We are more than halfway through the 40 Days for Life campaign. If you don't know what that is, go here: http://www.40daysforlife.com/
I get the daily updates and devotionals for the campaign, and though there is not an abortion clinic or a 40 Days vigil near where I live, I try to reflect and pray using their devotion every day. One thing I noticed this time around was the variety of faiths being represented in the devotionals. There have been Baptist preachers, Presbyterian pastors, Lutheran, and I believe Jewish. I know that all these different faiths have participated before, but this is the first time I have seen such a variety actually writing the devotionals.
I am amazed when I look back at how 40 Days for Life started. I had a very small, almost indirect, part in that first 40 days. I was a freshman in college at Texas A&M, and I learned about it through our campus student organization Aggies for Life. I wore the bracelet and I prayed a few hours on the sidewalk. Little did I know what a powerful fire was sparking. Now when I read about the history of 40 Days for Life, I just can't help but praise God for his grace. Just a few strong-hearted people sitting around a table decided they would try it, and look where it has gone!
Really and truly, they have sparked a revolution in the pro-life movement (coinciding with--yes, another God thing--the expansion of Live Action and their undercover videos that have exposed Planned Parenthood for its lies and helped to reduce funding, and all the incredible pro-life laws passed with encouragement from Americans United for Life). I don't think I am prejudiced when I say Catholics have tended to be the sole outspoken voice against abortion through the decades. But now, with this resurgence of passion for the pro-life movement, we have ecumenical movement. People of all different faith backgrounds, and even atheists, are coming together to fight this war. How beautiful is that?
Those on the other side of the argument probably despise 40 Days for Life because of their success in simply standing and praying. We give no reason for people to throw insults at us or try to demean us because we are simply present and encouraging. I'm sure that's infuriating. But perhaps the most infuriating thing that 40 Days for Life does is save lives. I don't mean that most pro-choicers want babies to be killed (although I would argue that Planned Parenthood as an organization does because that means they make more money). Many pro-choicers want abortion to be rare but always a "safe" option. But when 40 Days for Life prevents a woman from choosing abortion (according to their records, 6,749 babies have been saved), and a child is born, how can they argue against that? And it's not just that a baby is saved, but so many reports demonstrate the relief these women who choose life feel, and how they have been helped through their struggles by pregnancy help centers. To fight against an organization that saves both the actual life of the child and the emotional/social/psychological life of the mother would be anti-human. Could they really say that they wish 40 Days for Life hadn't been there and the baby would have been aborted? Is that really better?
We can argue the philosophy, the prioritization of rights, even the "viability" of the child. We can argue about a woman's choice over her own body. But when a woman makes the choice for life, when life wins out over death, we can't argue (not unless we truly believed some people deserve not to live, or would be better off not living, regardless of the woman's choice. And if that's the case, then we are in very different territory than simply reproductive rights.).
So 40 days for Life is a simple concept: stand peacefully at vigil and pray. Maybe even fast. Be there for women when they feel most vulnerable. And, through it all, bring many, many faiths together fighting for the cause of life, and save the lives of children and women! Do it all through, with, and in Christ.
Wednesday, March 20, 2013
Thursday, March 14, 2013
Shame, the Purifier
I read something interesting in the YouCat Youth Catechism today. It was a clarifying way to describe Purgatory. On "Question 159: What is Purgatory?" This is the response:
When Peter had betrayed Jesus, the Lord turned around and looked at Peter: “And Peter went out and wept bitterly”—a feeling like being in purgatory. Just such a purgatory probably awaits most of us at the moment of our death: the Lord looks at us full of love—and we experience burning shame and painful remorse over our wicked or “merely” unloving behavior. Only after this purifying pain will we be capable of meeting his loving gaze in untroubled heavenly joy.
Suddenly Purgatory makes even more sense. When we die and meet God face to face, and are assailed by God's infinite love, we will suddenly become acutely aware of our iniquities, how we have failed him. We will see ourselves for what we are as sinners. The floodlights will come on.
And because God is perfect love and we long to be with him, we will feel ashamed. This pain is what will purify us. This rightful shame will melt away the stains of our sins, just as a fire purifies silver of all its stains until it shimmers perfectly.
If we did not feel this shame over our past sins that have stained our soul, then we could not enter heaven. If we did not have our sins purified, we could not enter. After all "Nothing unclean will enter it" (Rev 21:27). God grants us forgiveness because of his Son's sacrifice and because we ask for it but, as with any wrongdoing in the world, even after we ask and are granted forgiveness, the results of that sin remain until we repay the wrongdoing. If I break my sister's toy, I can tell her I am sorry and she can forgive me, but the consequence of that sin, a broken toy, is still present until I reconcile with her by repairing it or purchasing a new one.
And so, when Peter sinned by denying Christ, he had to repent. He had to cry and feel the pain of remorse because he knew the shame of what he had done. He suffered, his own purgatory, and thus he was healed.
Our own Purgatory will likely be painful, though it is a sure sign that we will reach Heaven. It will be painful because we will feel so utterly remorseful in the sight of God. Remorseful, because we love him. ("Yes, Lord, you know that I love you." (John 21:15) ) But, in that moment, we will know perfectly God's love for us, and we will feel love for him as greatly as God intended.
When Peter had betrayed Jesus, the Lord turned around and looked at Peter: “And Peter went out and wept bitterly”—a feeling like being in purgatory. Just such a purgatory probably awaits most of us at the moment of our death: the Lord looks at us full of love—and we experience burning shame and painful remorse over our wicked or “merely” unloving behavior. Only after this purifying pain will we be capable of meeting his loving gaze in untroubled heavenly joy.
Suddenly Purgatory makes even more sense. When we die and meet God face to face, and are assailed by God's infinite love, we will suddenly become acutely aware of our iniquities, how we have failed him. We will see ourselves for what we are as sinners. The floodlights will come on.
And because God is perfect love and we long to be with him, we will feel ashamed. This pain is what will purify us. This rightful shame will melt away the stains of our sins, just as a fire purifies silver of all its stains until it shimmers perfectly.
If we did not feel this shame over our past sins that have stained our soul, then we could not enter heaven. If we did not have our sins purified, we could not enter. After all "Nothing unclean will enter it" (Rev 21:27). God grants us forgiveness because of his Son's sacrifice and because we ask for it but, as with any wrongdoing in the world, even after we ask and are granted forgiveness, the results of that sin remain until we repay the wrongdoing. If I break my sister's toy, I can tell her I am sorry and she can forgive me, but the consequence of that sin, a broken toy, is still present until I reconcile with her by repairing it or purchasing a new one.
And so, when Peter sinned by denying Christ, he had to repent. He had to cry and feel the pain of remorse because he knew the shame of what he had done. He suffered, his own purgatory, and thus he was healed.
Our own Purgatory will likely be painful, though it is a sure sign that we will reach Heaven. It will be painful because we will feel so utterly remorseful in the sight of God. Remorseful, because we love him. ("Yes, Lord, you know that I love you." (John 21:15) ) But, in that moment, we will know perfectly God's love for us, and we will feel love for him as greatly as God intended.
Sunday, March 10, 2013
"Harden not your hearts"
"If today you hear his voice, harden not your hearts." (Psalm 95: 7-8)
This is a Psalm commonly read during Lent. I've heard it so many times and each time, I always thought it was a funny thing to say. Of course if I heard God's voice I would not turn from him! If he spoke to me, his voice pouring down from heaven, why would I harden my heart against him?
This year it finally hit me. A while back, my husband asked me why God couldn't just speak to us in no uncertain terms. Why couldn't he simply send us his booming voice down out of the clouds? Then we would listen. Then we would know what to do. But the truth is, because of our hardened hearts, we wouldn't recognize him no matter what he did. After all, he walked the earth as one of us in Christ Jesus, and still many didn't recognize him. Even after the miracles Christ did, people refused to listen to him. Psalm 95 continues, "Do not harden your hearts as at Meribah, as on the day of Massah in the desert. There your ancestors tested me; they tried me though they had seen my works." (Psalm 95: 8-9) These people simply refused to believe in God, to trust his works. No matter what God did, they always asked for another sign. Their hearts were hardened against him and they would not see Truth.
If we ask God for a sign; if we beg him to "do this for me" so that we know he is real or that he loves us, we commit the same sin. (For example: "If God is real, why wouldn't he end suffering?") We are hardened against him, and no matter what, we will not see the truth. Many atheists and agnostics have hardened their hearts so completely to God's voice that they outright refuse to see him in the world. They will not see his hand in nature, his work in the miracle of life; they try to explain away true goodness in people with mere science and philosophy. God has even given us the miracles of the tilma of Our Lady of Guadalupe, the incorruptible bodies of saints, Eucharistic miracles and more, and so many call them a conspiracy of the Church or some scientific phenomena we do not yet understand.
Often, it becomes a point of personal pride for those most hardened to, without consideration, just brush "the religious" off as superstitious or even part of something that causes all the pain the world. Some of the more tepid non-believers simply refuse to enter a conversation, being perfectly content in their simple life of no expectations, firmly believing that they are good people; they don't need religion. For them, there is no point in hearing the Truth of God's voice, because they are happy without it. (Ignorance is bliss, right? A hardened heart is an ignorant heart.) Of course, we must keep in mind that God alone can break hardened hearts, and we must continue to pray for them and continue to speak to them because one day they might listen.
But enough about them; what about us? Hardening your heart can be as simple as not listening or not wanting to admit when you hear the truth. Have you ever argued with someone who was like a brick wall? No matter what kind of points you made or truth you spoke, they would have none of it. They simply set their jaw and disagreed no matter what. Sometimes we do that to God. Sometimes we hear a message of his, whether it be in the Homily, or from a friend, or even from some situation we are thrown into, and we refuse to listen. It's as if he never spoke. We make our hearts solid rock fused from our prejudices, our comfort zone, our pre-conceived ideas about what is right, and we don't let any Truth that speaks otherwise penetration that stone. Sometimes we come at Scripture that way, reading into it something that confirms what we've always held as true simply because we don't want to hear what it's actually saying.
For example, one of the biggest messages most Catholics have hardened their hearts to is the message against contraception. Many Catholics are too caught up in their comfort zone of a "fail-safe" way to prevent pregnancy that they will not listen to the Church's Holy Spirit-guided teaching. Oh sure, they claim that they have read and listened and it just doesn't make sense or it's just not right for them at the time, and they feel at peace with their decision and so on and so forth. After all, they are good people right? How could it really be wrong? ("It's only a condom; I'm not causing an abortion or anything..." "My doctor says this pill can't ever actually take a life...") Really, many couples just won't allow the truth of the teaching to enter their hardened hearts because they are afraid it will shake their world. (I don't intend to go into the fully teaching on contraception here, but I challenge all who question it to read what they can again and again, pray about it, and truly open their hearts to it.)
Of course, there are many other small ways we all harden our hearts to God's voice. We refuse to stop and help the homeless person holding a sign on the street corner, chalking it up to our personal safety or our good judgment against the person's character. I get angry at my husband, telling myself that I have every right to be, that he was clearly in the wrong and needs to be told so that he won't do it again. Little things every day speak to us with God's voice, and we simply choose not to recognize it.
God's hand is in our world more then we think. We must soften our hearts each and every day to listen to him. Let us not become so hardened that God would say of us, "Forty years I loathed that generation; I said "This people's heart goes astray; they do not know my ways.'" (Psalm 95: 10)
This is a Psalm commonly read during Lent. I've heard it so many times and each time, I always thought it was a funny thing to say. Of course if I heard God's voice I would not turn from him! If he spoke to me, his voice pouring down from heaven, why would I harden my heart against him?
This year it finally hit me. A while back, my husband asked me why God couldn't just speak to us in no uncertain terms. Why couldn't he simply send us his booming voice down out of the clouds? Then we would listen. Then we would know what to do. But the truth is, because of our hardened hearts, we wouldn't recognize him no matter what he did. After all, he walked the earth as one of us in Christ Jesus, and still many didn't recognize him. Even after the miracles Christ did, people refused to listen to him. Psalm 95 continues, "Do not harden your hearts as at Meribah, as on the day of Massah in the desert. There your ancestors tested me; they tried me though they had seen my works." (Psalm 95: 8-9) These people simply refused to believe in God, to trust his works. No matter what God did, they always asked for another sign. Their hearts were hardened against him and they would not see Truth.
If we ask God for a sign; if we beg him to "do this for me" so that we know he is real or that he loves us, we commit the same sin. (For example: "If God is real, why wouldn't he end suffering?") We are hardened against him, and no matter what, we will not see the truth. Many atheists and agnostics have hardened their hearts so completely to God's voice that they outright refuse to see him in the world. They will not see his hand in nature, his work in the miracle of life; they try to explain away true goodness in people with mere science and philosophy. God has even given us the miracles of the tilma of Our Lady of Guadalupe, the incorruptible bodies of saints, Eucharistic miracles and more, and so many call them a conspiracy of the Church or some scientific phenomena we do not yet understand.
Often, it becomes a point of personal pride for those most hardened to, without consideration, just brush "the religious" off as superstitious or even part of something that causes all the pain the world. Some of the more tepid non-believers simply refuse to enter a conversation, being perfectly content in their simple life of no expectations, firmly believing that they are good people; they don't need religion. For them, there is no point in hearing the Truth of God's voice, because they are happy without it. (Ignorance is bliss, right? A hardened heart is an ignorant heart.) Of course, we must keep in mind that God alone can break hardened hearts, and we must continue to pray for them and continue to speak to them because one day they might listen.
But enough about them; what about us? Hardening your heart can be as simple as not listening or not wanting to admit when you hear the truth. Have you ever argued with someone who was like a brick wall? No matter what kind of points you made or truth you spoke, they would have none of it. They simply set their jaw and disagreed no matter what. Sometimes we do that to God. Sometimes we hear a message of his, whether it be in the Homily, or from a friend, or even from some situation we are thrown into, and we refuse to listen. It's as if he never spoke. We make our hearts solid rock fused from our prejudices, our comfort zone, our pre-conceived ideas about what is right, and we don't let any Truth that speaks otherwise penetration that stone. Sometimes we come at Scripture that way, reading into it something that confirms what we've always held as true simply because we don't want to hear what it's actually saying.
For example, one of the biggest messages most Catholics have hardened their hearts to is the message against contraception. Many Catholics are too caught up in their comfort zone of a "fail-safe" way to prevent pregnancy that they will not listen to the Church's Holy Spirit-guided teaching. Oh sure, they claim that they have read and listened and it just doesn't make sense or it's just not right for them at the time, and they feel at peace with their decision and so on and so forth. After all, they are good people right? How could it really be wrong? ("It's only a condom; I'm not causing an abortion or anything..." "My doctor says this pill can't ever actually take a life...") Really, many couples just won't allow the truth of the teaching to enter their hardened hearts because they are afraid it will shake their world. (I don't intend to go into the fully teaching on contraception here, but I challenge all who question it to read what they can again and again, pray about it, and truly open their hearts to it.)
Of course, there are many other small ways we all harden our hearts to God's voice. We refuse to stop and help the homeless person holding a sign on the street corner, chalking it up to our personal safety or our good judgment against the person's character. I get angry at my husband, telling myself that I have every right to be, that he was clearly in the wrong and needs to be told so that he won't do it again. Little things every day speak to us with God's voice, and we simply choose not to recognize it.
God's hand is in our world more then we think. We must soften our hearts each and every day to listen to him. Let us not become so hardened that God would say of us, "Forty years I loathed that generation; I said "This people's heart goes astray; they do not know my ways.'" (Psalm 95: 10)
Thursday, March 7, 2013
Why could the Apostle's see Christ's wounds in his Resurrected, glorified body?
I am going out on a limb here with this one. This is purely based on my own thoughts and not on any scholarly learning or specific theological knowledge. So please take this with a grain of salt.
When Christ rose from the dead, he appeared, ate, and drank with the disciples in his resurrected body. Catholics believe that his and our resurrected bodies are flesh and blood but they are glorified bodies, meaning they are incorruptible and free of suffering and pain. So why did Christ's resurrected body still have the scars from his Crucifixion? Why was Thomas able to place his finger in the holes in his hands, and his hand in the wound in his side? Why wasn't he "made perfect" without any remnant of his suffering?
Here is my very off the cuff answer: In Christ's suffering, he was glorified. In his perfect sacrifice, his perfect laying down of life out of love for us, his perfect uniting of his will to the Father's, he was glorified through the Father. In other words, his wounds are a physical reminder of his greatness. God himself died for us, and in that action he is given all the glory. Christ was made perfect through his suffering (Hebrews 2:10), through his great sacrifice. His resurrected and glorified body is as perfect as it can get.
One might ask herself to remember the moment of highest glory in her life, the moment where she felt she achieved true greatness. I suppose some might remember winning some meaningful award or being recognized for some long-toiled over achievement. But I think many would remember the moments when they performed a significant sacrifice for the good of someone else. Perhaps it is when a women labors to give birth to a child, or when someone helps a homeless man to find work, when someone gets a heartfelt thank you from a needy person after working long hours in a soup kitchen, when a sidewalk counselor rescues a woman and her baby from abortion and sees that they have the resources they need, or when parents watch their children get married and know their long years of teaching have paid off. These moments of greatness, these moments of glory, are what they are because of the loving sacrifice it took to get there and the powerful result it achieved. And the signs of that sacrifice, the wounds, the scars, the memories of hard work, make that glory all the more powerful. Being born into a certain bloodline doesn't grant true glory; sacrifice does.
Now, of course, Christ is perfect and glorious simply because he is God, the Creator of all. But he shows us his glory in the powerful message of the Cross, in his laying down of his life for us. The wounds in his hands and side are signs of his great Love. Christ's glorified body is his Crucified body, Resurrected. The marks of that body are altogether glorious.
When Christ rose from the dead, he appeared, ate, and drank with the disciples in his resurrected body. Catholics believe that his and our resurrected bodies are flesh and blood but they are glorified bodies, meaning they are incorruptible and free of suffering and pain. So why did Christ's resurrected body still have the scars from his Crucifixion? Why was Thomas able to place his finger in the holes in his hands, and his hand in the wound in his side? Why wasn't he "made perfect" without any remnant of his suffering?
Here is my very off the cuff answer: In Christ's suffering, he was glorified. In his perfect sacrifice, his perfect laying down of life out of love for us, his perfect uniting of his will to the Father's, he was glorified through the Father. In other words, his wounds are a physical reminder of his greatness. God himself died for us, and in that action he is given all the glory. Christ was made perfect through his suffering (Hebrews 2:10), through his great sacrifice. His resurrected and glorified body is as perfect as it can get.
One might ask herself to remember the moment of highest glory in her life, the moment where she felt she achieved true greatness. I suppose some might remember winning some meaningful award or being recognized for some long-toiled over achievement. But I think many would remember the moments when they performed a significant sacrifice for the good of someone else. Perhaps it is when a women labors to give birth to a child, or when someone helps a homeless man to find work, when someone gets a heartfelt thank you from a needy person after working long hours in a soup kitchen, when a sidewalk counselor rescues a woman and her baby from abortion and sees that they have the resources they need, or when parents watch their children get married and know their long years of teaching have paid off. These moments of greatness, these moments of glory, are what they are because of the loving sacrifice it took to get there and the powerful result it achieved. And the signs of that sacrifice, the wounds, the scars, the memories of hard work, make that glory all the more powerful. Being born into a certain bloodline doesn't grant true glory; sacrifice does.
Now, of course, Christ is perfect and glorious simply because he is God, the Creator of all. But he shows us his glory in the powerful message of the Cross, in his laying down of his life for us. The wounds in his hands and side are signs of his great Love. Christ's glorified body is his Crucified body, Resurrected. The marks of that body are altogether glorious.
Tuesday, March 5, 2013
Relativistic Christ?
It's amazing to me how much this culture of relativism has infiltrated our society. This idea of "what's right for you is right for you; what's right for me is right for me" has overrun the world. We are told that tolerance is best, diversity is always a good thing, and we must not judge. I even read an article recently describing a sex workshop at Yale in which students were taught to "respond with 'understanding' and 'compassion'" to those who may have participated in unnatural (yes, that's right, I called it what it is--unnatural) sexual activities such as bestiality, taking payment for sex, and incestuous fantasies. (http://www.campusreform.org/blog/?ID=4646) Have we reverted back to barbarism?
But the thing that bothers me the most is how much this relativism has entered into the Christian realm. Even Christians of the best intentions have fallen victim to the fantasy of a relativistic Jesus. We've all heard it said: "It doesn't matter what denomination you are; as long as you believe in Jesus you're saved!" And then of course, there is the challenge, "Well how do you know what you believe is right? What about what I believe? Religion doesn't matter. All that matters is a relationship with Jesus."
Well, it's true, Jesus does want a relationship. But it goes much deeper than that. God is Truth. There can only be one Truth; otherwise Truth wouldn't exist. (It's worth pointing out that the statement "everything is relative" contradicts itself because the phrase assumes as objective law that everything is relative, but if everything is relative, there can be no objective law; therefore it's premise "everything is relative" could not be true.) The Jesus of the Gospel didn't go around sanctioning everything; in fact, he turned everything people knew on it's head. He forgave sins, but he first acknowledged them and told them to "sin no more." He rebuked his disciples when they spoke against his plan. He was absolutely not tolerant of sin and excess (as shown when he angrily drove the money changers out of the temple.) While he believed in diversity with regard to gender and ethnicity (speaking to the Samaritan woman for example), he was clear that he chose people of diverse background so that they all may be one in their beliefs (See John 17:20-23), not that we simply may coexist. And while it is clear that we must not judge the hearts and souls of one another, it is also clear that we must admonish and teach one another as we also pay attention to our own actions (Col 3:16, Luke 6:41). How can we do such a thing and walk in right ways if we are so busy tolerating everyone else and their actions?
Jesus established the Twelve and he made Peter the leader, the Rock. Why would he have done this if he did not plan on speaking the Truth, the whole Truth to the generations to come? It was already made clear that he desired his Church to be one, so why would he have intended the Church to split into thousands of differing sects teaching often contradictory things? Certainly this is not the truth that he intended. Jesus is not relativistic. He is Truth itself, and Truth cannot be contradictory. There can be only one True Church.
Finally, a quote from Pope Benedict XVI: "A Jesus who sanctions everything is a Jesus wihtout the cross, for such a Jesus would not need the torment of the cross to save mankind..."
But the thing that bothers me the most is how much this relativism has entered into the Christian realm. Even Christians of the best intentions have fallen victim to the fantasy of a relativistic Jesus. We've all heard it said: "It doesn't matter what denomination you are; as long as you believe in Jesus you're saved!" And then of course, there is the challenge, "Well how do you know what you believe is right? What about what I believe? Religion doesn't matter. All that matters is a relationship with Jesus."
Well, it's true, Jesus does want a relationship. But it goes much deeper than that. God is Truth. There can only be one Truth; otherwise Truth wouldn't exist. (It's worth pointing out that the statement "everything is relative" contradicts itself because the phrase assumes as objective law that everything is relative, but if everything is relative, there can be no objective law; therefore it's premise "everything is relative" could not be true.) The Jesus of the Gospel didn't go around sanctioning everything; in fact, he turned everything people knew on it's head. He forgave sins, but he first acknowledged them and told them to "sin no more." He rebuked his disciples when they spoke against his plan. He was absolutely not tolerant of sin and excess (as shown when he angrily drove the money changers out of the temple.) While he believed in diversity with regard to gender and ethnicity (speaking to the Samaritan woman for example), he was clear that he chose people of diverse background so that they all may be one in their beliefs (See John 17:20-23), not that we simply may coexist. And while it is clear that we must not judge the hearts and souls of one another, it is also clear that we must admonish and teach one another as we also pay attention to our own actions (Col 3:16, Luke 6:41). How can we do such a thing and walk in right ways if we are so busy tolerating everyone else and their actions?
Jesus established the Twelve and he made Peter the leader, the Rock. Why would he have done this if he did not plan on speaking the Truth, the whole Truth to the generations to come? It was already made clear that he desired his Church to be one, so why would he have intended the Church to split into thousands of differing sects teaching often contradictory things? Certainly this is not the truth that he intended. Jesus is not relativistic. He is Truth itself, and Truth cannot be contradictory. There can be only one True Church.
Finally, a quote from Pope Benedict XVI: "A Jesus who sanctions everything is a Jesus wihtout the cross, for such a Jesus would not need the torment of the cross to save mankind..."
Monday, March 4, 2013
Love Story
I have often been asked by non-Christians (and many Christians, too) why we believe that Jesus had to die for our sins. Why would a God who is almighty require his only Son to suffer and die in a very painful way to save only those who would choose to follow him. Why wouldn't he simply snap his fingers and save the world, or, better yet, just let everyone get to Heaven. After all, he loves us unconditionally, right?
Well, the short answer to this question is that we can never fully understand God's ways. His ways are infinitely above our ways. Of course, this answer will do nothing to assuage the skeptic, so here is a longer answer:
First of all, God is just. God is Truth and God in Love, so it follows that God must be just. Would it be fair to the woman who was raped to have her killer get off scot-free simply because the judge was feeling particularly kind that day? What about the mother who lost her daughter to a murderer? No, to let the guilty go without punishment is not only unfair, but plain wrong. God cannot do anything wrong, because he is all that is good, so he must treat us, who are all sinners, with justice. (Of course, here is where we get into the argument of "Well, I am good person whether or not I believe in God, so, if he exists, he would let me in to Heaven anyway. Why do I need religion?" We all have done wrong in our lives. Sometimes the guilty simply choose not to admit their guilt out of pride and therefore sink further into it.)
Secondly, God is merciful. His mercy is plainly shown in his love for us in giving us his only Son to die on the cross for us. We had an unfathomable debt to pay (we sinned against God Almighty, an infinite being), and therefore our debt could only truly be paid in full by a divine being. So, in God's great justice, he required our debt to be paid, and in his great mercy, he allowed it to be paid by his Son, God Himself. His mercy extends to us every day when he offers us forgiveness for each and every sin if only we ask for it.
Of course, we must ask for it. This is an extension of God's justice. If a child hits his sibling and is completely unrepentant, would his father be right in ending his punishment knowing that the child has learned nothing and will likely do it again? Or must a father continue to teach his son, to plead with him to see the error in his ways and correct it? Then the full forgiveness can be extended. By the same token, if someone has spent time in jail for murder, and shows good behavior and a repentant attitude before his time is up, he may be eligible for parole.
Finally, and probably the most important: God is Love. As I mentioned before, we cannot begin to fully comprehend God's ways, and he most certainly could have chosen a very different way to save humankind. But the thing that strikes my heart the most is this: in God's great plan, he showed us how much he loves us, like no other story in the world can tell. We are human; God is divine, and yet, in his great love for us he chose to lay down his life for us. God, the infinite being, the great I Am, the one who is being itself, died for us. When we were sinners (Romans 5:8), when we were liars, and thieves, and murderers, and adulterers, when he knew we wouldn't stand up for the unborn, we would fail to feed the hungry, we would be greedy, and lustful, and lazy, we would deny the truth of God, he still died for us. He died for Hitler, Stalin, Mao, and Bin Laden. He died for many who still would not choose him, and this gave him great sorrow (the Agony in the Garden). We killed God, and he allowed us to do it so that he could show his incredible love for us--his masterpiece of creation--us poor little creatures who have the great grace to be loved by Love itself.
Since the beginning of language, we have been captivated by the great love stories, stories of kings and battles and love that endures. We understand in the depths of our souls that laying down one's life for another is the give of greatest love. This story is a part of us, and the archetype of it all is Jesus Christ, God himself. No other religion has a story of greater power and love. No other religion has an omnipotent God who is yet full of such humble love. The King stepped down off his throne to be a martyr for his people. How else could God have told his story?
Well, the short answer to this question is that we can never fully understand God's ways. His ways are infinitely above our ways. Of course, this answer will do nothing to assuage the skeptic, so here is a longer answer:
First of all, God is just. God is Truth and God in Love, so it follows that God must be just. Would it be fair to the woman who was raped to have her killer get off scot-free simply because the judge was feeling particularly kind that day? What about the mother who lost her daughter to a murderer? No, to let the guilty go without punishment is not only unfair, but plain wrong. God cannot do anything wrong, because he is all that is good, so he must treat us, who are all sinners, with justice. (Of course, here is where we get into the argument of "Well, I am good person whether or not I believe in God, so, if he exists, he would let me in to Heaven anyway. Why do I need religion?" We all have done wrong in our lives. Sometimes the guilty simply choose not to admit their guilt out of pride and therefore sink further into it.)
Secondly, God is merciful. His mercy is plainly shown in his love for us in giving us his only Son to die on the cross for us. We had an unfathomable debt to pay (we sinned against God Almighty, an infinite being), and therefore our debt could only truly be paid in full by a divine being. So, in God's great justice, he required our debt to be paid, and in his great mercy, he allowed it to be paid by his Son, God Himself. His mercy extends to us every day when he offers us forgiveness for each and every sin if only we ask for it.
Of course, we must ask for it. This is an extension of God's justice. If a child hits his sibling and is completely unrepentant, would his father be right in ending his punishment knowing that the child has learned nothing and will likely do it again? Or must a father continue to teach his son, to plead with him to see the error in his ways and correct it? Then the full forgiveness can be extended. By the same token, if someone has spent time in jail for murder, and shows good behavior and a repentant attitude before his time is up, he may be eligible for parole.
Finally, and probably the most important: God is Love. As I mentioned before, we cannot begin to fully comprehend God's ways, and he most certainly could have chosen a very different way to save humankind. But the thing that strikes my heart the most is this: in God's great plan, he showed us how much he loves us, like no other story in the world can tell. We are human; God is divine, and yet, in his great love for us he chose to lay down his life for us. God, the infinite being, the great I Am, the one who is being itself, died for us. When we were sinners (Romans 5:8), when we were liars, and thieves, and murderers, and adulterers, when he knew we wouldn't stand up for the unborn, we would fail to feed the hungry, we would be greedy, and lustful, and lazy, we would deny the truth of God, he still died for us. He died for Hitler, Stalin, Mao, and Bin Laden. He died for many who still would not choose him, and this gave him great sorrow (the Agony in the Garden). We killed God, and he allowed us to do it so that he could show his incredible love for us--his masterpiece of creation--us poor little creatures who have the great grace to be loved by Love itself.
Since the beginning of language, we have been captivated by the great love stories, stories of kings and battles and love that endures. We understand in the depths of our souls that laying down one's life for another is the give of greatest love. This story is a part of us, and the archetype of it all is Jesus Christ, God himself. No other religion has a story of greater power and love. No other religion has an omnipotent God who is yet full of such humble love. The King stepped down off his throne to be a martyr for his people. How else could God have told his story?
Sunday, March 3, 2013
Blogging for Lent
While I have read that many people have decided to quit blogging for Lent, whether it be because they want to spend more time in prayer or blogging has become a distraction, I have decided to start blogging again. I suffer from the perpetual "writer's block" condition in which I feel compelled everyday to be a writer, to express that which rests inside of me, to work out in the written word these ideas about Christ and his Church that swim in my head, while at the same time neglecting to actually physically write, because I am too tired, I am uninspired, I am not in the right mood to compose anything of value. In other words, I set my expectations to a goal that I consciously remind myself is achievable but subconsciously find daunting and difficult. I find excuses not to write because I am afraid that it won't be good enough. As long as the promise of writing remains in my head, as long as the future of a completed work remains untried yet still a possibility, I can maintain a level of anticipation, even pride, in what I tell myself will come in the future. After all, the proverbial blank page is full of promise. Of course, as I am now finally admitting, if I do nothing but think of the future, the promise of the empty page remains, well, empty.
Now that I contemplate this reality, I wonder if this same fear of incompetence is partly what made me steer away from writing as a possible career so many years ago. As a child, I always wanted to write; my mother has drawers full of my childish tales and poetry. I even entered a few contests in my junior high and high school years. But when the time came to choose a career path, I went a route that no one would have expected: I chose to be an Architect. I won't say that I regret this decision (through my studies I have learned much more about the world that only buildings), but there has always been a longing in me to come back to writing, not as a hobby (which I have kept, though not consistently), but as an effective instrument of speaking a Truth that I have come to know through my faith. I was one of those children who was always expected to do well in school, to be at the top, and striving to be really good at something (or, perhaps ungraciously, to beat other people at something) became more a mode of operation rather than a series of goals. There was a part of me that wished to step away from this sometimes imprisoning system when I decided to study architecture; this was a subject to which I had never been exposed, and it required quite a bit of creativity and subjective interpretation, not the objective rule-based system of science, math, and grammar I could so easily grasp. I was almost destined to not be at the very top of the spectrum of designers. Perhaps this was a relief to me, to be rid of the pressing expectation, or maybe simply the challenge of it was thrilling.
But, the truth is, a career in writing would have achieved many of the same things. Literature involves the study of philosophy and theory (often following the same path of architecture), is inherently creative and subject to opinion, and would most certainly be a challenge to my normal rule-based way of thinking. But, I now realize, writing was too personal, too close for me to risk failure. My desire to be at the top of a subject so dearly important to me prevented me from committing. A fear of being mediocre, simply adequate, or, even worse, of realizing that it would be impossible to meet my dream of being published, infiltrated my conscious decision-making and guided me toward something more "sensible," something I knew I could make a career with as long as put forth my normal strong work ethic. I wanted something that was interesting and worthwhile, and yet something I felt comfortable laboring at day to day without feeling the need for it to be the very best 100% of the time.
This, of course, is not to say that I have a desire to be the best writer anyone has ever known. In fact, I wouldn't mind if no one who read my work ever knew my real name. I simply have come to know that writing--more accurately, expressing the Truth--is so utterly important to me that I have trouble facing that it will fall short. Even as I write I become disappointed in the inadequacy of my own words to describe not only how I feel but the truth of the world. Of course, I will never be able to have adequate words. Only the Word himself can truly express the Truth. But he uses us as his instruments to bring other to him. And if I simply sit still and do not use my talents (no matter how mediocre they are) then I will be useless, empty, and utterly unfulfilled.
Now that I contemplate this reality, I wonder if this same fear of incompetence is partly what made me steer away from writing as a possible career so many years ago. As a child, I always wanted to write; my mother has drawers full of my childish tales and poetry. I even entered a few contests in my junior high and high school years. But when the time came to choose a career path, I went a route that no one would have expected: I chose to be an Architect. I won't say that I regret this decision (through my studies I have learned much more about the world that only buildings), but there has always been a longing in me to come back to writing, not as a hobby (which I have kept, though not consistently), but as an effective instrument of speaking a Truth that I have come to know through my faith. I was one of those children who was always expected to do well in school, to be at the top, and striving to be really good at something (or, perhaps ungraciously, to beat other people at something) became more a mode of operation rather than a series of goals. There was a part of me that wished to step away from this sometimes imprisoning system when I decided to study architecture; this was a subject to which I had never been exposed, and it required quite a bit of creativity and subjective interpretation, not the objective rule-based system of science, math, and grammar I could so easily grasp. I was almost destined to not be at the very top of the spectrum of designers. Perhaps this was a relief to me, to be rid of the pressing expectation, or maybe simply the challenge of it was thrilling.
But, the truth is, a career in writing would have achieved many of the same things. Literature involves the study of philosophy and theory (often following the same path of architecture), is inherently creative and subject to opinion, and would most certainly be a challenge to my normal rule-based way of thinking. But, I now realize, writing was too personal, too close for me to risk failure. My desire to be at the top of a subject so dearly important to me prevented me from committing. A fear of being mediocre, simply adequate, or, even worse, of realizing that it would be impossible to meet my dream of being published, infiltrated my conscious decision-making and guided me toward something more "sensible," something I knew I could make a career with as long as put forth my normal strong work ethic. I wanted something that was interesting and worthwhile, and yet something I felt comfortable laboring at day to day without feeling the need for it to be the very best 100% of the time.
This, of course, is not to say that I have a desire to be the best writer anyone has ever known. In fact, I wouldn't mind if no one who read my work ever knew my real name. I simply have come to know that writing--more accurately, expressing the Truth--is so utterly important to me that I have trouble facing that it will fall short. Even as I write I become disappointed in the inadequacy of my own words to describe not only how I feel but the truth of the world. Of course, I will never be able to have adequate words. Only the Word himself can truly express the Truth. But he uses us as his instruments to bring other to him. And if I simply sit still and do not use my talents (no matter how mediocre they are) then I will be useless, empty, and utterly unfulfilled.
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
"Nothing is sacred!"
What is sacred? It's a question I seem to be asking myself a lot lately. As I work on my master's project, I am faced with the question of sacredness amid a crowd of academics, a scrutinous kind that dares to question all that is traditional, all that is constant, all that is sacred. "Nothing is sacred!" is the cry from academia. Nothing is just as it must be, for all can be interpreted, all can be changed for the better. But change for change's sake is nothing but a result of a self-indulgent, pompous attitude that declares, "I am above you, more intelligent than you, because I dare to question what you have come to accept so blindly." They have no faith in the common man, in the poor whom Jesus lovingly called "blessed." While the academics self-righteously cry out to protect the poor, to pity their underpriveleged lives and condemn any practice which has "forced" some to see a new way (such as missionary practices), they yet hold their noses in the air, claiming everyone has a right to believe what they want while assuming they, the academics, are too high for any common religion at all.
You see, they who claim to be working for the "layman" hold themselves as heroes, gods even, who need not meddle in the world of the commoner, for their intelligence is too high. They study the commoner as worth the good practice of economic research, yet hold themselves apart, like a biologist studying a colony of ants. They say, "This practice is highly sophisticated and is a part of their strong religious convictions. Their religion gives them purpose; who is to say it is wrong?" Yet they are above any sort of practice themselves. Their purpose, as a practitioner of indispensable research, is more important that any religious ritual. To them, their gift stems only from themselves, certainly not given by any God.
To be great requires a certain sense of humility, a realization that the gifts you have been given are avenues of great responsibility. To be great is to understand that you can do nothing on your own, that it requires the assistance of one God and many more laymen. To be great is to understand that everyone has a voice and to decipher those voices with the wisdom of one Truth. To question is a part of greatness, yes, but that questioning must have one goal in mind--to discover the truth, not merely to set yourself apart.
We cannot all be great in the world's definition, in the history books. Even in faith, it is clear that God sets some of us apart. But we can all recognize Truth if we truly search for it. And over the years, Truth has manifested itself in a variety of ways, often recognized by the most common man as he enters a cathedral, as he witnesses a sunset, as he stares out across a vast painted landscape, as he participates in the sacrament of God made Flesh. The common man can recognize Truth and Beauty that transcends the centuries. And that is sacred.
You see, they who claim to be working for the "layman" hold themselves as heroes, gods even, who need not meddle in the world of the commoner, for their intelligence is too high. They study the commoner as worth the good practice of economic research, yet hold themselves apart, like a biologist studying a colony of ants. They say, "This practice is highly sophisticated and is a part of their strong religious convictions. Their religion gives them purpose; who is to say it is wrong?" Yet they are above any sort of practice themselves. Their purpose, as a practitioner of indispensable research, is more important that any religious ritual. To them, their gift stems only from themselves, certainly not given by any God.
To be great requires a certain sense of humility, a realization that the gifts you have been given are avenues of great responsibility. To be great is to understand that you can do nothing on your own, that it requires the assistance of one God and many more laymen. To be great is to understand that everyone has a voice and to decipher those voices with the wisdom of one Truth. To question is a part of greatness, yes, but that questioning must have one goal in mind--to discover the truth, not merely to set yourself apart.
We cannot all be great in the world's definition, in the history books. Even in faith, it is clear that God sets some of us apart. But we can all recognize Truth if we truly search for it. And over the years, Truth has manifested itself in a variety of ways, often recognized by the most common man as he enters a cathedral, as he witnesses a sunset, as he stares out across a vast painted landscape, as he participates in the sacrament of God made Flesh. The common man can recognize Truth and Beauty that transcends the centuries. And that is sacred.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Evolving Catholicism
This weekend, as part of a school trip for my architectural studio class that focuses on cultural sustainability, I visited three pueblos in New Mexico: Acoma, Ohkay Owingeh, and Taos. I was surprised to discover that all of these pueblos are Catholic even though they also retain their cultural and spiritual traditions as American Indians. Each one had a church, and each one had a patron saint. Of course, their Catholic faith is a result of the Spanish who conquered them in the 16th century and established missions to convert the Indians. As the friars worked to bring the Indians to the faith, they incorporated some Indian symbolism and traditions into the Catholic faith in order to help them understand Catholicism. (I have to give one caveat here. Some of the traditions of the Indians may be contrary to the Catholic faith and many still pray in the traditional Indian kivas. I have not studied their rituals, but I do know they celebrate the Catholic holidays and Mass on Sunday.)
Of course, we were there to study architectural preservation, not religion, so that is what my class focused on. Each one of the pueblos has a very different idea of what it means to preserve their culture and buildings.
To be honest, the first one, Acoma, seems to be confused about what it is they are trying to preserve. While their center city, known as Sky City, that sits on top of a beautiful sun-lit red and gold mesa, has many traditional adobe buildings, there are no rules about how the people can build, and there is a hodge-podge of building materials, including concrete, wood, contemporary plaster, even tin. Not only that, but the tour we went took seemed somewhat irreverent to their culture, as we went tromping through their streets and plazas, and many of the residents stood outside trying to sell their pottery. I had a feeling that there was a disconnect between the sacred culture they were trying to preserve in Sky City and the Disney World conception of "white man" coming to see an exhibit. Only thirteen families live in that center city (with no plumbing or electricity, keeping with their tradition) and I was afraid that their true sacred culture would soon be lost to tourists.
The second one we saw was at Ohkay Owingeh. This one, in contrast, seemed to be a successful adaptation to contemporary life while keeping the key traditions of the people. In fact, an article I read on this pueblo mentioned that keeping the city center alive with activity was more important that simply preserving buildings. This city center has running water, bathrooms in the houses, and electricity. However, the buildings retain the adobe block and mud plaster with minor alterations such as metal coping on the top of the walls to make it last longer. The mud plaster was retained (though it requires more upkeep) because it was essential to the quality of the buildings. Once, when they had decided to use concrete plaster instead, they found that the new material did not bond with the adobe block or let it breathe, and the adobe block failed. So, they kept the mud plaster, a tradition of building that was key to the life of their homes.
The third peublo we toured was Taos. This is by far the most traditional of the three. There is no plumbing or electricity (only propane gas stoves are allowed) and the use of materials is very strict--adobe block with mud plaster and viga (large tree logs) / latilla (small branch) roof systems. To them, building construction is essential to their way of life and spirituality (there is a strong connection to the earth), so training their young men in this way of construction and continuing to pay attention to craft is essential to sustaining their culture. I will say, however, that this peublo had a similar issue to Acoma in that it allows tourist to roam through its grounds past those who still dwell in the center city every day. I also wondered how long people would continue to live in that center city when contemporary conveniences were so easy to find down the road.
So, you may ask, what does this preservation have to do with Catholicism? As I was touring these peublos, I considered what it means to preserve a culture or a spirituality (to them, it was very spiritual) for many many years. I thought of the Catholic Church, which has been around for over 2000 years. What a great example to follow! (Of course, the Catholic Church has the added benefit of the Holy Spirit to keep it going.) So how does a faith tradition carry on like this for centuries? To me, I think it is the result of having a universal faith that is expressed in a variety of distinct cultural ways. The ritual and tradition in Mexico surrounding Our Lady of Guadalupe is very different front the way tradition is expressed in Italy. (Notice tradition with a lower-case "t". I am not referring to Sacred Tradtion.) But the core beliefs, the ones that make us Catholic, never change, and are the same around the world. Because these doctrines remain and people are continually taught the beliefs of the Church, then our Catholic faith (The Eucharist and other Sacraments, the priesthood, the Mass) will carry on forever.
As you know, the Church has adapted its disciplines to work with a contemporary world. We saw that adaptation in Vatican II when the Church decided to allow the language of the Mass to be in the vernacular. Now, we see it again as the Church is changing the language of the Mass once more to help contemporary men and women regain a sense of that spirituality and sacredness of the Mass (It was always there; it's just a matter of helping us understand it.). But, as I said before, the doctrine never changes. These small disciplines do not change the understanding of the Mass or our relationship with God and Heaven as we celebrate Mass. They do not discredit all the Masses that have come before. They simply work with a contemporary world and perception.
Sometimes, the world tries to change doctrine, claiming the Catholic Church is old fashioned (gay rights, women priests, contraception). But even when the doctrine becomes difficult in contemporary society, it cannot change. We cannot succumb to a hodge-podge of differing ideas and allow Catholics to simply believe what they want. We cannot be like Acoma, which has allowed many different building practices to create a city that is no longer unified.
So, at these pueblos, it seems to me that in order to retain a culture that is strong enough to move into the future, there must be some adaptation to contemporary society without losing the core "doctrine," so to speak. Taos, while traditional, may not be able to sustain itself into the future as its members become frustrated without contemporary conveniences and move away. Then their culture will become completely foreign to them. Acoma seemed to have lost an idea of what was important, retaining some traditions but forgetting about others. Ohkay Owingeh, on the other hand, allowed for plumbing and electricity, but they retained their adobe walls. In order to sustain their culture, they must remember to teach their children of the important connection to and protection of the earth. If they can do this, then the adobe walls will never go away. If they can help their people understand why they believe what they believe, then it will no longer be preservation of something in danger of being lost, but continuation of a rich culture into the future.
To me, my Catholic faith is like the adobe block way of building that must never change. Our disciplines are like the metal coping, the plumbing, the electricity, that allow the house we've built to work into the future. Our doctrines are like the mud plaster that seals and protects the adobe block. Though the mud plaster requires upkeep (concrete plaster would be so much easier to apply), it is the only material that works with the adobe block. To try to change it and use something else would destroy the faith. To use concrete plaster instead would cause the adobe brick to melt away leaving nothing but the plaster. Eventually the plaster will not be able to support itself, and it will crack and the whole house will crumble.
Of course, we were there to study architectural preservation, not religion, so that is what my class focused on. Each one of the pueblos has a very different idea of what it means to preserve their culture and buildings.
To be honest, the first one, Acoma, seems to be confused about what it is they are trying to preserve. While their center city, known as Sky City, that sits on top of a beautiful sun-lit red and gold mesa, has many traditional adobe buildings, there are no rules about how the people can build, and there is a hodge-podge of building materials, including concrete, wood, contemporary plaster, even tin. Not only that, but the tour we went took seemed somewhat irreverent to their culture, as we went tromping through their streets and plazas, and many of the residents stood outside trying to sell their pottery. I had a feeling that there was a disconnect between the sacred culture they were trying to preserve in Sky City and the Disney World conception of "white man" coming to see an exhibit. Only thirteen families live in that center city (with no plumbing or electricity, keeping with their tradition) and I was afraid that their true sacred culture would soon be lost to tourists.
The second one we saw was at Ohkay Owingeh. This one, in contrast, seemed to be a successful adaptation to contemporary life while keeping the key traditions of the people. In fact, an article I read on this pueblo mentioned that keeping the city center alive with activity was more important that simply preserving buildings. This city center has running water, bathrooms in the houses, and electricity. However, the buildings retain the adobe block and mud plaster with minor alterations such as metal coping on the top of the walls to make it last longer. The mud plaster was retained (though it requires more upkeep) because it was essential to the quality of the buildings. Once, when they had decided to use concrete plaster instead, they found that the new material did not bond with the adobe block or let it breathe, and the adobe block failed. So, they kept the mud plaster, a tradition of building that was key to the life of their homes.
The third peublo we toured was Taos. This is by far the most traditional of the three. There is no plumbing or electricity (only propane gas stoves are allowed) and the use of materials is very strict--adobe block with mud plaster and viga (large tree logs) / latilla (small branch) roof systems. To them, building construction is essential to their way of life and spirituality (there is a strong connection to the earth), so training their young men in this way of construction and continuing to pay attention to craft is essential to sustaining their culture. I will say, however, that this peublo had a similar issue to Acoma in that it allows tourist to roam through its grounds past those who still dwell in the center city every day. I also wondered how long people would continue to live in that center city when contemporary conveniences were so easy to find down the road.
So, you may ask, what does this preservation have to do with Catholicism? As I was touring these peublos, I considered what it means to preserve a culture or a spirituality (to them, it was very spiritual) for many many years. I thought of the Catholic Church, which has been around for over 2000 years. What a great example to follow! (Of course, the Catholic Church has the added benefit of the Holy Spirit to keep it going.) So how does a faith tradition carry on like this for centuries? To me, I think it is the result of having a universal faith that is expressed in a variety of distinct cultural ways. The ritual and tradition in Mexico surrounding Our Lady of Guadalupe is very different front the way tradition is expressed in Italy. (Notice tradition with a lower-case "t". I am not referring to Sacred Tradtion.) But the core beliefs, the ones that make us Catholic, never change, and are the same around the world. Because these doctrines remain and people are continually taught the beliefs of the Church, then our Catholic faith (The Eucharist and other Sacraments, the priesthood, the Mass) will carry on forever.
As you know, the Church has adapted its disciplines to work with a contemporary world. We saw that adaptation in Vatican II when the Church decided to allow the language of the Mass to be in the vernacular. Now, we see it again as the Church is changing the language of the Mass once more to help contemporary men and women regain a sense of that spirituality and sacredness of the Mass (It was always there; it's just a matter of helping us understand it.). But, as I said before, the doctrine never changes. These small disciplines do not change the understanding of the Mass or our relationship with God and Heaven as we celebrate Mass. They do not discredit all the Masses that have come before. They simply work with a contemporary world and perception.
Sometimes, the world tries to change doctrine, claiming the Catholic Church is old fashioned (gay rights, women priests, contraception). But even when the doctrine becomes difficult in contemporary society, it cannot change. We cannot succumb to a hodge-podge of differing ideas and allow Catholics to simply believe what they want. We cannot be like Acoma, which has allowed many different building practices to create a city that is no longer unified.
So, at these pueblos, it seems to me that in order to retain a culture that is strong enough to move into the future, there must be some adaptation to contemporary society without losing the core "doctrine," so to speak. Taos, while traditional, may not be able to sustain itself into the future as its members become frustrated without contemporary conveniences and move away. Then their culture will become completely foreign to them. Acoma seemed to have lost an idea of what was important, retaining some traditions but forgetting about others. Ohkay Owingeh, on the other hand, allowed for plumbing and electricity, but they retained their adobe walls. In order to sustain their culture, they must remember to teach their children of the important connection to and protection of the earth. If they can do this, then the adobe walls will never go away. If they can help their people understand why they believe what they believe, then it will no longer be preservation of something in danger of being lost, but continuation of a rich culture into the future.
To me, my Catholic faith is like the adobe block way of building that must never change. Our disciplines are like the metal coping, the plumbing, the electricity, that allow the house we've built to work into the future. Our doctrines are like the mud plaster that seals and protects the adobe block. Though the mud plaster requires upkeep (concrete plaster would be so much easier to apply), it is the only material that works with the adobe block. To try to change it and use something else would destroy the faith. To use concrete plaster instead would cause the adobe brick to melt away leaving nothing but the plaster. Eventually the plaster will not be able to support itself, and it will crack and the whole house will crumble.
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Life-Giving or Life-Retaining?
"The man said: 'This one, at last, is bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh; This one shall be called 'woman,' for out of 'her man' this one has been taken.' That is why man leaves his father and mother and clings to his wife, and the two of them become one body." (Genesis 2:23-24)
I heard a preacher on the radio the other day speaking of how husband and wife should treat each other. He reminded me that in my relationship with my husband I must always remember that we, united in God, are one body. As surely as I would never do anything to harm my own body, I should never do anything to harm my husband. Even if my body were doing something to hurt me, I would not harm it. If my hand were aching, I would not cut it off but try to heal it. If my stomach was growling, I would feed it. If my body was gaining weight I would do my best to help it get back into shape. I would nurture the life of my body. In fact, I am so united with my body that I consider my body as me. I, as a person, and my body are one. Of course, there is more to me than just my body in the physical sense, but my body represents me as a whole person, and I cannot be separated from it.
So, when man and woman are married, they become one body. Not just two bodies who happen to live together, but utterly united. I must treat this new body, united with my husband, as my own (because it is!), and as one that represents us in our new life together in the same way that my physical body represents my whole person. This body, united in marriage through God's grace is not merely a physical body, but is much more than that--we become one in heart and mind.
Really? Of one heart and mind? This may seem shocking to our society today. Society screams: I am an individual with my own more important personal needs!
Let me explain what I mean by this:
We, of course, understand becoming one body in the conjugal sense. Man and woman become one in the marital act and the unity between them is so great that it gives life in the form of a child. Marriage, by nature, is a life-giving relationship. In fact, it can be compared to the relationship of the Holy Trinity, perpetually giving life. According to Catholic.org, the Trinity is the perfect family: "The Father loves the Son, the Son loves the Father, and the Holy Spirit proceeds from the Father and Son. We might say that the life of the Triune God is the highest and supreme principle of familial relationship." (http://www.catholic.org/hf/love/story.php?id=37200) So, in marriage and family, we are imitating the perfect love and life-giving relationship of the Trinity. Of course, the Trinity, specifically the Holy Spirit, is the life giving force of all of Creation. We, as married couples are life-giving not only in the literal sense of bearing children, but in the sense of giving life and love to our spouse and those around us.
The persons of the Trinity, because of their perfect love and perfect unity, are "inseparable in what they are" and "inseparable in what they do." (Catechism 267) They are so utterly united that they cannot be separated in will. Likewise, we, as a married couple, in striving for that perfect unity and love must become of one heart and mind, through God's grace. "Conjugal love, involves a totality, in which all the elements of the person enter--appeal of the body and instinct, power of feeling and affectivity, aspiration of the spirit and of will." (Catechism 1643) So, in our new life together, as one body, we must strive to become of one heart and mind working towards the ultimate goal that is eternal life with God the Father, in Heaven.
Society today, however, instead of being life-giving is what I would call "life-retaining." We have this individualistic mentality that declares, "This is my life. I can do what I want with it and no else matters. If I don't look out for myself no one else will." In marriage, this mentality often turns to, "If I'm not happy, then I must get out!" So we retain life for ourselves and are reluctant to give to others. We are afraid that we will lose our individual life. We don't realize that in giving of our lives, we are able to live more fully.
If we look at our marriage through the example of the Trinity and understand that we are truly one body, then we will know that giving life and love to our spouse is giving life and love to ourselves. In caring for and wanting what is best for our spouse, we are nurturing the body that belongs to both of us. In commonly striving for the greatest good--life in Christ--we are nurturing the new life, the new body, that fills us with greater love and joy than we could ever have before.
So, nurture your marriage body! Take care of it, let it grow, and strive toward oneness in God!
I heard a preacher on the radio the other day speaking of how husband and wife should treat each other. He reminded me that in my relationship with my husband I must always remember that we, united in God, are one body. As surely as I would never do anything to harm my own body, I should never do anything to harm my husband. Even if my body were doing something to hurt me, I would not harm it. If my hand were aching, I would not cut it off but try to heal it. If my stomach was growling, I would feed it. If my body was gaining weight I would do my best to help it get back into shape. I would nurture the life of my body. In fact, I am so united with my body that I consider my body as me. I, as a person, and my body are one. Of course, there is more to me than just my body in the physical sense, but my body represents me as a whole person, and I cannot be separated from it.
So, when man and woman are married, they become one body. Not just two bodies who happen to live together, but utterly united. I must treat this new body, united with my husband, as my own (because it is!), and as one that represents us in our new life together in the same way that my physical body represents my whole person. This body, united in marriage through God's grace is not merely a physical body, but is much more than that--we become one in heart and mind.
Really? Of one heart and mind? This may seem shocking to our society today. Society screams: I am an individual with my own more important personal needs!
Let me explain what I mean by this:
We, of course, understand becoming one body in the conjugal sense. Man and woman become one in the marital act and the unity between them is so great that it gives life in the form of a child. Marriage, by nature, is a life-giving relationship. In fact, it can be compared to the relationship of the Holy Trinity, perpetually giving life. According to Catholic.org, the Trinity is the perfect family: "The Father loves the Son, the Son loves the Father, and the Holy Spirit proceeds from the Father and Son. We might say that the life of the Triune God is the highest and supreme principle of familial relationship." (http://www.catholic.org/hf/love/story.php?id=37200) So, in marriage and family, we are imitating the perfect love and life-giving relationship of the Trinity. Of course, the Trinity, specifically the Holy Spirit, is the life giving force of all of Creation. We, as married couples are life-giving not only in the literal sense of bearing children, but in the sense of giving life and love to our spouse and those around us.
The persons of the Trinity, because of their perfect love and perfect unity, are "inseparable in what they are" and "inseparable in what they do." (Catechism 267) They are so utterly united that they cannot be separated in will. Likewise, we, as a married couple, in striving for that perfect unity and love must become of one heart and mind, through God's grace. "Conjugal love, involves a totality, in which all the elements of the person enter--appeal of the body and instinct, power of feeling and affectivity, aspiration of the spirit and of will." (Catechism 1643) So, in our new life together, as one body, we must strive to become of one heart and mind working towards the ultimate goal that is eternal life with God the Father, in Heaven.
Society today, however, instead of being life-giving is what I would call "life-retaining." We have this individualistic mentality that declares, "This is my life. I can do what I want with it and no else matters. If I don't look out for myself no one else will." In marriage, this mentality often turns to, "If I'm not happy, then I must get out!" So we retain life for ourselves and are reluctant to give to others. We are afraid that we will lose our individual life. We don't realize that in giving of our lives, we are able to live more fully.
If we look at our marriage through the example of the Trinity and understand that we are truly one body, then we will know that giving life and love to our spouse is giving life and love to ourselves. In caring for and wanting what is best for our spouse, we are nurturing the body that belongs to both of us. In commonly striving for the greatest good--life in Christ--we are nurturing the new life, the new body, that fills us with greater love and joy than we could ever have before.
So, nurture your marriage body! Take care of it, let it grow, and strive toward oneness in God!
Monday, August 1, 2011
The Whispered Word
So I decided to start writing reflections on the readings again... Here goes:
Reflections on the August 7th Readings:
“After the fire there was a tiny whispering sound. When he heard this, Elijah hid his face in his cloak and went and stood at the entrance of the cave.” 1 Kings 19:12b-13a
The Lord was not in the mighty wind, or the powerful earthquake, or the great fire. No, God is found in the tiniest whispered sound, perhaps sometimes a sound that is difficult to hear.
I have often heard the complaint that if God were so great then he should come down and show himself to us, make us believe. If Jesus would just perform miracles today the same way he did in the New Testament then of course we would follow him. If he would just tell me his will, then I will do what he says. Why can’t he be so bold and blunt?
If we look at the Gospel reading for August 7th, however, we find that our convictions that Jesus could just give us proof by standing before us don’t really hold water. In Matthew 14, Jesus walked on water before Peter and the Apostles and yet, as Peter boldly jumps out of the bold and begins to walk on water himself, he suddenly becomes afraid and loses faith, even in the presence of Jesus. Peter had just seen the miracle of the feeding of the 5000; he had been walking in Jesus’ presence for quite some time, and yet his faith wanes. The mighty wind distracts him, terrifies him, and he doubts the calming presence of Christ.
Our world today is so full of distractions and misleading “truths” that even when God does speak, we lose his whisper in the chaos. We are diverted by mighty wind of promises of successes, the powerful earthquake of pain and suffering, the glorious glow of the fire of material possessions. We are swept away by temptations that often seem more powerful, more splendid, more prominent than the tiny whisper of God.
In focusing on the mighty works of the world, we fail to see God in the loving care of a friend, the pleading voice of a family member asking us to do the right thing, the letter of an organization in need of assistance to help the poor, the gentle smile of a neighbor, the rolling laughs of our children. We don’t realize that every good thing, and I mean all that is good in our life, is from God. If we stop to think about our blessings, we know they speak louder than any mighty roar.
But why, then, does God make it so difficult for us to recognize him? Do we not see that God has no desire to force us to believe in him by asserting his power through great and mighty works? Even if he did perform these mighty deeds, would we recognize him? Or would we claim it was only our imagination; it was some strange fluke; there must be a scientific explanation (after all, science has struggled to explain the miracle of the image of Our Lady of Guadalupe on the tilma to no avail, yet much of the world still does not believe in it).
God chooses to speak to us in the tiniest whisper because, more often than not, this is the most powerful way to touch someone. When I was a teenager, the most effective way for my mother to get through to me was through a gentle talk. She would softly explain why I needed to finish my schoolwork and chores before going to hang out with my friends, why I shouldn’t bring boys back to my room alone, and what it really meant to be a woman. If she had yelled at me, or “exerted her power” over me, I don’t think I would have responded so well. I might have been a rebel. In fact, studies have shown that yelling at children is not very effective; it causes anger and bitterness while calm conversations build confidence and help the child to make the right decision while feeling like it is his own decision.
Which is, of course, what God wants us to do—make our own decision to listen to Him. After all, he gave us Free Will. He comes to us in a whisper not because he wants to hide from us or make it difficult but because he wants us to find and follow him through a free act of love.
We can always turn to the saints, who were the greatest examples of fervently listening for God’s whispered words. They did not look for great signs and wonders but often found God through silent prayer, holy adoration, in the faces of the poor and suffering with whom they worked. And these saints who made themselves small and lowly, constantly pushing attention away from themselves, often seemed the quietest, least powerful people of all, yet somehow, by the grace of God, their tiny whispers echo around the world.
Friday, July 29, 2011
Master's Project
I am in architecture school pursuing my master's degree. This year, my final year, I will be doing a final Master's Project of my choosing. Similar to a thesis (though not the same--I don't have to write a paper and defend it the way thesis students typically do), I will be doing research this Fall semester and then will complete the project in the Spring.
I get to choose what the project will be.
I want to do a Catholic Church.
Is that surprising?
Lately, I have been fascinated with what it means to experience sacred space. Of course, sacred space can mean more than just churches, but Christian churches are the ones I am most familiar with and, especially after visiting many churches and cathedrals in Italy during a study abroad four years ago, I am struck with how powerful and spiritual a space can feel simply because of the symbolism, tradition, and meaning it holds. There is a theology embedded in the walls of many churches, and that fascinates me.
Of course, I haven't figured out exactly how this will unfold into a real project yet, but hopefully at the beginning of the fall semester, I will have a better idea. Already I have been reading a number of books and articles that explore this issue, especially in relation to the modernist functionalism and how it has impacted contemporary churches. How do we combat the blank walls and central plans (with no historical significance) while still creating an architecture that does not dwell on the past but is relevant today? After all, the Church herself is not an ancient set of rituals with no contemporary relevance, but a living faith that bears a long standing tradition that is only stronger in today's world because of its heritage.
I am aware that my task will not be an easy one, especially because of the nature of a public institution (that, more often than not, seeks to be "tolerant" and "inclusive" by subtly excluding any sort of religious implications), the more mainstream modern ideologies of current students and professors, and the fact that most professors would prefer to impose their personal agendas onto specific students. But, the more I read, the more excited I become, and I don't want to let myself down now.
So, I'll use this as a tool to report on my progress as well as keep my thoughts together. Next week perhaps I will discuss the experiential nature of architecture and how it relates to the sacraments.
I get to choose what the project will be.
I want to do a Catholic Church.
Is that surprising?
Lately, I have been fascinated with what it means to experience sacred space. Of course, sacred space can mean more than just churches, but Christian churches are the ones I am most familiar with and, especially after visiting many churches and cathedrals in Italy during a study abroad four years ago, I am struck with how powerful and spiritual a space can feel simply because of the symbolism, tradition, and meaning it holds. There is a theology embedded in the walls of many churches, and that fascinates me.
Of course, I haven't figured out exactly how this will unfold into a real project yet, but hopefully at the beginning of the fall semester, I will have a better idea. Already I have been reading a number of books and articles that explore this issue, especially in relation to the modernist functionalism and how it has impacted contemporary churches. How do we combat the blank walls and central plans (with no historical significance) while still creating an architecture that does not dwell on the past but is relevant today? After all, the Church herself is not an ancient set of rituals with no contemporary relevance, but a living faith that bears a long standing tradition that is only stronger in today's world because of its heritage.
I am aware that my task will not be an easy one, especially because of the nature of a public institution (that, more often than not, seeks to be "tolerant" and "inclusive" by subtly excluding any sort of religious implications), the more mainstream modern ideologies of current students and professors, and the fact that most professors would prefer to impose their personal agendas onto specific students. But, the more I read, the more excited I become, and I don't want to let myself down now.
So, I'll use this as a tool to report on my progress as well as keep my thoughts together. Next week perhaps I will discuss the experiential nature of architecture and how it relates to the sacraments.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
To my studiomates, who love Chartres Cathedral as I do:
Amazing how tired you get of people and projects,
school and studio
Sitting between two blank white walls with ribbon windows,
fat plastic shades, cheap and broken.
You’ve spent too many late nights in this prison room
peering at your computer screen, connecting lines,
catching occasional glimpses
of the dingy Doubletree across the street,
flat and red,
with windows punched into walls
of perfectly modeled, even lines,
thoughtless repetition.
You hear the professor’s badgering,
think of work not done,
crumble under the weight of deadlines,
marvel at the fragility of inspiration--
like a pane of tinted glass
beautiful and bright casts shimmering rays,
painting your brain in color until
it cracks, shatters, under solid stress.
Think of cathedral glass, exquisite blues and reds
and turn to Chartres
soaring buttresses, branched arches, ribbed vaults
Rose window of pieced glass;
intricate figures, brilliant patterns,
composed like music, singing vibrant songs,
echoing in colored reflections,
illuminating the walls in a thousand hues.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Doctor's Words
Wow, it's been way too long. I've started grad school--Master's of Architecture--and my time has flown out the window.
But I've been taking a poetry class while in school--I'm getting a creative writing certificate--so here is one of my poems from last semester.
Doctor's Words
But I've been taking a poetry class while in school--I'm getting a creative writing certificate--so here is one of my poems from last semester.
Doctor's Words
are crystal glass
offered to expectant guest;
vessels of light
refracting
in blues and golds,
or lurid reds.
sparkling champagne in
finest etched flute
set with china on the table.
mirrored shards, sharpened
knives in slippery,
fumbling grip.
brilliantly glaring,
within reach,
translucent, relentless;
this wine-filled chalice
is a cheerful toast
or goblet of drunken dejection.
Friday, October 8, 2010
Jesus Saves... why?
There's a new song on Christian Radio called "Jesus Saves" by Jeremy Camp. I was listening to it the other day and I thought to myself, you know, this rings true, especially for people who are broken and want to be saved, but the thing is, these people who know they need a Savior already know Jesus--they don't need to be told that He saves.
The challenge we have, then, is telling people who do not know Jesus this key fact: We are fallen; we are broken; we need a Savior.
I know plenty of people who go through life not really living as Christians, and they will tell you they are perfectly happy in their self-centered world. Why would they need God?
Jesus Saves, yes. But let's go a little deeper than that.
Why do you need a Savior?
The challenge we have, then, is telling people who do not know Jesus this key fact: We are fallen; we are broken; we need a Savior.
I know plenty of people who go through life not really living as Christians, and they will tell you they are perfectly happy in their self-centered world. Why would they need God?
Jesus Saves, yes. But let's go a little deeper than that.
Why do you need a Savior?
Friday, September 24, 2010
Whom the Lord loves, he disciplines
Sometimes, when life hits me hard, I wish I was a little child again. I wish I didn’t have the responsibilities I have now; I wish I could go back and time to the days when I could run and play all day and trust my parents to take care of me. I want to go back to when my only worries and sorrows were when my friends hurt my feelings, I fell and scraped my knee, or I did something wrong and had to face my father.
It was a time when I was full of joy. I had freedom beneath my father’s watchful gaze. Every day I knew I could come home to my parents’ house, lay my head on my pillow, and my parents would kiss me goodnight. It was a pleasant freedom to be cared for by my parents. A freedom that told me that everything would be alright. I was taken care of.
But there were times when I was a child that I felt real pain, times when I cried uncontrollably, when I could not catch a breath out of anger, when I thought I would never forgive my parents.
Once, when I was in high school, I played hooky. It was my friend’s idea, and I let him convince me. I told my teacher I was going to the library. I was always a good kid, so the teacher trusted me and let me go with a smile. But I took a detour on my way down the stairs to the library and made it out the side door. I was a senior, so my friend and I could drive, and we made it all the way to the car. My heart was pounding, knowing the risks I was taking, but I kept telling myself that I didn’t need to go to class anyway. I already knew the material, and I was responsible enough to make that decision. I was old enough to be free to do as I liked.
But parents see everything. They always find out. That day in particular, I had a doctor’s appointment I didn’t know about, and my mom came to the school looking for me. When the administrators could not find me in my class or in the library, worry ensued. It was my mother who found me in the parking lot. I will never forget the hard look she gave me. It is engrained in my memory.
I was terrified of her discipline, and I was angry when I found out that I would be disciplined harder than my friend. I thought my mom was too harsh, that she didn’t know what she was doing, that it wasn’t a big deal. I couldn’t understand why I had to write an apology to my teacher and to my principle. I didn’t know why I had privileges taken away and my friend didn’t. Why did I have to suffer such sorrows for something so small?
But I learned my lesson, and, a long time later I began to realize that my mother was not trying to take my freedom away—she wants me to be free in knowing the right thing, to not fall in the snares of temptation. She has higher expectations. She loves me so very much and expects me to be better, more perfect, to always do what is right. The better I am, the more I understand right and wrong, the harsher the discipline when I fall short. It is a fact of life.
We are children of God. He is our loving Father who takes care of us, who shadows us with His protective wing. He loves us.
He disciplines us. As Paul says to the Hebrews a few Sundays ago, “‘My son, do not disdain the discipline of the Lord or lose heart when reproved by him; for whom the Lord loves, he disciplines; he scourges every son he acknowledges.’”
The more our parents love us, the more they want us to grow in goodness, in holiness. God, our Father, loves us infinitely more than our parents. The struggles we endure can be counted as discipline, and the closer we get to God, the more He expects out of us. Yet, it the end “it brings the peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who are trained by it.”
But there will be times when we don’t understand the discipline of God. There were plenty of times when I didn’t understand the discipline of my parents, when I was so angry with them because I thought they were being arbitrary, that they didn’t know what they were doing. I thought they just wanted to control me.
But the reality is, we find freedom in God’s commands. We find Truth, and peace, and love. The children who are loved and disciplined by their parents are much freer than those who are allowed to do as they like, to get into trouble with drugs, to be promiscuous, to dance with danger. They risk getting seriously hurt (certainly more hurt than I was when I got caught), becoming addicted to drugs, forgoing their dreams. They risk becoming slaves to their rebellious behavior and do not find the peace of a loving home.
But God shows us the way. He teaches us the Truth, and in it we find true freedom.
We are children of God. Be like little children and feel the peace and joy that you did as a carefree child. Know that it will always be alright. We will always have God’s house to come home to. We will always be able to lay our heads down at night and have His angels kiss us goodnight.
As children, we won’t always get what we want, and we won’t always understand His discipline. But there is freedom in it, and peace.
“God treats you as sons,” Paul says. Act like His Son, and hope that one day, at the gates of Heaven, an angel will smile at you and say, “You take after your Father.”
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Mary, Conceived Without Sin
Notes on Assumption Sunday:
Why was Mary assumed into Heaven? Why did her soul not leave her body to decay in the earth, like ours will until the end of time?
The Catholic Church believes that Mary was conceived without sin. By the grace of God, she was preserved from the stain of original sin. This is fitting for the woman who would become the Mother of God and the Queen of Heaven. Her womb would bear Christ.
Because she did not have original sin, she did not have to bear the consequence of the fracture that occurred when Adam and Eve sinned. When God created Adam and Eve, He created them as perfect human beings—the body and soul were one, united. When they sinned, there was a fracture between our spiritual nature (our soul) and our bodily nature (we humans are both spirit and body; angels, on the contrary, are only spirit). This fracture is part of our fallen nature, what causes us to sin. It is not a total and complete fracture—it can be repaird through Christ, but because of this fracture, our flesh becomes opposed to our spiritual nature. Our fleshly desires are sinful, and go against what our soul desires in God.
This fracture is evident when we die: our soul leaves the body to go on to Heaven, and our bodies stay behind to decay. Death is a consequence of Original Sin.
But Mary did not have Original Sin. So, when her earthly life ended, God was able to assume her up into Heaven body and soul. Her body did not have the consequence of decaying here on earth.
One day, at the end of time, at the Final Judgment, God will raise our bodies as well, and the fracture between the flesh and spirit will be completely healed. We will be perfect again.
So how do we know that Mary was preserved from sin. Well, the first reading today speaks of “the ark of the covenant”, alluding that “the woman” was the ark. And in this reading, the woman bore a child, and the red dragon wished to devour it, but God catches the child, the ruler of nations, up to his throne. This has been interpreted to mean that Mary is the woman, the child is Christ, and the dragon is the devil.
So why is it important that Mary is the “ark of the covenant”? Really, she is the Ark of the New Covenant, prefigured in the Old Testament with the Ark of the Old Covenant. We can see her prefigurement in what the Ark of the Old Covenant contained. As Catholic.com says:
In the Old Testament, the ark was required by God to be perfect, and he plans a very details account of how it is to be constructed. To quote from Catholic.com
So, you see, Mary, as the Ark of the New Covenant was perfect, created by God to be the perfect temple for His Son.
That is why she was assumed into Heaven.
Please check these out:
http://www.catholic.com/thisrock/2005/0510fea5.asp
http://www.catholic.com/thisrock/1991/9112fea1.asp
Why was Mary assumed into Heaven? Why did her soul not leave her body to decay in the earth, like ours will until the end of time?
The Catholic Church believes that Mary was conceived without sin. By the grace of God, she was preserved from the stain of original sin. This is fitting for the woman who would become the Mother of God and the Queen of Heaven. Her womb would bear Christ.
Because she did not have original sin, she did not have to bear the consequence of the fracture that occurred when Adam and Eve sinned. When God created Adam and Eve, He created them as perfect human beings—the body and soul were one, united. When they sinned, there was a fracture between our spiritual nature (our soul) and our bodily nature (we humans are both spirit and body; angels, on the contrary, are only spirit). This fracture is part of our fallen nature, what causes us to sin. It is not a total and complete fracture—it can be repaird through Christ, but because of this fracture, our flesh becomes opposed to our spiritual nature. Our fleshly desires are sinful, and go against what our soul desires in God.
This fracture is evident when we die: our soul leaves the body to go on to Heaven, and our bodies stay behind to decay. Death is a consequence of Original Sin.
But Mary did not have Original Sin. So, when her earthly life ended, God was able to assume her up into Heaven body and soul. Her body did not have the consequence of decaying here on earth.
One day, at the end of time, at the Final Judgment, God will raise our bodies as well, and the fracture between the flesh and spirit will be completely healed. We will be perfect again.
So how do we know that Mary was preserved from sin. Well, the first reading today speaks of “the ark of the covenant”, alluding that “the woman” was the ark. And in this reading, the woman bore a child, and the red dragon wished to devour it, but God catches the child, the ruler of nations, up to his throne. This has been interpreted to mean that Mary is the woman, the child is Christ, and the dragon is the devil.
So why is it important that Mary is the “ark of the covenant”? Really, she is the Ark of the New Covenant, prefigured in the Old Testament with the Ark of the Old Covenant. We can see her prefigurement in what the Ark of the Old Covenant contained. As Catholic.com says:
“The Old Testament tells us that one item was placed inside the Ark of the Old Covenant while in the Sinai wilderness: God told Moses to put the stone tablets with the Ten Commandments inside the ark (Deut. 10:3–5). Hebrews 9:4 informs us that two additional items were placed in the Ark: ‘a golden urn holding the manna, and Aaron’s rod that budded.’ Notice the amazing parallels: In the ark was the law of God inscribed in stone; in Mary’s womb was the Word of God in flesh. In the ark was the urn of manna, the bread from heaven that kept God’s people alive in the wilderness; in Mary’s womb is the Bread of Life come down from heaven that brings eternal life. In the ark was the rod of Aaron, the proof of true priesthood; in Mary’s womb is the true priest. In the third century, St. Gregory the Wonder Worker said that Mary is truly an ark—‘gold within and gold without, and she has received in her womb all the treasures of the sanctuary.’”
In the Old Testament, the ark was required by God to be perfect, and he plans a very details account of how it is to be constructed. To quote from Catholic.com
“The third and most compelling type of Mary’s Immaculate Conception is the ark of the covenant. In Exodus 20 Moses is given the Ten Commandments. In chapters 25 through 30 the Lord gives Moses a detailed plan for the construction of the ark, the special container which would carry the Commandments. The surprising thing is that five chapters later, staring in chapter 35 and continuing to chapter 40, Moses repeats word for word each of the details of the ark’s construction.
Why? It was a way of emphasizing how crucial it was for the Lord’s exact specifications to be met (Ex. 25:9, 39:42-43). God wanted the ark to be as perfect and unblemished as humanly possible so it would be worthy of the honor of bearing the written Word of God. How much more so would God want Mary, the ark of the new covenant, to be perfect and unblemished since she would carry within her womb the Word of God in flesh.
When the ark was completed, "the cloud covered the meeting tent and the glory of the Lord filled the dwelling. Moses could not enter the meeting tent, because the cloud settled down upon it and the glory of the Lord filled the dwelling" (Ex. 40:34-38). Compare this with the words of Gabriel to Mary in Luke 1:35.”
So, you see, Mary, as the Ark of the New Covenant was perfect, created by God to be the perfect temple for His Son.
That is why she was assumed into Heaven.
Please check these out:
http://www.catholic.com/thisrock/2005/0510fea5.asp
http://www.catholic.com/thisrock/1991/9112fea1.asp
Thursday, August 12, 2010
“Set the Earth on Fire”
So I wrote this for the 20th Sunday in ordinary time and then realized that next Sunday is the Assumption... Oops. Well, I thought you might enjoy anyway.
Jeremiah 38:4-6, 8-10 and Luke 12:49-53
"Do you think I have come to establish peace on this earth? No, I tell you, but rather division.”
How often is it we want to avoid confrontation with our loved ones? For the sake of peace we try not to say anything to offend them.
Yet, how often does something need to be said regarding the faith? Uncle Johnny falls away from the church. Neice Suzie is living with her boyfriend. Brother Joe doesn’t go to confession anymore. Yet we sit idly by saying it’s not our business and we don’t want to push them away.
But we should gently tell them the Truth. Jesus always told the Truth no matter how people felt about it, and He loved each and every one of his audience more than we could ever love our family. See how many people hye offended? See how much division He caused? “…a father will be divided against his son…” Yet, in the end, His Truth rang out loud and clear and the Church was established.
In the first reading, Jeremiah was speaking the truth, yet the princes wanted to kill him. They said “he is not interested in the welfare of our people, but in their ruin?” How often do we hear this in our world: “You are not interested in the welfare of the women and their right to choose; you want to ruin their lives by forcing them to have a baby!”
Or your uncle who has fallen away. When you try to talk to him he may claim, “You are not interested in my welfare, you are self-righteous and judgmental!” But we don’t have to convince him ourselves—God will do that through His grace. We just have to light a little spark so that God will “set [his heart] on fire.”
And, of course, we must lead by example.
Our world claims that Christians don’t know anything about the good of the people—we are just stiff goody-goodies who want to control others’ lives. But the “freedom” they seek is a slavery to sin, like one who is addicted to a drug that leads to destruction.
So we must speak out, especially to our fathers and mothers, uncles and cousins, children. Let us “set the earth on fire.” Through God’s grace, they will see the Truth; it begins with that tiny spark.
Oh, “how I wish [the earth] were already blazing!”
Jeremiah 38:4-6, 8-10 and Luke 12:49-53
"Do you think I have come to establish peace on this earth? No, I tell you, but rather division.”
How often is it we want to avoid confrontation with our loved ones? For the sake of peace we try not to say anything to offend them.
Yet, how often does something need to be said regarding the faith? Uncle Johnny falls away from the church. Neice Suzie is living with her boyfriend. Brother Joe doesn’t go to confession anymore. Yet we sit idly by saying it’s not our business and we don’t want to push them away.
But we should gently tell them the Truth. Jesus always told the Truth no matter how people felt about it, and He loved each and every one of his audience more than we could ever love our family. See how many people hye offended? See how much division He caused? “…a father will be divided against his son…” Yet, in the end, His Truth rang out loud and clear and the Church was established.
In the first reading, Jeremiah was speaking the truth, yet the princes wanted to kill him. They said “he is not interested in the welfare of our people, but in their ruin?” How often do we hear this in our world: “You are not interested in the welfare of the women and their right to choose; you want to ruin their lives by forcing them to have a baby!”
Or your uncle who has fallen away. When you try to talk to him he may claim, “You are not interested in my welfare, you are self-righteous and judgmental!” But we don’t have to convince him ourselves—God will do that through His grace. We just have to light a little spark so that God will “set [his heart] on fire.”
And, of course, we must lead by example.
Our world claims that Christians don’t know anything about the good of the people—we are just stiff goody-goodies who want to control others’ lives. But the “freedom” they seek is a slavery to sin, like one who is addicted to a drug that leads to destruction.
So we must speak out, especially to our fathers and mothers, uncles and cousins, children. Let us “set the earth on fire.” Through God’s grace, they will see the Truth; it begins with that tiny spark.
Oh, “how I wish [the earth] were already blazing!”
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