Thoughts on conscience, i

I lost sleep over this last night, after having a near argument on the topic with someone I respect deeply. For me, this discussion reflects both our culture's attitude (toward so many things, really) and my experiences of growing up Catholic immediately post-Vatican II.

I have reflected often with many Catholic and Christian friends about our society's attitudes toward our intelligence. In short, I believe we have made it one of our chief false gods. Rationalism and experientialism have become our chief heresies, and they are strong partners. We (each of us) insist that things must be as I (or as we collectively, mainly including people smarter than me) are able to understand and grasp them and have experienced them. Don't get me wrong, I'm not suggesting that we should check our brain at the door, or that we embrace superstition. But the the Gospel is rooted in humility, which our society disdains. We know what is best, damn it, and nobody is going to tell us any different. Further, because of the technological wonders of our age, we've come to think of ourselves as more intelligent than our forebears of previous centuries (let alone millenia). Now, it is true that we've come to know many things that they didn't, but it is important to understand that this is not because we are fundamentally smarter than they were. Rather, we have been raised under the influence of accumulated knowledge which wasn't available to them. This affects us both for good and for ill.

Having been born and baptized Catholic in 1960, I was raised in a Church struggling to cast off the shackles of blind obedience which had marked it for previous millenia. This characteristic both caused the Protestant Reformation and was hardened by the Church's response to it. When Pope John XXIII threw open the doors and proclaimed that we needed a new Pentecost, that it was important to allow the wind of the Holy Spirit to renew the Church, he recognized that we had become stifled, and were stifling the Spirit. This prayerful man recognized that we needed to allow God to move in us in new ways, and that powerful growth would result if we did. For one thing, the Church came to remember that when the Spirit spoke at Pentecost, it was in the language of the people.

I don't believe, though, that it was ever his intention to cast off the accumulated wisdom which the Spirit has taught the Church throughout salvation history. Still, many people threw out the baby with the bath water. Rejecting what they perceived as the superstition of their parents' generation, and with an attitude that it was "about damn time" the Church came into the 20th century, they embraced much of the prevailing cultural perspective, especially under the influence of the twins of rationalism and experientialism. We began to put the accumulated knowledge on par with spiritual truth, often even embracing that which was merely theoretical or suggested as if it were fact.

As a result, when I was a child, even within the Church I was taught cultural attitudes concerning a lot of things, and the fundamental one underlying all the others was with regard to my conscience. It was up to me to decide what was okay, and I had a responsibility not to let anyone tell me otherwise.

This represents a subtle but vast distortion of a mature Catholic Christian's understanding of conscience's formation and role. Because of it, I see and hear many Catholics of my generation, including too many priests, giving (to each other and other Catholics) and heeding poorly-rooted (secular!) guidance and advice in the guise of spiritual wisdom.

more to come . . .

Contemplating this here popsicle . . .

Here I am, at my second birthday party, standing in my back yard. Grandpa's been snapping pictures long enough that I'm not continually clamoring for his attention anymore. Mommy gave me this great popsicle, of which I've been making short work. It could be that I'm trying to decide if this is the best thing in the entire world, or maybe I just can't quite figure out what my cousins or my Pappy are up to over there. But I'm having a great day, and Grandpa (well, I'll be calling him Pappaw for a while longer, but I already know that starts with a "P") just loves the way the popsicle juice on my chin matches my top, not to mention this faraway look in my eyes!

A special week

Sometimes it's nice to schedule a "vacation" that's just all about our relationship.

To our surprise, our youngest daughter, for whom my wife babysits daily, informed us two weeks ago that her mother-in-law wanted to watch the kids last Tuesday through Friday. On such short notice, we didn't feel like planning an out-of-town trip, but we definitely wanted to take advantage of the unplanned opportunity to spend some time together. So we made a list of several things in the area we wanted to do. Last Tuesday we went swimming at a local family water park; Wednesday we visited a cousin and his wife a few hours away, whose company we always enjoy; Thursday we spent a few hours at a bicycle museum; Friday we went canoeing. We even managed to carry the things into the weekend, seeing a really neat movie (Stardust, which we enjoyed immensely).

It was just the recharge we needed.

"Tough" readings

We had a substitute priest at mass yesterday, who has subbed for us many times before, and whose homilies I've enjoyed very much. Yesterday, however, may have set my personal record for most cringes during one homily. Why is it so often Marianists who have this effect on me?

A brief synopsis of the Gospel reading: someone asks Jesus if only a few will be saved. Jesus replies that we should strive to enter through the narrow gate, for many will try to enter but will be unable. He goes on to say that these will knock at the door and hear the reply "I don't know where you're from." They will protest that they ate and drank with him, that he taught in their streets, but to no avail. They'll ultimately look on in anguish at the vast number who come from north and south, from east and west, feasting at the banquet.

Now, our visiting priest described this as a "tough" reading to understand, then interpreted it in the typical pre-Vatican-II Catholic manner, with the typically Marian twist. His point was that, while we may find we haven't been "strong enough," we have an advocate in Jesus' mother who will speak on our behalf at that moment, as we regularly implore " . . . pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death."

Now, once upon a time, I had a problem with the role of Mary as an intercessor. That is no longer the case. However, his approach to this reading still doesn't work for me, as I believe it underappreciates Mary's humility and Jesus' Godhead.

So here's my take on this reading. It isn't that "only a few will be saved," as the inquirer asked at the start of the Gospel passage. Rather, those who attempt to enter by their own merits, or who approach with an attitude of privilege, will find themselves unable to. Many of Jesus' own people had taken on a self-righteous sense of entitlement concerning their place in God's favor. Instead, the banquet hall will be filled with those saved, but they will indeed be saved, not worthy or entitled. It seems to me that those who are convinced that they belong can't ever work their way in. Only those who know how unworthy we are of God's love and of Jesus' sacrifice will have the proper attitude to enter the gate. Jesus is the narrow gate ("I myself am the gate for the sheep," Jesus says in St. John's gospel), and we enter through him, not through our own merits.

It seems to me that the earthly Christian church (and this is an issue beyond denomination) has too many people who act as if the purpose of our faith is to get us to the point at which we no longer need a savior. I believe it is impossible to achieve this. Our eternal destination isn't a matter of being good enough or strong enough or "faithful" enough (in the way we use the term to mean we've stayed the course), but humble enough. Yes, we are called to remain faithful, but not so that we can puff out our chests over our faithfulness, but humbly full of faith.

Now, lest I stumble into "sola fides," let me clarify that I don't believe such faith in Jesus is real if it is unaccompanied by a response. I believe we are to run the race, fight the good fight of faith, and (as St. Paul says) "work out our salvation with fear and trembling." But both the faith and our response to it - our running, fighting, and working out - are God's gift to us, so it is only by God's grace we enter the banquet, not by our belonging there in any other way.

Sheff

You know, I try not to pay too much attention to celebrity, but now and then someone says something that just really strikes me.

Gary Sheffield was quoted as saying, "If I lose friends, so what? I don't need friends. I've got plenty of friends," Sheffield said.

Wow.

My friends are more precious to me than that. I sure hope he was quoted completely out of context.

Sanctimony

Barry Bonds. Michael Vick. Tank Johnson. Adam Jones. Tim Donaghy. Michael Rasmussen. Alexander Vinokourov. Ryan Tucker. Marion Jones. Tim Montgomery. Neifi Perez. Ivan Basso. Floyd Landis. Mark McGuire.

Okay. I'll stop now. But let's get the point. And it isn't just about sports figures, either.

We ought not tolerate cheating.

We also ought not get all uppity in the process. Let's not think ourselves better than others. If we do, we've missed the point.

And no, I don't think myself better than those who think themselves better than others. What a trap that would be!

We all have our weaknesses. We should help each other out of them or, if our help isn't desired, at least not enable the dynamic that nurtures them. But just because I don't have another person's weakness, or because my weakness hasn't made the headlines, that doesn't give me room to judge.

Or maybe I just feel that way because my own weakness was so undeniably ugly.

From what comes hope?

Compared to a lot of tragedies in this world, this one (registration req'd, and I don't know how long the Post keeps its articles available) may be small. Perhaps it doesn't compare to terrorism, war, starvation, or genocide. Still, it touches me deeply.

Theresa Duncan and Jeremy Blake were brilliant people, deeply united with one another, yet they became hopeless.

It seems that none of these things that the world values - intelligence, esteem, beauty, brilliance, riches, success - can provide true hope. Or, in the words of Arlene Landis, "All this proves to me is that worldly fame is worthless."

I have been this full of despair. On the way to work one day, over a decade ago (at close to Jeremy's age, in fact), I chose the means and site of my death that afternoon.

Providence and grace delivered me over to a better answer than to follow in my father's footsteps, and saved my family the further hurt to which I would have selfishly subjected them. But it wasn't a matter of choosing to live in misery myself rather than making them miserable.

There is a Way through such desperation. Beyond the abject darkness there is bright, joyful day, where life is indeed far better.