bend), and was destroyed by a fire resulting from a lightning strike drawn to its iron framework. I knew it probably wasn't an original thought when I told my wife that the new statue that has replaced it has taken the church from Touchdown Jesus to Five-Dollar Foot-long Jesus. Turns out I'm not the first to see it that way.

I immediately realized I was being a bit irreverent, and decided not to post this smart-alecked observation on Facebook. I know quite a few people who'd be amused by it, but that isn't the point. I also know quite a few friends who are already biased against organized religion, and for all that my fellow Christians rightly point out that Christianity is about a relationship with a person rather than a set of religious observances, this distinction rings hollow to the people I have in mind. Many of these folks balk at the idea that we need to be saved in the first place, let alone that Jesus saves us, and this expression of humor would be more likely to reinforce their preconception rather than overcome it.

But this got me considering why we rebel against the gift that God offers us. Why do so many of us conclude that we don't need a Savior? It's a complex question with many answers, but I found myself thinking primarily about one of them, and that's where my re-reading of Death on Friday Afternoon comes in. This is also likely to invoke some of my favorite thoughts by Fr. Spitzer.

It's pretty simple, really. We estimate our sin wrongly. We insist on evaluating ourselves by comparison. "I'm a pretty good person," most of us think. And we're right. Most of us are not murderers, thieves, abusers or felons, so there is a high degree of truth in our evaluation. Those of us who are murderers, thieves, abusers or felons either continue to reach the same conclusion by shifting our comparison pool, or reach the opposite one. Some folks who should be able to think that they're pretty good people also find themselves locked into the same thought process that grips many of those who fall into this other category: "I'm not a good person. If you knew the truth about me, you'd want nothing to do with me."

And the thing is, there is enough truth underlying this thought that, once again, we're right. If we're living by comparison, our lives encompass enough areas that we will always find people against whom we compare favorably and unfavorably. This is why comparison doesn't really work as a standard for judging ourselves.

There is a standard for us to live up to, if we are going to try to live well enough to gain admission to heaven for ourselves. Jesus gave it to us, right there in the Sermon on the Mount, where everyone likes to point for "the New Testament version of the Ten Commandments." How we love the Beatitudes, but because there is so much in them we often fail to read the rest of this sermon along with them. Next Jesus spoke of things like being salt and light, of his fulfilling of the law rather than abolishing it. Ahh, now we're getting close. Do we judge ourselves in comparison to others? We're not murderers? We're not adulterers? Most of us have been scorners and lust-ers, though. He goes on to talk about how to respond to evil done upon us, a lesson which he would demonstrate to its ultimate extreme. Finally he puts a bow on the entire chapter: Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.

We had a great homily a few weeks ago reminding us that this perfection is not about performance, but about how we love. Even so, we fail to live up to it, and I am convinced that Jesus' purpose in delivering this sermon was not to provide another standard which we have no hope of ever achieving. Nor was his dying intended to show us that it could be done, so get to it! After all, it was impossible to keep all of the laws already established, and even getting rid of the Pharisaic interpretations wouldn't make that exactly manageable. So why could Jesus have given us such a truly impossible standard?

Could it have been for no other reason than so that we would understand that every human being is equally dependent on God's grace and mercy, so that we might appreciate the gift we have been given so much that we wish to offer it to everyone else?

And perhaps the biggest obstacle, then, standing between us and Christ, is our unwillingness to stop looking down on others so that we might feel better about ourselves.

Okay, this is probably incoherent and wandering, and I lack the time or ability to make it any better, so I just offer it to you Jesus, as I do myself, to use as you will.

Time out

Our dear friends Herb and Maureen shared a presentation tonight entitled Time Out. It started off talking about time outs that we're all pretty familiar with, involving unruly children or sports teams. It ended up on the importance of having time out as a couple, whether we think we want one or not, to focus on our relationship.

And it took a moment along the way to give due credit to the inventor of the time out: God, who certainly wasn't worn out from all those labors at the end of creation.  Neither did God need the chosen people to give Him a day off so he could rest up from taking care of them.  Rather, God knows that we need regular rejuvenation if we are to be consistently about the life to which he calls us.

Good stuff. Remarkably honest and unexpectedly poignant sharing from the other couples about how they receive the times out that our Marriage Encounter affords us to work on our relationship with our spouse in a community of couples committed to supporting one another in our sacramental lives. I wish I could share details of the different ways we all receive these opportunities to grow, but we are all glad to have each other in our journey of marital love.

Dealing with the overwhelming

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.  - Fr. Richard John Neuhaus, Death on a Friday Afternoon

There are many worthwhile passages throughout this book about which I have previously reflected and posted, yet my checking always results in the discover that, yes, I've written about this passage, but not about this thought that occurs to me as I read it now.

In this case, Fr. Neuhaus has captured succinctly the idea that I find myself drawn to and expanding on. Our limited minds must reduce the overwhelming to things we can manage.

This is why children of alcoholism or abuse get "stuck," developing and reinforcing and ultimately internalizing the coping mechanisms which suit us for surviving our immediate threats but which serve us ill for dealing with life as adults. All I could concern myself at those times when my dad was raving drunk was being invisible, not becoming the thing he was mad at. I'm pretty sure he wouldn't have struck me in his drunken frustration, but it was obviously a thing to be feared. And it worked consistently, just like my dog barking at the mail carrier every day works: just as the postal worker leaves every single day, my invisibility every drunken evening kept the unknown big meltdown from happening, and he was always okay (for at least a while) the next day, and we could both mostly pretend that nothing untoward had happened, and I grew to believe that not making waves was how to survive life.

(I can't remember if I've written, either here or in the book, about the night he lost his balance and broke the three-legged table in our living room. I don't recall if this is a real memory or not, but I seem to remember trying to fit the broken leg back in place so it could be glued, and it not staying in place because we didn't have a clamp handy that was shaped properly to hold it. I think I thought that, if I could just help him fix that table leg, whatever his motivation - the avoidance of mom's ire, for instance; I suppose he was every bit as fear-driven as I was - maybe he would finally be proud of me. I think that it was without any rancor toward me - rather with a sense of his own guilt - that he told me pretty quickly not to worry about it.)

The recurring experience of his inebriation, and that other one from that summer morning, left me with a well-developed "pretend-normal" dynamic when it came time to deal with the repeated sexual abuse I later experienced. (My abuser's skill at redefining what he did to me as something very different played a big role in that, too.) Yes, the brain absolutely does what it has to in order to deal with things that are too big for it to handle.

And God is definitely too big for our finite faculties to handle. Even the (comparatively) smallest parts of our theology can be too big to get our minds around fully or for very long. The Incarnation is a centerpiece of Christian theology, and it is incredibly simple and unfathomably HUGE. We cannot grasp all its implications, so as soon as we get a piece of it we cling to that part as if it's the whole thing, and repeat it by rote - literally, in the creed, "and became man" - without allowing ourselves to grapple with the full truth of what it means. Even the most fervent and studied of us fail to make more than a surface connection between Bethlehem and Calvary, no matter how much we tell ourselves that we get it. Like the Pharisee and the tax collector, when we think we've "gotten" God, we have probably actually moved further from fully entering into the mystery.

Unlike the dysfunction in which I was raised, The beyond-me-ness of God isn't really a thing to be afraid of. (We seem to be back to the idea of the fear of the Lord again, which is a good thing and far different from the things we fear in the normal sense.) Yet we are trained - ingrained, reinforced, internalized - with the idea that things that are so much bigger than us are indeed to be feared in the ordinary sense of the word. Rote minimization of God into a routine we can manage is the natural way of dealing with it, just as it was how I dealt with alcoholism and abuse. But just as I've had to unlearn my thoroughly-integrated ways of looking and experiencing - a process which is doubtless still ongoing - so must we all learn to stop applying our inadequate ways of understanding if we are to fully embrace God with abandon!

Quick hits from Fr. Neuhaus

"Know yourself," the ancient philosophers admonish us, for in knowing yourself is the beginning of wisdom. To which the Psalmist declares, "The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom." - Fr. Richard John Neuhaus, Death on a Friday Afternoon

Fr. Neuhaus will go on to describe what this increasingly detested phrase from the Psalms does and doesn't mean, and I myself reflected on it in one of my earliest posts in the nascency of this blog. There is much more to be said about it, but for now I'm just loving the contrast between our idea of wisdom and God's. There is indeed something quite valuable in knowing ourselves, but the beginning of wisdom is found in looking to God rather than ourselves. Fr. Neuhaus comes around to this point later in the book, too.

We often equate knowledge with wisdom, or at least embracing the world view implications that our advanced knowledge seems to have brought us. I find that the beginning of wisdom, and indeed the approach I need for a healthy life, has its roots in all the implications of God's love for me, which give me something to stand on besides the intimidation I otherwise find in a variety of circumstances.

I'm struck too, by the contrast between pride and humility: why should I expect to really find the beginning of wisdom within me, from whence so many stumblings have begun?


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. - ibid.

I've blogged on this quote before, but focused more on the latter part.  There is a world of difference between complexity and complication. I have a coworker who loves a quote from Einstein: "Everything should be made as simple as possible . . . and no simpler."  Some things are by nature complex, and trying to simplify them beyond their nature ultimately makes things complicated. For instance, most people try to have the simplest concept of God that they can manage. God is simultaneously simpler and more complex than the convolutions we go through to make God fit the limits of our mind. Every real paradox known to humankind is answered in God's simple depth. (Thanks, Fred Rogers!)

Oh, I want to have time to reflect more on this!!

More important things

So rather than the past three days of silence be an indicator that my Lenten journey has gone off the rails, it is more a matter of paying attention to other things I've needed to attend to. Music ministry and consistent daily prayer time, along with writing letters to a couple friends who likely need the support and encouragement have taken up the time I generally have available for my own reflections.

Now, if only these strained hip muscles would just loosen up . . .

Today's word

eleemosynary \ˌe-li-ˈmä-sə-ˌner-ē, -ˈmō-; -ˈmä-zə-\ - of, relating to, or supported by charity

A word I missed on a vocabulary quiz.

Today's word

hegira \hih-JYE-ruh\ - a journey especially when undertaken to escape from a dangerous or undesirable situation : exodus

I've seen this one before, but not often, and had to see the definition to recognize it. Ironically, I'm reading my way through the book of Exodus in the Liturgy of the Hours during these early days of Lent.

Quick hits

I suppose an aspect of the virtue of gentleness for which I'm praying this season is patience with myself and others.

I had a strange dream last night in which my bride removed all but one of the hinge pins from the front door, and left it that way. This would have been very out of character for her to do, but my frustrated reaction as I tried to open the door so I could go out - in my currently injured condition - was very much in line with what it probably would have been if I actually encountered this scenario. I just hope I didn't talk in my sleep.

I will be starting to call the doctor's office in a few minutes. I pray I'm able to get in early.

Today's extracanonical reading from the Office of Readings reminds us that the purpose of every physical miracle God has ever brought about is to accomplish the greater miracle of bringing a stubborn will into obedience.

Today's words

From today's Citation game:

petrel \ˈpe-trəl, ˈpē-\ - a bird that has long wings and usually dark feathers and that lives mainly on the ocean

peridot \ˈper-ə-ˌdät, -ˌdō(t)\ - a clear, yellowish-green stone that is used in jewelry

pelota noun \pə-ˈlō-tə\ - 1. a court game related to jai alai  2. the ball used in jai alai

peccary \ˈpe-kə-rē\  any of several largely nocturnal gregarious American mammals resembling the related pigs: as  a: a grizzled animal (Tayassu tajacu) with an indistinct white collar  b: a blackish animal (Tayassu pecari) with a whitish mouth region

Great reading

Today's excellent reading from St. Aelred fit right in with the rest of my reflections from the season, thus far, especially near the end. (The rest of the linked post isn't necessarily applicable, though.)

The one I haven't been using

There are four options for the invitatory psalm in the Liturgy of the Hours. I'm still only using the Office of Readings, but the invitatory is always used with whatever Hour one first prays each day. Usually it is either Morning Prayer or the Office of Readings, the latter of which is still offered up in (at least some) monastic communities during the wee morning hours as Vigils.

Three of these four psalms seem to lend themselves to particular seasons of the year. I most often use Psalm 95, which is the primary recommended one and is particularly well suited for Lent with its second half, including the reminder, If today you hear the voice of the Lord, harden not your hearts. (I know I've reflected in the past on how the different translations of this verse provide different insights into the ways we disregard God's voice, but can't find that post right now. Maybe it's just on paper?)  The other option I use often is Psalm 24, which includes the verse, O gates, lift up your heads. Grow higher ancient portals. Let him enter, the King of Glory!  This is so apropos for Advent, the season in which we pray for God to prepare our hearts to receive our Savior more fully. And Psalm 100 seems to fit the Easter season, beginning with the admonition to Cry out with joy to the Lord, all the earth!

I haven't prayed Psalm 67 as often, though, and this morning I am having a fresh (for me, at least) insight into its last strophe,

The earth has yielded its fruit
for God, our God, has blessed us.
May God still give us his blessing
'til the ends of the earth revere him. 

I'm sure that the people of Israel primarily sang this verse in reference to the physical bounty of the harvest and in remembrance of the ways that God miraculously provided for their needs in ancient times. But it seems to me that the modern believer whose physical needs are already being amply supplied by God (skipping the obvious social justice teaching here) should also strive for another, perhaps more miraculous fruit from God: a more transformed life.

I often get complacent in my walk with God, accepting the habitual choices that I no longer even think about as I am making them: flying off the handle over my frustrations, engaging in impure thoughts, even indulging my penchant for reflection on my own thoughts and circumstances rather than praying. The thing that keeps more people from being drawn to the love of God is that they don't see it in our lives. There is either no transformation to which they might be drawn, or worse, the only transformation they see is the seeming judgment of their way of living. We make the same mistakes they do, tolerate certain behaviors in ourselves while condemning comparable behaviors in others. We say we trust God, but live our lives each day the same way as everyone else, getting wrapped up over our life decisions as if we were our only source of providence and often making them accordingly.

The only fruit which might make those around me revere God is a transformed life, and that means letting people see what he has transformed me from, both in the past and today. God's glory shines through the weaknesses in our lives that are answered in his strength. And we steal his glory, both by suggesting that we have made the changes that are really the result of his grace and by not letting him transform us out of our old selves simply because we have already - to our eyes - changed so much. When we encounter something that we can't change on our own, we too often choose to accept what we shouldn't rather than enter more fully into the painful process of allowing God to overcome and transform our limitations.

I have a feeling I'll be coming back to this thought more during Lent, or perhaps again during the Easter season. After all, as I've been observing, it was at the end of his fast that Jesus was tempted, and that has been when I return to my old ways, as well.

God, it is time I let you really have your way with me.

Lenten journey

I'm skeptical.

Not of God.

Well, probably of Him, too, a little.

But I'm definitely skeptical of me. I've started down this road too many years, having Lenten seasons that I end up feeling proud of - and maybe that's part of the problem - only to end up with an Easter season that proves that I have made not a bit of progress in consistently abiding with Christ. I'm afraid that, at the conclusion of this season of prayer and fasting, I will again stop making the choices that are best for me and most please my Lord.

A couple of things from the past week give me hope. First was the Office of Readings reflection from St. Augustine, on which I briefly also made reference to the second thing, the temptation of Jesus which we read about in Sunday's gospel reading at mass coupled with our relationship with him as I observed in my own reflection. A little more about the latter.

After Jesus had fasted for forty days, Scripture says he was hungry, and so he was tempted in his weakness. My Lenten journey does not contain anywhere near the fasting from food that Jesus endured, but nonetheless at the end of it I can be somewhat weakened spiritually, especially if I'm relying to strongly on my own efforts. That ends up being the source of that pride that I mentioned. See what a great Lent I had?! As if that were not truly the result of God being at work in me. So instead of building my journey upon God, I build it on my own choices. As soon as I make a poorer one, I'm back to square one. (Never square zero, thanks be to God!)

Jesus faced the temptations that arose at the end of his fast with the same reliance on God that got him through the fast in the first place. When tempted, he responded not from his efforts, but with the immutable truth.

So here's the thing: if my members were to do something contrary to what my head was commanding, that would means there was something wrong with my body, and I'd go to the doctor to figure out what was and get it fixed. But the Body of Christ does stuff contrary to what our Head commands all. the. time. As a member of his Body, when I conclude my Lenten fast, this member needs to continue consulting with my Head rather than responding in whatever ways I might want to on my own. If I should make a decision contrary to what I know is best for me in God's will, I will need to reconnect with my Head and stop being an out-of-control member. I'll need to continue being rooted in prayer and scripture, continue desiring to walk in this victory that Jesus has won for me over sin and death more than anything else I might want in this world.

Today's words

fantod \FAN-tahd\ - 1a. a state of irritability and tension  b. fidgets  2. an emotional outburst : fit

A new word that I will probably never use. All examples used the plural form "the fantods," so maybe I'll have a shot at recognizing it should I see it again.

actinon \ACK-teh-'nahn\ - a gaseous radioactive isotope of radon that has a half-life of about four seconds

A new word from today's Dictionary Devil puzzle whose details are likely to elude me should I ever encounter them again. Curiosity about why this definition should be found in the medical dictionary at the Merriam Webster site drove me to the Wikipedia entry on radon which indicates (in the Isotopes section) a half-life about 1% higher than indicated in these two online dictionary entries. But I've spent too much time down this rabbit hole to try to determine who is most accurate, and "about four seconds" is really more than I have needed to know at any point in (about) the past half-century. (And, of course, none of this explains why it was in the medical dictionary at www.m-w.com.)

girasole \JIR-uh-'sohl, -'sole, -'sawl\ - 1. jerusalem artichoke  2. usually girasol : an opal of varying color that gives out fiery reflections in bright light

And the very same Dictionary Devil puzzle, using the second definition of this word, did not follow its "usual" spelling. 

Which hole is greater?

Is it the one left in your life by someone beloved who is no longer there?

Or is it the one that no one has ever filled?

Not judging

In prayer time this morning I thought about my FB shares yesterday, and found myself hoping that no one hears judgment in them. They are a call to holiness for me as much as for anyone else, which I have needed as much as anyone else, and more.

My grace is sufficient

The temptation to not pester someone to satisfy my own mixture of curiosity and concern can get pretty strong.

It seems to me that this scripture (2 Cor 12:9a) may be one of the few times in his letters in which St. Paul quotes God. It is good for me to remember while awaiting news.

More on the axis mundi

continued . . .

every thought every feeling every motivation every failing every success every selfless act every crime each joy and every sorrow every heart has ever known, understanding each person's brokenness and loving them in it and knowing and embracing their healed soul

It's a thought that could be dreadfully frightening, actually, if not for the fact that it can only ever happen in the safety of our perfectly loving God, where no one will ever hurt us again.

The axis mundi

By these three days all the world is called to attention. Everything that is and ever was and ever will be, the macro and the micro, the galaxies beyond number and the microbes beyond notice -- everything is mysteriously entangled with what happened, with what happens, in these days. This is the axis mundi, the center upon which the cosmos turns. - Fr. Richard John Neuhaus, Death on a Friday Afternoon

I guess my song isn't so original as I thought. It has clearly been influenced by what I have read previously.

As wonderful and awesome a place as we keep discovering the universe to be, it is still less awesome than this!

I find that my conception of eternity expands a bit on Fr. Neuhaus', though. Imagine a time, one moment that captures every moment, all moments and all places present simultaneously, the creation the fall from grace the great flood the testing of Abraham Joseph in Egypt the great exodus the kingdom of Israel David the Babylonian every prophet every birth each heartbreak every triumph every death the manger the temple Jesus' ministry the First Supper the cross the empty tomb Emmaus Thomas blind Saul/Paul the martyrs and saints all in God for all eternity

Words cannot adequately convey the concept, nor can the finite mind fully grasp it.

Fleeting, wicked, worthless things

See how the wicked prowl on every side, while the worthless are prized highly by the sons of men. - Ps 12, 8

Oh, the ridiculous things in which we place our value. Not one of them is worthy of exaltation, free from corruption when it becomes our goal rather than a means and pathway to God. Beauty, pleasure, fitness, music, art, athletic prowess, security, power, success, health, intelligence; all of these things can be and have been corrupted - and corrupt us in return - when turned into their own end. I am dismayed at some of what we publicly exalt, let alone what we privately indulge.

Lord, help me to keep my eyes upon you.

A poor reason, and some good ones

Some scholars speculate that "Good Friday" comes from "God's Friday," as "good-bye" was originally "God be by you." But it is just as odd that it should be called God's Friday, when it is the day we say good-bye to the glory of God. Wherever its name comes from, let your present moment stay with this day. Stay a while in the eclipse of the light, stay a while with the conquered One. - Fr. Richard John Neuhaus, Death on a Friday Afternoon

I find myself referring to quotes I've referenced on previous readings of this magnificent book, but in new ways. I've reflected before on the first part of what I've quoted here, but am now really wanting to focus on this latter part; I've only included the first two sentences of this citation because the part I wanted to include refers back to them.

I've been told before by a Catholic adult catechist, almost dismissively, that Catholics do a great job of focusing on Good Friday and a terrible job of truly celebrating Easter. Honoring Fr. Neuhaus' invitation to not rush to the resurrection, I nonetheless find that I am utterly convinced that the reason we're so bad at rejoicing in Jesus' (our) victory is that we are, in fact, just awful at truly entering into all that Good Friday should mean for us. If it were primarily about making us wallow in our guilt then, yes, we would excel at it! If the purpose of our meditation on this day is to make us more neurotic about the terrible thing that we did to Jesus, many of us could stop right now because we have that part down pat! As Jesus told his disciples about being clean, though: But not all. There are definitely some who do not associate enough of their lives with sin that something must be done about. And when I enter into eternity, I pray that I don't find that I am one of them.

But there is so much more about Good Friday for us to enter into than just the surface ideas at which we often stop: that it was my sin and guilt that Jesus bore on the cross so that I could be free from it, that God's love for me is so great that Jesus was willing to do this for me. Please don't think I'm being dismissive of these great tenets of our faith! So many of us have failed to grasp even the surface implications of these glorious truths.

But because God is infinite and eternal and Jesus is God, there is so much more depth to enter into in our reflections on this holy day, more than we can get in a full human lifespan, let alone in the time that most of us spend at the foot of the cross. It will take eternity for us to know it fully, just as to know God fully, in the personal-relationship sense. The purpose of a redeemed soul's prayerful reflection on Good Friday is not to increase our sense of the guilt from which Jesus has set us free, but neither is knowing that we are free from our guilt a good reason to forsake any further reflection.

I find that learning more of the depth and details of this mystery into which we enter (by the Holy Spirit) fills my heart with a greater sense of awe at God's infinite glory as revealed incomparably on the cross. It strengthens my desire to share God's love with those around me who have not chosen (or been able) to immerse themselves in the unfathomable depths of this incomprehensible love. It causes me to marvel at my increased understanding of the infinite vastness and infinitesimal detail of this glorious love. It gets my eyes and thoughts and heart fixed on something - someOne - inexpressibly beyond the limits of my mind.

And it makes me more aware of the utter abandon with which I am called to lay down my own life.

Have a blessed Lent!

Victory over temptation

Our pilgrimage on earth cannot be exempt from trial. We progress by means of trial. No one knows himself except through trial, or receives a crown except after victory, or strives except against an enemy or temptations . . . . In Christ you were tempted, for Christ received his flesh from your nature, but by his own power gained salvation for you; he suffered insults in your nature, but by his own power gained glory for you; therefore, he suffered temptation in your nature, but by his own power gained victory for you. - from a commentary on the Psalms by St. Augustine, bishop

I was reflecting during yesterday's men's group about the relationship between the body of Christ, the Church, and our head. This passage from today's Office of Readings seems to fit right in with this idea. I believe I will walk more closely along the path my Savior dreams for me to follow if I allow the Holy Spirit to more consistently remind me of - and more fully transform me in - the relationship that the body - and this member - has with the Head.

Mystery and wonder

These pages are an exploration into mystery. The word "mystery" in this context doesn't mean a puzzle, as in a murder mystery. It is not a thing to be solved, but an adventure into wonder, with each wonder that we encounter leading on to the next and greater wonder. - Fr. Richard John Neuhaus, Death on a Friday Afternoon

I've shared this quote before, as the conclusion to another reflection, but haven't really reflected very much on its implications in its own right. It seems appropriate to be reading this the day before we hear the story of the fall from grace.

Wonder, it seems, has become not nearly enough for us anymore. We insist on fully knowing and understanding for ourselves, and insist that things must be as we have come to know and understand them. It is not without reason (excuse the unplanned pun) that the original sin was to eat the fruit of the tree of knowledge of good and evil, and it is not without reason that we are told that we have all inherited this sin. Indeed, our reliance upon reason is often the very reason we are susceptible to so many other temptations. Unless we understand the harm for ourselves, we refuse to acknowledge that there could be any. Of course, even when the harm is undeniable, we still have our rationalizations, greater fears, lack of trust in God's providence, overwhelming desires and countless other motivations to outweigh and overcome any consideration of the harm of our choices.

But in focusing on our fallen nature, already I digress from mystery.

It is our insistence on knowing and understanding that prevents us from entering into the mystery of Christ as anything other than a puzzle to be solved, a truth to fully get our minds around and completely figure out. "If I'm not smart enough to solve it, dammit, it must not be true." I've heard a variety of people express the opinion that God is not necessary to explain anything; perhaps the non-necessity of God is an essential part of the free will which is a central part of our nature. "Since everything can be physically explained without any need for a god, I will do just fine without." Some go so far as to add, "and anybody who doesn't is making the world worse."  But the Good Friday mystery, which is part of the Jesus mystery which by Christian understanding is an eternal part of the God mystery, rather than a mystery to be solved until it is known, like Rubik's cube, so well that we can carry out the solution in world-record time, is to be embraced and entered into, a relationship with a person.

Consider this for a  moment: what human person can we ever know completely?  And yet, too often we approach our human relationships the same way we approach God: as soon as there is a change that doesn't fit our understanding of this person, we terminate our relationship with them. Now, in human relationships there may be the element of needing to make physically and emotionally healthy choices, but too often we are quick to reject someone to whom we should be committed rather than entering into the mystery that they are.

If it is true that another finite human person might be the sort of mystery that we can never solve, but only enter into relationship with over the course of a lifetime, how much more does that apply to an infinite God? Only by entering into each wonder God reveals to us can we begin to know God at all, and as Fr. Neuhaus suggests, each one leads us to another, deeper, more inscrutably mysterious wonder.

I don't know that I believe what so many say about the substitutional atonement: that Jesus' death was necessary to pay the price for our sin in the eyes of God, and only thereby could he remain both fully just and fully loving. I am willing to consider that mystery, though, to accept not having that issue settled in my mind once and for all so that I never have to revisit it again. I most certainly believe that, necessary or not, the Father has used his Son's death to restore us - me - to relationship with himself, that (again from tomorrow's readings) Adam's sin is mine - have I not seen it evidenced over and over again? - and that Jesus' victory over sin and death is mine as well. I do not fully understand why that is, except that God's infinite loving grace is greater than my finite sinfulness. I certainly know that I would be forever unable to stop judging myself if I did not believe that Jesus has paid whatever price is required for my sin. What a wonderful mystery, and the more we willingly we enter into it - free from the insistence on solving it - the more we know it and wonder.

The wonder that God has wrought from Jesus' suffering is mystery worth entering into, and  my conclusion from two years ago still rings true: it falls to each of us to enter into the mystery of Jesus Christ for ourselves.

Saturday of the Zeroth week of Lent

The reason why God requires service from man is this: because he is good and merciful he desires to confer benefits on those who persevere in his service. In proportion to God's need of nothing is man's need for communion with God. - from the treatise Against Heresies, by St. Irenaeus, bishop

So I've grabbed a quotation from the middle of this passage that was focused on the idea of God's self-sufficiency and how being in his light illuminates us, not him. That leads to the first sentence above, which can make it sound as if a God whom we call benevolent is instead capricious in only bestowing blessings on those who serve him. This is not at all true. In fact, scripture itself quotes God as saying that he pours out his blessings on the good and the evil alike. But here is the thing: serving God positions us in right posture to receive benefits to which we are not otherwise open. When we get focused on living our lives according to our own providence, we become self-centered and closed off from the greater abundance which he pours out for us to receive.

This morning at men's group we got onto the topic of how we perceive things in the world, and specifically the difference between our view of things and God's. For instance, tomorrow's mass readings clearly contrast two approaches to temptation. Adam succumbed to the temptation to grasp for equality with God, and we have been thus grasping ever since. Christ forsook his rightful equality with God for our sake. I don't know: maybe once we've turned out back on something for a specific purpose or mission, that thing doesn't inflame us with the same degree of desire. Certainly Jesus would have lacked the power to resist his temptations had he not had such confidence in God's providence and love. It seems to me that my tendency to despair is always foreshadowed by doubting God; when I am confident of him I am not tempted to get wrapped up in what I perceive as the shortcomings of my life. At any rate, I believe that the ultimate answer to every temptation is to have faith in God, to trust what he has revealed through his Word and his Church and his prior work in my life.

Likewise, our approach to suffering - particularly sacrificial suffering - is very different from God's. We see both things in Jesus' agony in the garden, his human longing to be spared along with his ultimate trusting that the Father's will was best.  When we trust him through whatever life brings, God allows the light of his glory to shine through in ways that we cannot see by any other means. We still don't illuminate God; it is still his light and not ours that shines so brightly. But neither do we see the sunlight when we are turned away from the sun until it illuminates those objects which reflect its light.

In our case, we must make the choice to reflect God's light for others to see.

Today's word

froward \FROH-erd\ - habitually disposed to disobedience and opposition

At first I thought I was looking at a typo. Then I tried to pronounce it with a "w" sound in the middle. Finally, I wonder if this doesn't apply, at least somewhat, to all of us. Isn't this the essence of the fallen part of our nature?

The challenge

At our Shrove Tuesday evening prayer, Fr. Dave mentioned one tool that our parish would be making available to help us make a meaningful spiritual pilgrimage this Lent. For several years they have provided something we can keep in our pocket, purse or prominent location to remind us to keep Christ always at the center of our life. In the past it has varied from plastic to metal crosses to, last year, a piece of metal with a short scripture passage on it. This year, he said, they were offering us stones?

He went on to explain that our scriptural focus would be from the third chapter of St. Paul's letter to the Colossians, and began the relevant quote apparently using a slight paraphrase that I haven't been able to find verbatim in any translation: Because you are God's chosen ones, holy and beloved . . . . This phrase alone has incredible implications and is the perfect context for what comes after, which is a list of virtues in which we should clothe ourselves. The exact virtues vary slightly according to the translation. The wording of the text implies that we do not necessarily already have (all of) these as part of our natural makeup, so we must put them on to cover over what is there naturally, just as we choose the clothes we wear. Of course, if we don't have them ourselves, we must pray for God to provide them for us by transforming us in the Holy Spirit.

What the parish had done, then, was to gather thousands of stones and written on each of them with permanent marker one (or more, in some cases) of these virtues. If you're feeling brave, Fr. Dave said, you could ask your family to choose one of these virtues for you to pray for and work on this Lent. Or, you could choose one for yourself that you feel led to pray for. Or you could just trust the Holy Spirit and pick one out at random. I knew right away that I needed to ask my bride to choose a virtue for me.

So this Lent I am praying for the virtue of gentleness. I know she made a really appropriate choice. I've always felt I had a gentle spirit, and yet I have periodically been so impatiently harsh with myself and around my home. For a long time, oddly, I likely kept the outward manifestations of this in check by my self-condemnation. For me, at least, the conscious conviction that I was the scum of the earth had very different behavioral effects than the unconscious belief of that same thing had promoted. The latter drove me to behavioral choices that brought my reality into alignment with my unconscious self-image. The former required no such resolution, so I tended more toward a meek resignation to everything. We could debate whether striving to embrace a healthier self-image has allowed me to indulge more of my natural - or perhaps learned - inclinations to behave in my home in ways as I learned from my angry father, or has reinvoked a lesser degree of the unconscious struggle to resolve the remnants of my self-judgment. Either way, of late I have tended toward indulging my impatience and frustration. As a result, we've had a heartfelt talk or two about how my actions cause her to feel, so the groundwork for her choice of this stone had already been laid.

I pray, Lord, that you will cover over - and even transform the roots of - any volatility that remains in me so that I might reflect you more perfectly.  Plant and nurture in me the virtue of gentleness.

Another Lent w/ Fr. Neuhaus

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

. . . there is nothing more central to Christianity than what happened on Good Friday. It is, if you will, crucial. In fact, the word "crucial" comes from the Latin word crux, meaning "cross." - ibid

I forgot that I "took a year off" from Fr. Neuhaus' excellent reflections on the Seven Last Words of Christ last Lent. I'm glad to be back into them again. Of course, every time I encounter something I think I want to reflect on further in these musings, I'm going to have to make sure that I haven't covered that ground already. For instance, I've previously reflected on the first quote above but perhaps not on the second, and the two are quite connected in my thoughts now.

If Good Friday is central to Christianity, then it is central to how I am to approach my own life every single day. Too often I view whatever my current circumstances may happen to be as something to lament, complain about, "get through" or "survive," rather than as an avenue for God's grace to abound that I should embrace. When I consider my life through the focusing lens of Good Friday, I obtain a radically different and far more healthy view of my reality, even when it includes things that I would not choose for myself and even when there is no sign that those circumstances may ever pass. Perhaps applying this lens more consistently will allow love and joy to be greater hallmarks of my life.

I think this fits well with the theme that the parish is emphasizing during this holy season, and certainly with the specific virtue that my bride has chosen for me to pray for this. More on that later.

Hi mom! I miss you so much!

So much to write about this morning, and all that I have time for is one dream.

The 25 minutes between alarms was just enough time for a strange dream and "reunion." It was a continuation of an earlier dream in which I was in a strange new apartment or condo with a toilet unlike other I've ever seen, and sharing the details of that would just eat up more of the too little time I have this morning to write. In this second dream I was in the dining room, and there on the tabletop amid some other clutter of things that had not been put into place yet was a graph paper notebook with a brown cover. I was waiting for someone who would be living there - my sister, I think - to come through the door, but it seemed that she was missing. I picked up the book and saw that the front half was blank, but when I turned to the center leaf I saw several entries of writing in my mom's unmistakable script. It appeared to be a sort of journal that she had started, leaving the front half empty in case my sister wanted to reclaim it on her eventual return. The first and third entries seemed to be prose, with what looked like it might have been a piece of verse between them. (That I know of, my mom never wrote any poetry.) I closed the book, not wanting to violate her privacy. Soon I went into the strange bathroom again, taking the journal notebook with me, battling the temptation to read it as I tidied up in the bathroom and prepared to sit on the strange "throne."

Before I got to that point, my mom came into the apartment. I opened the bathroom door and she cleaned up a couple of things that I hadn't gotten to yet, either ignoring that I had her journal or not being concerned about it. We talked about my having to "go back" for work - my dream sense was that it was back to Maryland - and she told me that she knew I wouldn't be able to stay yet, that I needed to go back and take care of what I needed to without any sense of urgency to return here or resentment about things. It was clear now that we were in Georgia; this place was just off of I-85 about halfway between downtown Atlanta and my stepfather's place in Hoschton. Mom seemed to understand and accept my plan not to tell him that we were moving there or to get in touch with him. She was wishing me safe travel and peace of mind when my second alarm woke me.

On waking, I can't help thinking that perhaps the geographical details of my dream were just placeholders. I'm reminded of a dark line almost exactly in the middle of Confession that has never since been completely untrue, and wonder if this dream is maybe unconsciously addressing that thought habit.

There's so much more to write about, but I'm out of time budget this morning (partly because of this dream and partly because of taking time to write about it). Later, as time permits: my Lenten virtue stone, my thoughts on yesterday's Office of Readings, and back into Fr. Neuhaus.

My best seasons

Without a doubt, my best liturgical seasons are Advent and Lent. It isn't that these are my "favorite," mind you, but they are the times of year in which I am most open to the grace to keep my attention where it belongs.

Again We Keep This Solemn Fast

It sounds like a small thing, the giving up of my "farm" for the season. And it is. If my granddaughter, who got me started on the game, were still playing it, then it would be a little like giving her up, which of course I wouldn't be willing to do. But she doesn't, so I'm giving up a habit that consumes at least a half hour of every day. I plan to replace that time with prayer and reflection throughout the season, which is the more important part of any Lenten discipline we undertake.

This morning I spent that time in intercession for the many people I've been lifting up, mostly for health issues, from the 4-year-old daughter of a friend's friend to the father of a former neighbor, from strangers to personal friends who are struggling. It was a good prayer time to start the prayerful season.

A helpful thought?

When I struggle to believe in my forgiven-ness, and in my subsequent decency, perhaps this thought that just came to mind might be good to revisit. It was of my risen Savior asking me a question:

"What more would you have me do for you? For it is finished."

Today's words

holacracy -  a social technology or system of organizational governance in which authority and decision-making are distributed throughout a fractal holarchy of self-organizing teams rather than being vested at the top of a hierarchy.

holarchy - a connection between holons

holon - something that is simultaneously a whole and a part

Thanks, Scott Adams, for sending me down this rabbit hole. Climbing back out before I get in any deeper.

decoct \dih-KAHKT\ - 1. to extract the flavor of by boiling  2. boil down, concentrate

Oh, and another new WOTD, too!

The bigger picture

I am also tired of having to continually remind myself of the bigger picture. (Now, I'm not referring to The Big Picture, the one that's painted on the walls of a huge round room in a secret government building somewhere around Washington D.C.  Nor am I talking about They, who have an office in The Pentagon around the corner from the generals' latrine with a brass-plated sign on the door that says "They." Nor am I talking about Air Force Dollars, which are blue with Curtis LeMay's portrait on the front. -- Dang, just noticed that old Curt passed away in 1990, about two years before I got out of the service. I think I might have known that once. It's probably way past time to redo that old joke about Air Force Dollars, though. But I digress.) At any rate, to stop doing that would be a really bad thing.