It's time to shut this thing down. I started it a couple of years ago just as a place to publish some of the stuff I'd written for RCIA and work out some ideas (I think better with my fingers). But I never promoted it and it never took off, and for some reason that disappointed me. I'm not conceited enough to advertise my blog but I am conceited enough to be disappointed in the traffic it gets.
Plus the big story these days are the frequent outbursts from Rome and I, increasingly, have little interest in that but since I have a blog, I feel compelled to say something rational. The Pope's smarter than I am. He's been to Pope school and all that. The Cardinals that chatter about his mumbling are smarter than I am as well. They went to Cardinal School. If they can't figure it out then I'm not sure I even want to try. The wisest thing I can say is "God gave us Francis to cure us of ultramontanism".
I've also felt the urge to make objective, sometimes objectionable, comments about my local parish. I've gone to some lengths to avoid identifying information, but it's uncharitable and pointless (they aren't going to change anything because of my dyspeptic mutterings).
So all in all, the Blog was doing no good and it wasn't doing me any good either.
Over and out.
Friday, July 22, 2016
Monday, July 18, 2016
What is a homily?
I posted this a couple of months ago. It is my feeling that Christianity is not doing enough to speak to the issues that people face today. Instead we offer bland platitudes. When things go bad we say "we'll pray for you" and when things go well we say "God is good". Sometimes we'll reverse that and say "God is good" when things go bad just to sound profound. None of which rises above the level of insight you'd get from a Hallmark greeting card.
One of the guys at RCIA likes to tell a story about a sermon he heard one time from Bishop Galante who picked up the Bible and said "The words written in this Bible are more current than the words written on the paper on your doorstep this morning." That's a pretty powerful statement about the relevance of God's word in our lives. If we say that God's Word is alive, then it is in motion. It is constantly stretching Itself (or actually "Himself") into new corners of our world the way that a tree's roots expand into the soil where it's planted.
Last week someone animated by the anger of the Black Lives Matter movement killed five police officers in Dallas and injured nine others. The readings that weekend were about the Good Samaritan which starts with a pointed question: "Who is my neighbor?". One would think that such a reading coming only a few days after a public shooting and the outpouring of grief and anger would prove a rich ground for explaining how Christianity can speak to today's world. If the words of the Bible are "more current than the words written on the paper on your doorstep" then surely there's something to learn from this. We could consider, for instance
So let's take a look at the history. Justin Martyr wrote about the Mass in the Second Century. He mentions in his First Apology that And on the day called Sunday,(1) all who live in cities or in the country gather together to one place, and the memoirs of the apostles or the writings of the prophets are read, as long as time permits; then, when the reader has ceased, the president verbally instructs, and exhorts to the imitation of these good things.
Justin Martry was born in 100AD and died in 165AD. So we was roughly one-hundred years removed from the events of Jesus' time. He was born in Samaria and lived in the post-Temple era. That means that when he was alive there were no Sadducees. The fight between the Jews and the Samaritans was pretty much over because both sides "lost" to the Romans. The Pharisees were the only surviving branch of Judaism and they were scattered. He simply lived in a different era. Things like "Temple Sacrifice" had a historical, but not emotional impact on him. The situation of Jesus' time was relatively fresh: the language would be familiar and the geographical setting would be familiar, but the exact situation would be only known in family verbal history.
In his apology, he doesn't say "The president explains what a 'Sadducee' is and why Jesus was so mad at them". He doesn't say "The president explains where Jesus landed on the Pharisee/Sadducee divide". He doesn't say "The president explains why Jesus is taking the side of the Samaritans, proving that we're better than the Jews". Those concerns were history. Instead "The president verbally instructs and exhorts to the imitation of these good things."
Indeed, in Luke's Gospel, you may notice that Luke never mentions such things as "Pharisees", "Levites", or "Sadducees". Luke was writing to a gentile audience, so he just called them all "Jews" because the finer shades of distinction don't matter.
But that's all we care about. Who were the Samaritans? Who were the Herodians? What did Jesus think of the Temple? What year was Daniel written? Who were the Phillipians? Did Peter really write the letters with his name on them?
It's obvious why Catholic priests and Deacons do this. They are hiding behind the Bible. Trained from an early age to avoid confrontation, they quickly realize that the Bible doesn't have much to say about Abortion, Contraception, Global Warming, gay marriage or Barack Obama. Actually, it does have a few things to say about some of those things but we can cleverly snip those out of our Sunday readings. So historical analysis of the various factions at work in Jesus' day takes the place of any kind of thoughtful words that apply to the world we live in. Christianity is reduced to a historical preservation society.
So, in Justin Martyr's day, the post-Gospel exhortation was an indication as to how to hear and apply the Gospel. And today the post-Gospel exhortation is still about how people in the first or second century would hear and apply the Gospel.
I guess Bishop Galante was wrong. The newspaper and TV is the place to learn about navigating world today. We can put down the Bible and pick up Rolling Stone and National Review, depending on our preference.
One of the guys at RCIA likes to tell a story about a sermon he heard one time from Bishop Galante who picked up the Bible and said "The words written in this Bible are more current than the words written on the paper on your doorstep this morning." That's a pretty powerful statement about the relevance of God's word in our lives. If we say that God's Word is alive, then it is in motion. It is constantly stretching Itself (or actually "Himself") into new corners of our world the way that a tree's roots expand into the soil where it's planted.
Last week someone animated by the anger of the Black Lives Matter movement killed five police officers in Dallas and injured nine others. The readings that weekend were about the Good Samaritan which starts with a pointed question: "Who is my neighbor?". One would think that such a reading coming only a few days after a public shooting and the outpouring of grief and anger would prove a rich ground for explaining how Christianity can speak to today's world. If the words of the Bible are "more current than the words written on the paper on your doorstep" then surely there's something to learn from this. We could consider, for instance
- Who's my neighbor?
- Would the Black Lives Matter protestors consider the Police to be their neighbors? Should they?
- Would the Police consider the Black Lives Matter protestors to be their neighbors? Should they?
- What do the rest of the citizens make of those groups? A pox on both their houses?
- What about racism in America? Do we focus on every real and perceived incident of racism, just get over it because it's not as bad as Jim Crow or forget about it all to form a united front against ISIS?
So let's take a look at the history. Justin Martyr wrote about the Mass in the Second Century. He mentions in his First Apology that And on the day called Sunday,(1) all who live in cities or in the country gather together to one place, and the memoirs of the apostles or the writings of the prophets are read, as long as time permits; then, when the reader has ceased, the president verbally instructs, and exhorts to the imitation of these good things.
Justin Martry was born in 100AD and died in 165AD. So we was roughly one-hundred years removed from the events of Jesus' time. He was born in Samaria and lived in the post-Temple era. That means that when he was alive there were no Sadducees. The fight between the Jews and the Samaritans was pretty much over because both sides "lost" to the Romans. The Pharisees were the only surviving branch of Judaism and they were scattered. He simply lived in a different era. Things like "Temple Sacrifice" had a historical, but not emotional impact on him. The situation of Jesus' time was relatively fresh: the language would be familiar and the geographical setting would be familiar, but the exact situation would be only known in family verbal history.
In his apology, he doesn't say "The president explains what a 'Sadducee' is and why Jesus was so mad at them". He doesn't say "The president explains where Jesus landed on the Pharisee/Sadducee divide". He doesn't say "The president explains why Jesus is taking the side of the Samaritans, proving that we're better than the Jews". Those concerns were history. Instead "The president verbally instructs and exhorts to the imitation of these good things."
Indeed, in Luke's Gospel, you may notice that Luke never mentions such things as "Pharisees", "Levites", or "Sadducees". Luke was writing to a gentile audience, so he just called them all "Jews" because the finer shades of distinction don't matter.
But that's all we care about. Who were the Samaritans? Who were the Herodians? What did Jesus think of the Temple? What year was Daniel written? Who were the Phillipians? Did Peter really write the letters with his name on them?
It's obvious why Catholic priests and Deacons do this. They are hiding behind the Bible. Trained from an early age to avoid confrontation, they quickly realize that the Bible doesn't have much to say about Abortion, Contraception, Global Warming, gay marriage or Barack Obama. Actually, it does have a few things to say about some of those things but we can cleverly snip those out of our Sunday readings. So historical analysis of the various factions at work in Jesus' day takes the place of any kind of thoughtful words that apply to the world we live in. Christianity is reduced to a historical preservation society.
So, in Justin Martyr's day, the post-Gospel exhortation was an indication as to how to hear and apply the Gospel. And today the post-Gospel exhortation is still about how people in the first or second century would hear and apply the Gospel.
I guess Bishop Galante was wrong. The newspaper and TV is the place to learn about navigating world today. We can put down the Bible and pick up Rolling Stone and National Review, depending on our preference.
Saturday, July 9, 2016
Why do I Care?
Last week I watched an episode of Mother Angelica where she, in an offhand way, commented on the human tendency to point out the flaws of others. There's a lot of irony on display there: Mother Angelica was never shy to point out the flaws of others, and by cautioning us not to point out flaws of others she was, in fact, pointing out our own flaws.
In light of the past couple of years dealing with Pope Francis I'd been reflecting on this and related issues and I keep coming back to the question: Why Do I Care? Pope Francis is, rightly or wrongly, portrayed as an indulgent grandfatherly figure who can't really be bothered to call a sin a sin. That's not true: he insults people all the time and he's always encouraging people to go to confession. But it's clear that he has preached "mercy" to the point that a lot of people wonder if there are indeed any consequences of sin.
But why do I care about that? He's the Pope. He has the power to bind and loose. He can say whatever he wants. Why should I get worked up about it?
Two images come to mind. My young niece and nephew (aged 2 and 3 at the time) were arguing and their mother was losing her patience and told my niece (who was instigating the conflict) that if "If you don't stop by the time I count to three, you're getting a spanking!" In characteristic fashion, she counted to three very slowly. Too slowly for my nephew who finally exploded "Say 'three' and spank her!" Do I secretly want the Pope to smack down those whose sins I don't approve of? Do I want him to direct his considerable venom towards my political or cultural foes? Am I, in fact, acting like a three-year old?
The other image that frequently comes to mind is actually my favorite parable:
In fact, I consider myself rather libertarian in my cultural outlook. I don't actually much care what people do for a living or how they live their lives. I have a skill of minding my own business. I like to think that I encourage people to be kind and generous through my own example, but I have to admit my track record of actual evangelization is pretty poor. So if I'm happy that I get to sneak in at the last minute, why should I care if the institutional Church seems to be giving a pass to other people?
Let's say Francis' critics are right: that he doesn't care about marriage and would prefer that annulments were automatic upon the grant of a divorce in civil courts. For that matter, why get married at all? He thinks people living together are just as married as people who stood before the altar to say "I do". Even though he wrote a book called the Joy of Love, he doesn't see much joy in love and wants to make it as easy as possible to enter into a relationship and as easy as possible to get out of said relationship when the joy is gone.
Why do I care about that?
By this time, you may be expecting a profound answer, but I'm actually still trying to figure it out.
What our society consists of now is what H. Richard Niebuhr famously described as “A God without wrath brought men without sin into a Kingdom without judgment through the ministrations of a Christ without a Cross.” It is succinctly summarized by the post-modern phrase "spiritual but not religious". God is great, if we even believe in Him, but it's simply enough to call on Him, if we believe in Him, during times of trial. There's no commitment on our part is required. We don't have to go to Church, don't have to change our lives or anything. Maybe we post a meme on Facebook once in a while to show we're spiritual. But if not, that's OK too.
That doesn't sound right to me. In my reading of the Bible, and the lives of the saints and my own life, I've concluded that conversion requires accepting Jesus and a change in your life. I believe "repent" is one of the more common words on Jesus' lips and "repent" doesn't just mean saying "my bad" and going on, it means changing your life so as to not fall into sin again.
It seems that the Church has stopped preaching that. It seems that the Church, itself, is now "spiritual but not religious".
Part of me, it must be said, is jealous. I changed my life, so other people need to change their lives too. When my nephew said "Say 'three' and spank her" he was speaking as one who'd been spanked himself more than once and wanted the same punishment meted out to his sister. I can say a lot of things like "justice requires this" and I can express a philanthropic wish that all men be saved and the way of salvation requires a change of heart and a change of heart is expressed through a change of life. But the real reason is: I had to do it, you have to as well.
My life is a whole lot better since I turned away from my past sins, and I anticipate it will be better still when I turn away from my present sins. And I do want everyone else to experience the joy that I have, and I do feel that this means changing your life. "There's nothing worse than a reformed sinner" as they say. So it's not totally wrong to say I am worried about the state of my neighbor's souls, but mostly I just don't want them getting off easy.
Another thing that strikes me is an idea that I picked up from the lives of the saints. A sin is a sin. The sin can be forgiven, but it's still a sin, and God doesn't like sins. And I don't want God to be angry, especially not at me but also not at my neighbor. When the lightening bolt hits him, I might get burned by the shrapnel. By proactively dismissing or explaining away the presence of sin, I think the Church is welcoming towards people (in the sense of getting them in the door) but I think it is also getting very close to saying "this is not a sin" rather than "this is a sin that can be forgiven".
Another thing that strikes me is that in the parable above, the workers chosen at the last hour actually worked for an hour. The land owner didn't just walk through the marketplace and say "Well, you didn't know I was hiring and that's not your fault, so here's a day's wages anyway." No, (1) he called them and (2) they followed and (3) they did the work. That makes sense to me. Perhaps I'm too linear in my thinking. To short circuit that and say "well, we didn't tell anyone about sin for the past few decades, so we can hardly blame them if they fall into sin" is to engage in a dangerous line of thought that Joseph Ratzinger dealt with in On Conscience.
Another thing, probably the most obvious thing, is that this world is awful. As I write this the city of Dallas is still reeling from a sniper eager to start a race war who opened fire on an otherwise peaceful demonstration. Before the bodies were cold, people were already spreading memes on Facebook and Twitter about how the shootings would impact the current president and the people running to replace him. Yeah, five people lost their lives, but the real victim is Donald Trump, or Barack Obama. I'd like to think that if the Church spent a little more time calling people to a holy life and a little less time looking for loopholes in the Church's teaching our world might be a little bit better. It won't be paradise, but perhaps we can avoid some of the more egregious public displays of Original Sin.
So there you have it. Part of me is an immature three-year old and part of me is a disciple of a German Theologian who went on to be Pope and part of me wants relief from a society gone mad.
In light of the past couple of years dealing with Pope Francis I'd been reflecting on this and related issues and I keep coming back to the question: Why Do I Care? Pope Francis is, rightly or wrongly, portrayed as an indulgent grandfatherly figure who can't really be bothered to call a sin a sin. That's not true: he insults people all the time and he's always encouraging people to go to confession. But it's clear that he has preached "mercy" to the point that a lot of people wonder if there are indeed any consequences of sin.
But why do I care about that? He's the Pope. He has the power to bind and loose. He can say whatever he wants. Why should I get worked up about it?
Two images come to mind. My young niece and nephew (aged 2 and 3 at the time) were arguing and their mother was losing her patience and told my niece (who was instigating the conflict) that if "If you don't stop by the time I count to three, you're getting a spanking!" In characteristic fashion, she counted to three very slowly. Too slowly for my nephew who finally exploded "Say 'three' and spank her!" Do I secretly want the Pope to smack down those whose sins I don't approve of? Do I want him to direct his considerable venom towards my political or cultural foes? Am I, in fact, acting like a three-year old?
The other image that frequently comes to mind is actually my favorite parable:
I've always imagined that I'm one of the people chosen towards the end of the day, and I'm happy that I don't have to settle for just a small slice of heaven because of my late turn to the Lord.Matthew 20:1-16New American Bible (Revised Edition) (NABRE)
The Workers in the Vineyard.[a] 1 “The kingdom of heaven is like a landowner who went out at dawn to hire laborers for his vineyard. 2 After agreeing with them for the usual daily wage, he sent them into his vineyard. 3 Going out about nine o’clock, he saw others standing idle in the marketplace, 4 [b]and he said to them, ‘You too go into my vineyard, and I will give you what is just.’ 5 So they went off. [And] he went out again around noon, and around three o’clock, and did likewise. 6 Going out about five o’clock, he found others standing around, and said to them, ‘Why do you stand here idle all day?’ 7 They answered, ‘Because no one has hired us.’ He said to them, ‘You too go into my vineyard.’ 8 [c]When it was evening the owner of the vineyard said to his foreman, ‘Summon the laborers and give them their pay, beginning with the last and ending with the first.’ 9 When those who had started about five o’clock came, each received the usual daily wage. 10 So when the first came, they thought that they would receive more, but each of them also got the usual wage. 11 And on receiving it they grumbled against the landowner, 12 saying, ‘These last ones worked only one hour, and you have made them equal to us, who bore the day’s burden and the heat.’ 13 He said to one of them in reply, ‘My friend, I am not cheating you.[d] Did you not agree with me for the usual daily wage? 14 [e]Take what is yours and go. What if I wish to give this last one the same as you? 15 [Or] am I not free to do as I wish with my own money? Are you envious because I am generous?’ 16 [f]Thus, the last will be first, and the first will be last.”
In fact, I consider myself rather libertarian in my cultural outlook. I don't actually much care what people do for a living or how they live their lives. I have a skill of minding my own business. I like to think that I encourage people to be kind and generous through my own example, but I have to admit my track record of actual evangelization is pretty poor. So if I'm happy that I get to sneak in at the last minute, why should I care if the institutional Church seems to be giving a pass to other people?
Let's say Francis' critics are right: that he doesn't care about marriage and would prefer that annulments were automatic upon the grant of a divorce in civil courts. For that matter, why get married at all? He thinks people living together are just as married as people who stood before the altar to say "I do". Even though he wrote a book called the Joy of Love, he doesn't see much joy in love and wants to make it as easy as possible to enter into a relationship and as easy as possible to get out of said relationship when the joy is gone.
Why do I care about that?
By this time, you may be expecting a profound answer, but I'm actually still trying to figure it out.
What our society consists of now is what H. Richard Niebuhr famously described as “A God without wrath brought men without sin into a Kingdom without judgment through the ministrations of a Christ without a Cross.” It is succinctly summarized by the post-modern phrase "spiritual but not religious". God is great, if we even believe in Him, but it's simply enough to call on Him, if we believe in Him, during times of trial. There's no commitment on our part is required. We don't have to go to Church, don't have to change our lives or anything. Maybe we post a meme on Facebook once in a while to show we're spiritual. But if not, that's OK too.
That doesn't sound right to me. In my reading of the Bible, and the lives of the saints and my own life, I've concluded that conversion requires accepting Jesus and a change in your life. I believe "repent" is one of the more common words on Jesus' lips and "repent" doesn't just mean saying "my bad" and going on, it means changing your life so as to not fall into sin again.
It seems that the Church has stopped preaching that. It seems that the Church, itself, is now "spiritual but not religious".
Part of me, it must be said, is jealous. I changed my life, so other people need to change their lives too. When my nephew said "Say 'three' and spank her" he was speaking as one who'd been spanked himself more than once and wanted the same punishment meted out to his sister. I can say a lot of things like "justice requires this" and I can express a philanthropic wish that all men be saved and the way of salvation requires a change of heart and a change of heart is expressed through a change of life. But the real reason is: I had to do it, you have to as well.
My life is a whole lot better since I turned away from my past sins, and I anticipate it will be better still when I turn away from my present sins. And I do want everyone else to experience the joy that I have, and I do feel that this means changing your life. "There's nothing worse than a reformed sinner" as they say. So it's not totally wrong to say I am worried about the state of my neighbor's souls, but mostly I just don't want them getting off easy.
Another thing that strikes me is an idea that I picked up from the lives of the saints. A sin is a sin. The sin can be forgiven, but it's still a sin, and God doesn't like sins. And I don't want God to be angry, especially not at me but also not at my neighbor. When the lightening bolt hits him, I might get burned by the shrapnel. By proactively dismissing or explaining away the presence of sin, I think the Church is welcoming towards people (in the sense of getting them in the door) but I think it is also getting very close to saying "this is not a sin" rather than "this is a sin that can be forgiven".
Another thing that strikes me is that in the parable above, the workers chosen at the last hour actually worked for an hour. The land owner didn't just walk through the marketplace and say "Well, you didn't know I was hiring and that's not your fault, so here's a day's wages anyway." No, (1) he called them and (2) they followed and (3) they did the work. That makes sense to me. Perhaps I'm too linear in my thinking. To short circuit that and say "well, we didn't tell anyone about sin for the past few decades, so we can hardly blame them if they fall into sin" is to engage in a dangerous line of thought that Joseph Ratzinger dealt with in On Conscience.
I first became aware of the question with all its urgency in the beginning of my academic teaching. In the course of a dispute, a senior colleague, who was keenly aware of the plight of being Christian in our times, expressed the opinion that one should actually be grateful to God that He allows there to be so many unbelievers in good conscience. For if their eyes were opened and they became believers, they would not be capable, in this world of ours, of bearing the burden of faith with all its moral obligations. But as it is, since they can go another way in good conscience, they can still reach salvation.
What shocked me about this assertion was not in the first place the idea of an erroneous conscience given by God Himself in order to save men by means of such artfulness—the idea, so to speak, of a blindness sent by God for the salvation of those in question. What disturbed me was the notion it harbored that faith is a burden that can hardly be borne and that was, no doubt, intended only for stronger natures—faith almost as a kind of punishment—in any case, an imposition not easily coped with.
According to this view, faith would not make salvation easier but harder. Being happy would mean not being burdened with having to believe or having to submit to the moral yoke of the faith of the Catholic Church. The erroneous conscience, which makes life easier and marks a more human course, would then be the real grace, the normal way to salvation. Untruth, keeping truth at bay, would be better for man than truth. It would not be the truth that would set him free, but rather he would have to be freed from the truth. Man would be more at home in the dark than in the light. Faith would not be the good gift of the good God but instead an affliction.
If this were the state of affairs, how could faith give rise to joy? Who would have the courage to pass faith on to others? Would it not be better to spare them the truth or even keep them from it? In the last few decades, notions of this sort have discernibly crippled the disposition to evangelize. The one who sees the faith as a heavy burden or as a moral imposition is unable to invite others to believe. Rather, he lets them be, in the putative freedom of their good consciences.But I do think Faith gives rise to Joy. I honestly can't explain why, anymore than I can explain why I love my wife. But it does and to hear people mess around with that offends me in the way that someone might argue with me over a matter of mathematics or geography. The facts are the facts.
Ratzinger, Joseph Cardinal (2010-11-19). On Conscience (Bioethics & Culture) (pp. 13-15). Ignatius Press. Kindle Edition.
Another thing, probably the most obvious thing, is that this world is awful. As I write this the city of Dallas is still reeling from a sniper eager to start a race war who opened fire on an otherwise peaceful demonstration. Before the bodies were cold, people were already spreading memes on Facebook and Twitter about how the shootings would impact the current president and the people running to replace him. Yeah, five people lost their lives, but the real victim is Donald Trump, or Barack Obama. I'd like to think that if the Church spent a little more time calling people to a holy life and a little less time looking for loopholes in the Church's teaching our world might be a little bit better. It won't be paradise, but perhaps we can avoid some of the more egregious public displays of Original Sin.
So there you have it. Part of me is an immature three-year old and part of me is a disciple of a German Theologian who went on to be Pope and part of me wants relief from a society gone mad.
Friday, July 1, 2016
A good way to start a long weekend
Mother Angelica famously referred to the "Electric Church" of the 1970's and 1980's: "Every time you go, you get a shock!" I've been getting a lot of shocks lately so I'm insulating myself with a trip to Mater Dei tonight for the First Friday Sacred Heart vigil. My friend's cancer is back and he needs some prayers and I need some time with My Lord that's not mediated by Baptist hymnody during Communion, an urgent appeal to go on an ACTS retreat, the William Shatner School of Overacting rendition of Paul's Letter to the Romans or my pewmate's play-by-play recap of his dialysis.
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