Who judges whom

I find myself thinking of a thought from Fr. Neuhaus. I suppose I shall start with the topic that came up at men's group. One of the guys has been wondering - as we are prone to do - about how to know at the end that we have lived well enough. It's a thought process that has scriptural roots to it, and if we're not careful about it, can cause us to having us cross over the line to thinking that we have to do enough to earn heaven, rather than the kingdom being a free gift that Christ has given to us, to which our lives become a natural response. "If it's all about mercy, then, and if there are no limits to God's mercy, does that mean that no one is ever condemned?"

There were lots of ways to address this, and several just from Death on a Friday Afternoon. One, of course, is Fr. Neuhaus' well reasoned argument that God's mercy is sufficient for that outcome, and that we should all hope for it, for the sake of every one of our brothers and sisters. 

Another one carries Fr. Neuhaus' discussion of our audacity in daring to judge the Creator, and his audacity in submitting to our judgment, a step further. The one constant throughout salvation history in our relationship with God is that he always respects our free will, even to the point of submitting to our judgment. 

So: what if the person who will ultimately judge me is the same person who judged Jesus? What if that person is me? 

What if our insistence on judging is the only thing that ever condemns anyone for eternity? And what if the nature of that judgment is this: our unwillingness to spend eternity with people whom God has forgiven may serve as the biggest obstacle to our entering into mercy and grace, which is the only requirement for my redemption?

Perhaps this is why Jesus told us "Thus will my heavenly Father do to each of you who does not forgive his brother from the heart."  Because my brother will be forgiven by God, and if I do not accept that, then I cannot enter the kingdom. I will be like the brother of the prodigal son, standing my ground outside in a huff.  Perhaps this is why he taught us to pray that the Father "forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors." 

So we begin this Advent season of mercy and grace, which marks the beginning of this Extraordinary Jubilee of Mercy. I know I am called to deeper holiness this year, but it must be rooted here. 

Thank you. I appreciate that you washed the dishes this evening.

Not derailed

When I lost most of the day's work at the end of Wednesday, necessitating a change in weekend plans, I wasn't entirely sanguine about it. Rather, my mood was pretty sour. But I didn't have time to mope for long: there were pies to bake, and then on Thursday a huge meal to cook. For the first time ever, my bird was not done when I cut into it, and had to go back into the oven. I don't know exactly how I misused the thermometer. Still, everyone rolled with the flow, and we all had a very nice dinner. Our youngest brought her "littles" over for dessert, and we had "birthday pie" for our seven-year-old granddaughter. Then today I spent most of the day working remotely to catch up the effort I'd lost on Wednesday.

So we're in town instead of visiting Teri's cousin and his wife, but the rest of the weekend should be more relaxing, and I still feel very grateful for how the Lord has abundantly provided for our needs. I love our daughters and grandchildren, even when they are not making the best decisions. And I'm truly blessed with a wife with whom I grow closer every year of our lives, and with friends who love me for who I truly am.

I'm going to grump about a thing or two in a separate post, but will try to keep that in perspective, knowing how abundantly loved I am.

One transforming thought

In my lifelong struggle for/against purity of mind, heart and body, I have lately had one thought that redirects my mind away from its decades of training: every act - every sin - in which I engage becomes a piece of eternity.

I believe this thought is a gift from God.

Neglecting our responsibilities, with cause

I suppose I could be referring to never having any time to express a worthwhile thought anymore. The new job is great, but getting out the door in time for work in the morning has put a damper on my early-morning writing, and accessing social media even on breaks is verboten in my new workplace. Evenings have been crazy busy, too. But at last I have a few minutes to gather a few thoughts from the last week.

My feelings are probably not sufficiently in touch with the citizens of Paris. But then, most Westerners' feelings haven't been sufficiently in touch with the citizens of Syria, Iraq, or Afghanistan for entirely too long. The attack in Paris was supposed to be shocking, but I am not shocked anymore by what we will do to each other in God's name, or that of Justice. From our perspective, the perpetrators of terrorist acts have been primarily Islamic extremists, but those whose homes are destroyed by war may not make such a distinction in who they blame for their homelessness. Don't get me wrong: I'm not suggesting that collateral damage in attempting to combat evil is the same as intentional attack on innocent people, just that I understand why those collateral victims might have a different opinion from mine.

I hope I always remember what the rabbi at the NYC memorial service after 9/11 said. The gist of it was that great threat of evil is not what it does to us from without, but what we become in response to it. And the evil that we have encountered over the past fourteen years has apparently made us a fearful, defensive people, incapable of understanding others' pain. I understand the feelings of my friends who refuse to extend a welcome to those displaced by war in their home country. But their anti-terrorist-cum-anti-Muslim fear prevents Christian refugees from taking shelter among us, too. We seem to have forgotten that the entire Sunni-vs.-Shiite conflict in the Islamic-dominated lands leaves Christians with nowhere to turn. "I don't care," they may protest; it isn't worth the risk, hunkering down in their shells in the middle of the highway.

Really, though, that makes it sound as if my motivation is the same as theirs - determining who best deserves to find a refuge - when I'm really just making an observation about a side effect of what seems to be a predominant view of the "religious right." I find myself disagreeing with their protectionist stance.

I could invoke Franklin, I guess, whose adage about those who would trade liberty for safety could probably be easily extended to those who would protect their own well-being at the expense of those who are far worse off. Or maybe we could talk in terms of lust-filled David, whose royal harem was insufficient to quench his lust for poor Uriah's wife.

But while I recognize that we have a responsibility to look after the safety of our own citizens, the image that keeps coming to my mind is how my Lord treated me when I was his enemy. He did not shrink back from the harm I would do to him, but in his great love and compassion ran forward to embrace the worst hurt that I had to offer, that he might thereby win me to himself. I have long held that it is impossible to simultaneously love another and protect oneself, and that is the true nature of the debate.

To hear us talk, I think it's time to scratch that inscription off the base of that wonderful gift we got from France almost 130 years ago, though. We've become to afraid to care any longer who else yearns to breathe free.

A series of strange dreams

First of all, I should promise my choir director that, no, I'm not going to show up for midnight mass dressed in a towel this year, or any year!

Next I was going through a non-existence gas station out at the base (near where the Twin Base golf course is, actually) when I realized I wasn't authorized to be there, so I pulled forward without getting gas and was waived past the teller taking the money into a cul-de-sac where couples were parking and walking to the building for a dining out. (I never attended either a dining in or a dining out function, which mostly seemed to be for the officers.) I was trying not to be seen by a couple who recognized me because I didn't belong there.

Finally, I was buying a CD from a choir friend who is a songwriter, only in this dream it was her husband's CD. I was trying to flag her down from across the church to buy one from her, and finally did. When I played it, I heard her voice; it turned out that she did the vocals for it, but he wrote the songs and played on it.

Weird stuff. (Oh, I've spared you the mental image of the worst one, dear reader, as I'm sure whatever your mind comes up with on its own won't be as bad!)

No time

Not to write. Not to read. Barely to pray.