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..."
Tuesday, March 5, 2013
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.
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