02 November 2010
You know how sometimes you’re not quite listening properly to a homily? You’re just sitting there in the pew, half-elsewhere, and you’re not really paying attention to what’s being said, much like when you’re eating boiled cabbage? Well, that happens to me. A lot. To be fair, though, during a homily I’m not usually distracted by the things I shouldn’t be thinking about but, rather, I seem to be transported at a tangent to some far-off thought-landscape. Frequently, one alluring phrase or idea in the homily will ignite my imagination beyond restraint and, instead of listening, I will be suddenly inspired to run far and wide with it. It’s not a mere flight of fancy, mind you. It can be a profoundly Ignatian experience.
Many moons ago, during a homily on the Feast of All Souls, the priest made mention of one such irresistible notion. In fact, so enthralling was the concept that for weeks afterwards I could think of little else. Even today, decades later, I relish the thought of it. The ramifications of that one, simple statement still send aftershocks of delight through my Catholic soul.
Ostensibly, it was a simple statement, unheralded, uttered almost as an afterthought. He said, “I suppose, then, that on this holy day, the Feast of All Souls, there probably aren’t any souls in Purgatory. Just for today, Purgatory might be empty.” It was too much – I was gone; transported instantly to a faith-filled panorama. I stopped listening. I was so immersed in my own world of thought that were I to have been pricked with a pin I am sure I would not have flinched.
Imagine with me, if you will, the countless number of souls in the Church Expectant all at once being assimilated into the Church Triumphant, each and every one of them suddenly enjoying the Beatific Vision… but imagine this happening as the direct result of the graces earned by all of us around the world and through time, who participate in the Mass for All Souls and who pray for the eternal rest of those faithful departed! It is mind boggling that we, as members of the Church Militant, can effect such profound and eternal influence in the realm of the Divine! Imagine, then, their glorious gratitude on their triumphant entry to paradise! Imagine their magnificent chorus of ‘Thank you’, and imagine what graces must be returned to us!
Then it occurred to me: what if Purgatory were not completely emptied of souls on the Feast of All Souls? What if Purgatory had stragglers? What if there was perhaps one poor soul remaining in Purgatory after everyone else had left, one pitiful soul for whom the prayer “…and all the faith departed…” just wasn’t enough? How sad would that be?
So, as a fine, upstanding parishioner of the Church Militant, on the Feast of All Souls (and also whenever I drive past a cemetery, or stand at a wall of remembrance, or whenever I am in the Chapel of Adoration), I pray for the repose of a forgotten soul, a soul for whom there may be no-one else here saying prayers.
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VARIABLE CATHOLICISM
24 October 2010
Early this morning I woke up in the middle of a nightmare. I was shaking my fist at God. I was so cross with Him about something that it woke me up. I can’t remember what I was dreaming about and I can’t remember why I had been so cross with God in my dream but there I was, lying in bed, mad at God. Of course, me-myself-I wasn’t angry with God, it was only a dream, and normally, in the light of day, I can find aspects of my life that enable me to understand why I dreamt about a particular thing and, most times, I am quite satisfied with my own dream interpretation. I’m not particularly troubled by the content of my dreams or the frequency with which, especially recently, I seem to be remembering them – don’t psychologist say that a healthy conscious mind shouldn’t be remembering dreams? Anyway, as long as my conscious mind in my waking day finds a reasonable explanation for the antics of my subconscious mind in my dreams, I am content. The temerity exhibited by my subconscious mind on this occasion, however, seemed harder to explain. It was only much later in the day that I successfully pieced it together.
I began thinking about being angry at God. Is it a good thing to be angry at God? Surely, it can never be OK to hate and reject God? Then I recalled the story of Job (he’s one of my favourite biblical characters). He, like my subconscious, was brazen enough to shake his fist at God inasmuch as he tries to sue God and take Him to court! Now that’s temerity in anyone’s books! Truth be told, the story of Job is quite lovely. Here’s this bloke who’s done absolutely nothing wrong – in fact, he’s done more than his fair share of atoning for the sins of others – and here he is, writhing in a pit of ash, dejected and rejected, a wretch of a man, his body covered in sores, all his wealth gone: land, animals, family, everything, not so much as a bean to his name and, as if to add insult to injury, dogs amble by and lick his wounds. Charming.
I am sure that you or I, under these circumstances, would be forgiven for shaking our fists at God and yelling, “Why have you done this to me?” It’s almost understandable. But Job’s anger isn’t of this ilk. He shakes his fist existentially at God and yells metaphorically, “Why have you done this to me when I have done nothing wrong to you?” This is an important distinction because Job’s anger and frustration at God’s apparent indifference to this travesty are not predicated on self-pity (as they might be in you and me) but rather they originate from a sense of righteousness or moral indignation. Job feels God is being unjust to him. This is simply unacceptable to Job. He has been a good and faithful servant and yet God sees fit to punish him as if he was a miserable sinner. The more Job thinks about this, the more he realises he has no other recourse but to put God on trial and bring Him to book. It’s stirring stuff! I urge the reader to read for themselves what happens when Job hands God a subpoena!
So, did my subconscious mind think I was a modern-day Job? Was I dreaming that my anger at God came from a sense of righteousness and moral indignation? No, not at all. It is something far simpler, and very different.
For weeks now, I have been trying to find a suitable analogy or explanation for a heretical notion rife among modern Catholics that it is perfectly acceptable as a Catholic to pick-and-choose the bits of the Catholic faith which are convenient to one’s lifestyle, and to reject the rest as unnecessary, or out-of-date, or as man-made rules, and so on. This heresy is what some have called ‘cafeteria Catholicism’. I prefer to call it ‘Variable Catholicism’. Some Catholics actually believe they are being good and faithful Catholics when they shape their faith around their ostensibly un-Catholic lifestyles. ‘Constant Catholicism’, however, is the complete opposite: Catholic lifestyles are moulded around the constant truth of the Catholic Church.
Let’s take a classic example. Contraception. There is no doubt about it, Catholics are divided on this one. The teaching of the Church, however, is immutable, infallible, and constant. The use of contraception is an intrinsically evil act. Full stop. No discussion. Now, let’s say that you, as a variable Catholic, disagree vehemently with this. What is the equivalent of this, in an analogous sense? How can your total opposition to the Church’s teaching on something like contraception be best described? Akin to what, exactly, is such conflict?
I can think of no more apt an analogy than it being akin to standing before God, challenging Him, and shaking your fist at Him and peremptorily yelling angrily, “You, God, are completely and utterly wrong! Contraception is not evil! (Nor is abortion, gay marriage, women priests, etc.,) Who are you to tell me what to do? It’s my life!”
There can be no manner in which such detestableness can ever be acceptable to God. This is not a case of one being frank or forthright or open-and-honest before one’s Creator. No. This is insufferable revolt. It does not arise from self-pity (‘give me back my stuff, I miss it!’) but, rather, it arises from a conceited equivalence to God. Disagree with the teaching of the Church and you are disagreeing with God, face-to-face. That was Job’s mortal sin back then, and it is the variable Catholic’s mortal sin nowadays. Happily, Job saw the error of his ways, repented and was saved.
Nowadays, though, so vitriolic is their disent that one cannot help but wonder if any variable Catholic will ever come to realise how grave is their transgression, how eternally damning is their sin: to defy the Magisterium of the Church is to make God in one’s own image.
We who believe in the constancy of the Truth of the Magisterium of the Catholic Church must pray for the salvation of variable Catholics.
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Early this morning I woke up in the middle of a nightmare. I was shaking my fist at God. I was so cross with Him about something that it woke me up. I can’t remember what I was dreaming about and I can’t remember why I had been so cross with God in my dream but there I was, lying in bed, mad at God. Of course, me-myself-I wasn’t angry with God, it was only a dream, and normally, in the light of day, I can find aspects of my life that enable me to understand why I dreamt about a particular thing and, most times, I am quite satisfied with my own dream interpretation. I’m not particularly troubled by the content of my dreams or the frequency with which, especially recently, I seem to be remembering them – don’t psychologist say that a healthy conscious mind shouldn’t be remembering dreams? Anyway, as long as my conscious mind in my waking day finds a reasonable explanation for the antics of my subconscious mind in my dreams, I am content. The temerity exhibited by my subconscious mind on this occasion, however, seemed harder to explain. It was only much later in the day that I successfully pieced it together.
I began thinking about being angry at God. Is it a good thing to be angry at God? Surely, it can never be OK to hate and reject God? Then I recalled the story of Job (he’s one of my favourite biblical characters). He, like my subconscious, was brazen enough to shake his fist at God inasmuch as he tries to sue God and take Him to court! Now that’s temerity in anyone’s books! Truth be told, the story of Job is quite lovely. Here’s this bloke who’s done absolutely nothing wrong – in fact, he’s done more than his fair share of atoning for the sins of others – and here he is, writhing in a pit of ash, dejected and rejected, a wretch of a man, his body covered in sores, all his wealth gone: land, animals, family, everything, not so much as a bean to his name and, as if to add insult to injury, dogs amble by and lick his wounds. Charming.
I am sure that you or I, under these circumstances, would be forgiven for shaking our fists at God and yelling, “Why have you done this to me?” It’s almost understandable. But Job’s anger isn’t of this ilk. He shakes his fist existentially at God and yells metaphorically, “Why have you done this to me when I have done nothing wrong to you?” This is an important distinction because Job’s anger and frustration at God’s apparent indifference to this travesty are not predicated on self-pity (as they might be in you and me) but rather they originate from a sense of righteousness or moral indignation. Job feels God is being unjust to him. This is simply unacceptable to Job. He has been a good and faithful servant and yet God sees fit to punish him as if he was a miserable sinner. The more Job thinks about this, the more he realises he has no other recourse but to put God on trial and bring Him to book. It’s stirring stuff! I urge the reader to read for themselves what happens when Job hands God a subpoena!
So, did my subconscious mind think I was a modern-day Job? Was I dreaming that my anger at God came from a sense of righteousness and moral indignation? No, not at all. It is something far simpler, and very different.
For weeks now, I have been trying to find a suitable analogy or explanation for a heretical notion rife among modern Catholics that it is perfectly acceptable as a Catholic to pick-and-choose the bits of the Catholic faith which are convenient to one’s lifestyle, and to reject the rest as unnecessary, or out-of-date, or as man-made rules, and so on. This heresy is what some have called ‘cafeteria Catholicism’. I prefer to call it ‘Variable Catholicism’. Some Catholics actually believe they are being good and faithful Catholics when they shape their faith around their ostensibly un-Catholic lifestyles. ‘Constant Catholicism’, however, is the complete opposite: Catholic lifestyles are moulded around the constant truth of the Catholic Church.
Let’s take a classic example. Contraception. There is no doubt about it, Catholics are divided on this one. The teaching of the Church, however, is immutable, infallible, and constant. The use of contraception is an intrinsically evil act. Full stop. No discussion. Now, let’s say that you, as a variable Catholic, disagree vehemently with this. What is the equivalent of this, in an analogous sense? How can your total opposition to the Church’s teaching on something like contraception be best described? Akin to what, exactly, is such conflict?
I can think of no more apt an analogy than it being akin to standing before God, challenging Him, and shaking your fist at Him and peremptorily yelling angrily, “You, God, are completely and utterly wrong! Contraception is not evil! (Nor is abortion, gay marriage, women priests, etc.,) Who are you to tell me what to do? It’s my life!”
There can be no manner in which such detestableness can ever be acceptable to God. This is not a case of one being frank or forthright or open-and-honest before one’s Creator. No. This is insufferable revolt. It does not arise from self-pity (‘give me back my stuff, I miss it!’) but, rather, it arises from a conceited equivalence to God. Disagree with the teaching of the Church and you are disagreeing with God, face-to-face. That was Job’s mortal sin back then, and it is the variable Catholic’s mortal sin nowadays. Happily, Job saw the error of his ways, repented and was saved.
Nowadays, though, so vitriolic is their disent that one cannot help but wonder if any variable Catholic will ever come to realise how grave is their transgression, how eternally damning is their sin: to defy the Magisterium of the Church is to make God in one’s own image.
We who believe in the constancy of the Truth of the Magisterium of the Catholic Church must pray for the salvation of variable Catholics.
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ALL OR NOTHING
14 October 2010
One morning an opportunity arose for me to discuss my question with Fr A. To my consternation, he suggested that my friend may have a point, and that he may be right. It seemed that as long as a Catholic believes as true that which is proclaimed as such in the dogmas of the Church, as a minimum, he may pick-and-choose or discard the rest with relative impunity. I like Fr A. very much, and we seem to see eye-to-eye on a number of related issues but I just could not accept this answer as a correct approach to the Catholic faith. I left feeling horrified that ‘flexible Catholicism’ seemed to have won the day! Truth be told, I was so upset after meeting him that I drove around aimlessly for nearly an hour mulling this over in my head.
I kept asking myself, “What is there in Catholicism that is not proclaimed as dogma without which one cannot be Catholic?” I could not think of a single thing. Not one. I parked the car and just sat there, dejected, like a wet cat. It was a completely ridiculous situation which made absolutely no sense to me. “How can the Church only teach the truth if it has to proclaim a dogma every time? That just doesn’t fit.” And there was the answer – plain as day. It had been staring me in the face all the time! The Magisterium of the Catholic Church! It’s beautiful! I couldn’t contain my excitement. I immediately phoned Fr A. and asked him about the legitimacy, efficacy and authority of the ordinary Magisterium.
This is good. You’re going to need to sit down:
No-one can live a faith-filled Catholic life adequately while at the same time dissenting from a teaching of the ordinary Magisterium of the Catholic Church, i.e., a teaching which is not yet proclaimed as truth dogmatically. Our Church teaches that she, herself, has the God-given duty to teach the truth in matters of the faith (Council of Trent and Vatican I) through the solemn Magisterium and the ordinary Magisterium. This necessarily means that a Catholic may not disobey, disregard or dispute what the Magisterium teaches without doing damage to his faith. By extension, a Catholic does not have the luxury of being able to pick-and-choose only those components of Catholicism which afford him a convenient faith. If you’re a Catholic, it’s pretty-much all-or-nothing. Pure and simple.
Lumen Gentium says that our response to the ordinary Magisterium of the Church must involve a “religious assent of mind and will.” The Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith says, “the freedom of the act of faith cannot justify a right to dissent.” The central issue here, and it’s what we have been discussing all along, is this: the faithful have the right to know the mind of Christ and it is the task of the Magisterium of the Church “to preserve God’s people from deviations and defections and to guarantee them the objective possibility of professing the true faith without error.” (CCC 890)
In a nutshell, then, your comment suggesting that “…you don’t think God actually minds all that much if he [the priest] consecrates in glass or not…” is completely wrong. [See blog dated 08 May, "Made From Glass", below]. This cannot be a matter of opinion because there is a teaching from the Magisterium. I can respond in faith and truth by saying that I know God actually does mind, and I know that he minds because the Magisterium of the Church tells me that He minds.
I just can’t move away from the idea that our salvation depends on our Catholicism. I can’t move away from the idea that there are too many Catholics who see their faith as something flexible or malleable; as something they can mould to fit their every-day lives. I can’t move away from the idea that we ordinary Catholics are not hearing this message, and may not even be aware of it. There is no place for flexible Catholicism in the Church. It is anathema!
And now we come on to the hard bit. What do we do with lay ministers who are flexible Catholics? They have no place being lay minsters! For lay ministers, however small and humble their role, there may not be so much as even a trace of a response to the ordinary Magisterium other than the religious assent of their mind and will. No response save assent!
Therefore, where it is known or evident that lay ministers dissent from any teaching of the Church, or where the ministers disobey, disregard or dispute any teaching of the Church, they must necessarily resign. I would go so far as to say that every lay minister should first stand before the congregation and proclaim an oath pronouncing their unshakable faith in the Church and their unwavering belief in every teaching of the Catholic Church, even those of which they are currently unaware, even those yet to be proclaimed by the Church. Such pledges of allegiance are not uncommon in many important areas of secular life. Why should such a pledge of allegiance to the faith and Magisterium not also be common in the Church?
Failure to clarify lay ministers’ allegiance to the Church can give rise to scandal, can bring the Church into disrepute, and can foment disharmony and confusion, and can serve only to undermine the Catechism. Worse still, lay ministers who do not accept fully all the teachings of the church impugn her sanctity! This is intolerable because our very salvation depends on it!
Our assent to our Faith and to the Magisterium of the Church must be both vocal and unequivocal.
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One morning an opportunity arose for me to discuss my question with Fr A. To my consternation, he suggested that my friend may have a point, and that he may be right. It seemed that as long as a Catholic believes as true that which is proclaimed as such in the dogmas of the Church, as a minimum, he may pick-and-choose or discard the rest with relative impunity. I like Fr A. very much, and we seem to see eye-to-eye on a number of related issues but I just could not accept this answer as a correct approach to the Catholic faith. I left feeling horrified that ‘flexible Catholicism’ seemed to have won the day! Truth be told, I was so upset after meeting him that I drove around aimlessly for nearly an hour mulling this over in my head.
I kept asking myself, “What is there in Catholicism that is not proclaimed as dogma without which one cannot be Catholic?” I could not think of a single thing. Not one. I parked the car and just sat there, dejected, like a wet cat. It was a completely ridiculous situation which made absolutely no sense to me. “How can the Church only teach the truth if it has to proclaim a dogma every time? That just doesn’t fit.” And there was the answer – plain as day. It had been staring me in the face all the time! The Magisterium of the Catholic Church! It’s beautiful! I couldn’t contain my excitement. I immediately phoned Fr A. and asked him about the legitimacy, efficacy and authority of the ordinary Magisterium.
This is good. You’re going to need to sit down:
No-one can live a faith-filled Catholic life adequately while at the same time dissenting from a teaching of the ordinary Magisterium of the Catholic Church, i.e., a teaching which is not yet proclaimed as truth dogmatically. Our Church teaches that she, herself, has the God-given duty to teach the truth in matters of the faith (Council of Trent and Vatican I) through the solemn Magisterium and the ordinary Magisterium. This necessarily means that a Catholic may not disobey, disregard or dispute what the Magisterium teaches without doing damage to his faith. By extension, a Catholic does not have the luxury of being able to pick-and-choose only those components of Catholicism which afford him a convenient faith. If you’re a Catholic, it’s pretty-much all-or-nothing. Pure and simple.
Lumen Gentium says that our response to the ordinary Magisterium of the Church must involve a “religious assent of mind and will.” The Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith says, “the freedom of the act of faith cannot justify a right to dissent.” The central issue here, and it’s what we have been discussing all along, is this: the faithful have the right to know the mind of Christ and it is the task of the Magisterium of the Church “to preserve God’s people from deviations and defections and to guarantee them the objective possibility of professing the true faith without error.” (CCC 890)
In a nutshell, then, your comment suggesting that “…you don’t think God actually minds all that much if he [the priest] consecrates in glass or not…” is completely wrong. [See blog dated 08 May, "Made From Glass", below]. This cannot be a matter of opinion because there is a teaching from the Magisterium. I can respond in faith and truth by saying that I know God actually does mind, and I know that he minds because the Magisterium of the Church tells me that He minds.
I just can’t move away from the idea that our salvation depends on our Catholicism. I can’t move away from the idea that there are too many Catholics who see their faith as something flexible or malleable; as something they can mould to fit their every-day lives. I can’t move away from the idea that we ordinary Catholics are not hearing this message, and may not even be aware of it. There is no place for flexible Catholicism in the Church. It is anathema!
And now we come on to the hard bit. What do we do with lay ministers who are flexible Catholics? They have no place being lay minsters! For lay ministers, however small and humble their role, there may not be so much as even a trace of a response to the ordinary Magisterium other than the religious assent of their mind and will. No response save assent!
Therefore, where it is known or evident that lay ministers dissent from any teaching of the Church, or where the ministers disobey, disregard or dispute any teaching of the Church, they must necessarily resign. I would go so far as to say that every lay minister should first stand before the congregation and proclaim an oath pronouncing their unshakable faith in the Church and their unwavering belief in every teaching of the Catholic Church, even those of which they are currently unaware, even those yet to be proclaimed by the Church. Such pledges of allegiance are not uncommon in many important areas of secular life. Why should such a pledge of allegiance to the faith and Magisterium not also be common in the Church?
Failure to clarify lay ministers’ allegiance to the Church can give rise to scandal, can bring the Church into disrepute, and can foment disharmony and confusion, and can serve only to undermine the Catechism. Worse still, lay ministers who do not accept fully all the teachings of the church impugn her sanctity! This is intolerable because our very salvation depends on it!
Our assent to our Faith and to the Magisterium of the Church must be both vocal and unequivocal.
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YOU KNOW YOU'RE CATHOLIC
08 September 2010
I hope you enjoy this little video I made.
It is meant for those who are already Catholic:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lXjlsaS_Wcw
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I hope you enjoy this little video I made.
It is meant for those who are already Catholic:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lXjlsaS_Wcw
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ADORATION VANGUARDS
08 September 2010
(Happy birthday Mary, Mother of God!)
The Church teaches that the Eucharist is “the source and the summit of the life and mission of the Church”. In these few inspired words of Vatican II, the Church boldly proclaims that our Christian lives, including those which we are sometimes prone to describe as day-to-day, can be lived only to the fullest when the Eucharist is the reason we live and, at the same time, when the Eucharist is the goal of our lives. In other words, there is nothing in life more important than life in the Eucharist, and Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament of the Eucharist is one way in which we strive to live the life and mission of the Church.
We Adorers who do scheduled hours of Adoration have often been called ‘gate-keepers’ of Adoration. In this regard, we are in the Chapel so that other parishioners who are unable to do scheduled hours can have access to Jesus in the Eucharist at any time: it is one of the foundation stones of Perpetual Adoration. Those of us who have been privileged to be a ‘gate-keeper’ when a parishioner makes an unscheduled stop to pray before the Blessed Sacrament, albeit for only a few minutes, know the great blessing and encouragement received. It is almost as if our role as ‘gate-keeper’ is somehow divinely validated; we were there so that this could happen; we know intuitively, deep-down that our sacrifice in making ourselves available to the Lord has facilitated this. Without our effort, the Chapel would have remained locked and the parishioner would have turned away. Being an Adorer is faith in action!
Sadly, however, instances of parishioners visiting the Chapel to pray are very few and far between and, therefore, not many Adorers have witnessed firsthand the affirmation of this living faith – but that’s so not the point. We are a team! Each and every one of us together as ‘gate-keepers’ must rest assured and take heart from the knowledge that were Adoration to have been running in our parish for a thousand years and if, during such a millennium, were only one poor soul to have visited the Chapel of Adoration to pray (as appalling a state of affairs as that might be), every single one of our scheduled hours of Adoration together over the whole thousand years would have been completely worthwhile. This is what it means to be ‘gate-keeper’ Adorers!
But we are not only ‘gate-keepers’, are we. As Adorers are we not also a witness of faith: aren’t we there when they arrive? In this regard, therefore, we are more like vanguards than ‘gate-keepers’. After all, a fairytale troll is a gate-keeper! As vanguards we are not disinterested in our charge and we are not simply protecting some ‘thing’, or a prize, as does an ordinary gate-keeper. We have a divinely inspired, vested interest in what we do and we choose freely to actively participate in the very essence of Him whose Life we prize so highly. This is at once what mandates and motivates us to proclaim the Truth in our so-called day-to-day lives.
Is it not, therefore, heartbreaking that Our Blessed Lord in the Eucharist is visited so infrequently, both at Mass and at Adoration? And is it not anathema that there are those who are literally opposed to Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament in the Chapel of Adoration? Lord, preserve us! Having asked these hard questions, though, let us distance ourselves from pride and self-adulation, and as one body of Adorers let us all pray together with renewed fervour for conversion! Let us see the evil for what it is, and resolve to become more holy as the antidote.
When all is said and done, we Adorers simply adore the humility of God who has freely made Himself available to us in the Eucharist, which is our passport to paradise and, plain as day, it is up to us to live and proclaim our Catholic spirituality as the real-time reflection of our faith which inspires, motivates, and ultimately leads others to Him.
All things considered, it is our God-given mission: “Ite, Missa est. Alleluia! Alleluia!”
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(Happy birthday Mary, Mother of God!)
The Church teaches that the Eucharist is “the source and the summit of the life and mission of the Church”. In these few inspired words of Vatican II, the Church boldly proclaims that our Christian lives, including those which we are sometimes prone to describe as day-to-day, can be lived only to the fullest when the Eucharist is the reason we live and, at the same time, when the Eucharist is the goal of our lives. In other words, there is nothing in life more important than life in the Eucharist, and Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament of the Eucharist is one way in which we strive to live the life and mission of the Church.
We Adorers who do scheduled hours of Adoration have often been called ‘gate-keepers’ of Adoration. In this regard, we are in the Chapel so that other parishioners who are unable to do scheduled hours can have access to Jesus in the Eucharist at any time: it is one of the foundation stones of Perpetual Adoration. Those of us who have been privileged to be a ‘gate-keeper’ when a parishioner makes an unscheduled stop to pray before the Blessed Sacrament, albeit for only a few minutes, know the great blessing and encouragement received. It is almost as if our role as ‘gate-keeper’ is somehow divinely validated; we were there so that this could happen; we know intuitively, deep-down that our sacrifice in making ourselves available to the Lord has facilitated this. Without our effort, the Chapel would have remained locked and the parishioner would have turned away. Being an Adorer is faith in action!
Sadly, however, instances of parishioners visiting the Chapel to pray are very few and far between and, therefore, not many Adorers have witnessed firsthand the affirmation of this living faith – but that’s so not the point. We are a team! Each and every one of us together as ‘gate-keepers’ must rest assured and take heart from the knowledge that were Adoration to have been running in our parish for a thousand years and if, during such a millennium, were only one poor soul to have visited the Chapel of Adoration to pray (as appalling a state of affairs as that might be), every single one of our scheduled hours of Adoration together over the whole thousand years would have been completely worthwhile. This is what it means to be ‘gate-keeper’ Adorers!
But we are not only ‘gate-keepers’, are we. As Adorers are we not also a witness of faith: aren’t we there when they arrive? In this regard, therefore, we are more like vanguards than ‘gate-keepers’. After all, a fairytale troll is a gate-keeper! As vanguards we are not disinterested in our charge and we are not simply protecting some ‘thing’, or a prize, as does an ordinary gate-keeper. We have a divinely inspired, vested interest in what we do and we choose freely to actively participate in the very essence of Him whose Life we prize so highly. This is at once what mandates and motivates us to proclaim the Truth in our so-called day-to-day lives.
Is it not, therefore, heartbreaking that Our Blessed Lord in the Eucharist is visited so infrequently, both at Mass and at Adoration? And is it not anathema that there are those who are literally opposed to Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament in the Chapel of Adoration? Lord, preserve us! Having asked these hard questions, though, let us distance ourselves from pride and self-adulation, and as one body of Adorers let us all pray together with renewed fervour for conversion! Let us see the evil for what it is, and resolve to become more holy as the antidote.
When all is said and done, we Adorers simply adore the humility of God who has freely made Himself available to us in the Eucharist, which is our passport to paradise and, plain as day, it is up to us to live and proclaim our Catholic spirituality as the real-time reflection of our faith which inspires, motivates, and ultimately leads others to Him.
All things considered, it is our God-given mission: “Ite, Missa est. Alleluia! Alleluia!”
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SILENT TWICE
13 June 2010
(Inspired by the writing of Bl. Elizabeth of the Trinity. I discovered only recently that His Grace Archbishop Fulton Sheen wrote something very similar. I did not know this at the time I wrote this piece.)
The Church teaches that Heaven is replete with the joyous praise and song of angels, the intercessions of the Church Triumphant, the prayers, invocations, pleadings, and thanksgiving of the Church Militant and the Church Expectant, joy, even perhaps applause. If not noisy, Heaven must be a singularly boisterous place. Despite the eternal praises, Heaven has been completely silent on two occasions, and only two. Shall we consider for a moment what these times might be?
The Church teaches that Heaven is replete with the joyous praise and song of angels, the intercessions of the Church Triumphant, the prayers, invocations, pleadings, and thanksgiving of the Church Militant and the Church Expectant, joy, even perhaps applause. If not noisy, Heaven must be a singularly boisterous place. Despite the eternal praises, Heaven has been completely silent on two occasions, and only two. Shall we consider for a moment what these times might be?
One can be forgiven for thinking that one such occasion of silence in Heaven might have been the first Christmas. One can almost see the heavenly host straining forward, hands cupped behind ears, longing to hear the first cry of the new-born Jesus. But I do not think this is a time when Heaven was silent. We are told, over and over again, that the angels sang the hearts out, “Glory to God in the highest...” so unbridled was their joy. I believe they would have been singing in celebration long before the first cry of Jesus!
If Heaven was not silent at His birth, perhaps it was silent at the other end of Jesus’ life, at His crucifixion? There is no doubt that 3 o’clock on that Friday afternoon has to be the most heartbreaking hour in the whole of creation, but I do not believe Heaven was silent even then. The prayers, “My God, my God...”, and, “It is finished!” were ushered directly to the Father not by the strength of Jesus’ human voice alone but were rendered all the more sweet before the Throne of God by the anthems of the Heavenly host who, not even for the briefest space of time, neglected their divine charge and duty of coming to the aid and succour of the Saviour howsoever they could. For Heaven to have remained silent at this time would have meant Heaven had lost hope and had left Jesus alone. This cannot be possible.
In fact, we are unable to determine the two moments of Heavenly silence by examining the life of Jesus – such is the bond between God the Father, God the Son and God the Holy Spirit. We should, however, consider the bond between God the Son and His mother.
In my humble opinion, fettered by an imagination striving to understand all that is good, I believe one occasion of silence in Heaven is the Annunciation. The purely human words, “I am the handmaid of the Lord. Be it done unto me according to Thy will,” simply must be heard by all creation. This is one time when all creatures – then, now, and to come – hear that human voice which so freely inaugurates the human component of redemption. For there to have been so much as a murmur at this time, even from the Heavenly host, would have sullied that one glorious utterance of man.
And the second time Heaven was silent? Well, if the Annunciation is one time of Heavenly silence, it stands to reason that second time is the Assumption. Why would the entry of the Mother of God into Heaven have been sufficient cause for all creatures to remain silent? Did Mary pass through the Gates of Heaven? Yes. Was Jesus, her son, there to meet her? Yes. With the Wedding at Cana clearly in mind, Jesus asks His mother, and by extension all creation, “Woman! Is this your time?” To a man, creation stands silent, poised with baited breath, while the Second Eve answers a second time, “I am the handmaid of the Lord. Be it done unto me according to Thy will.”
Heaven will never again be silent.
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Heaven will never again be silent.
MADE FROM GLASS
08 May 2010
Dear Father
As a Catholic lay person, I am really struggling. I see so much of the beautiful and holy liturgy of the Mass being forsaken, even at the hands of well-meaning and holy priests. I am also a very frustrated Catholic. I have been to Mass in many parishes in the Archdiocese, and I do not know how to fix what I see broken. Just once before I die I would like to participate in the Mass without having to worry about what’s going to happen next. Is that too much to ask?
I am an ordinary member of the laity. I am not a liturgist. I have no training in rubrics or liturgy. I am also frequently wrong and, therefore, need to be told this. I just love the Mass: pure and simple. Please, treat this humble missive as a plea for help, not a criticism.
I am bringing this incident – sadly, one of many – to your attention without malice or agenda. The excerpts below (my emphasis) are from Redemptionis Sacramentum. I write to you in response to what I saw during our recent Confirmation Mass.
[105]. [...] It is praiseworthy, by reason of the sign value, to use a main chalice of larger dimensions, together with smaller chalices.
[106]. However, the pouring of the Blood of Christ after the consecration from one vessel to another is completely to be avoided, lest anything should happen that would be to the detriment of so great a mystery. Never to be used for containing the Blood of the Lord are flagons, bowls, or other vessels that are not fully in accord with the established norms.
[...] [117]. Sacred vessels for containing the Body and Blood of the Lord must be made in strict conformity with the norms of tradition and of the liturgical books.[205] The Bishops’ Conferences have the faculty to decide whether it is appropriate, once their decisions have been given the recognitio by the Apostolic See, for sacred vessels to be made of other solid materials as well. It is strictly required, however, that such materials be truly noble in the common estimation within a given region,[206] so that honour will be given to the Lord by their use, and all risk of diminishing the doctrine of the Real Presence of Christ in the Eucharistic species in the eyes of the faithful will be avoided. Reprobated, therefore, is any practice of using for the celebration of Mass common vessels, or others lacking in quality, or devoid of all artistic merit or which are mere containers, as also other vessels made from glass, earthenware, clay, or other materials that break easily. This norm is to be applied even as regards metals and other materials that easily rust or deteriorate.[207]
[207] Cf. ibidem, n. 332; Congregation for Divine Worship and the Discipline of the Sacraments,, Instruction, Inaestimabile donum, n. 16: AAS 72 (1980) p. 338.
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ALWAYS AND EVERYWHERE
18 April 2010
Yesterday I witnessed my daughter’s graduation. This morning I witnessed my son’s Confirmation.
It occurred to me this morning that there are several striking similarities in both events, e.g., they are both ceremonial occasions, they both make use of robes and other regalia (which is different from normal clothing, or simply wearing a uniform or a suit), they both use formal liturgies in that they both confer or induce something by virtue of the words used in conjunction with specific actions, and they both use the distinct authority of one person to confer something in or on another.
In the case of my daughter’s graduation, the Chancellor of the university touched my daughter’s head with his cap and pronounced, ‘I confer on you the degree of...’. And so it was.
In the case of my son’s Confirmation, the Bishop made the sign of the cross with Chrism on my son’s forehead and pronounced, “...be sealed with the Holy Spirit.” And so it was.
The Chancellor was exercising the authority that was given to him by virtue of his office in the university. The Bishop was exercising the authority that was given to him by virtue of his office in the Church.
It occurred to me after Mass this morning that despite the similarities that exist between the two ceremonies, there is at least one significant difference between the two offices. In the case of the Chancellor of the university, there was a time when that authority did not exist. Let me explain: the university is currently celebrating its centenary so, one-hundred-and-one years ago the authority of the Chancellor of that university just did not exist. One hundred years ago the authority of the Chancellor was created or instituted for the specific purpose of serving its own end. The university is man-made. The authority in the university is man-made. The university and its offices are all man-made, containing within them their own man-made rules, robes and rites.
I know where I am going with this.
It doesn’t half get my goat when I hear some people (particularly those who purport to be Catholic) saying things like ‘the Church is full of man-made rules – therefore it is OK to ignore them’. What a lot of rot. To my way of thinking there is nothing man-made about the Church. Yes, Jesus was a man but that’s not the context of what I mean by man-made. I believe Jesus is fully man and fully God. Therefore, the authority that resides in the Church is God-made not man-made. To the twelve men Jesus chose, He (that is, God) gave His full and eternal authority and, therefore, the Church is fully imbued with that very same authority, unequivocally.
When the Bishop made the sign of the cross with Chrism on my son’s forehead, I believe that the authority he used to pronounce the words, “...be sealed with the Holy Spirit,” came directly from Jesus. The Bishop’s authority has an unbroken and clear line all the way back to the Last Supper.
I believe that the keys of the kingdom of God are held firmly by the See of Peter. Because of that, the words spoken by the Bishop to my son, literally, induced God to act in my son as He promised He would. Now THAT is sacramental.
How else is the Church to interpret this authority? In no other way than to realise that “...to the Church belongs the right always and everywhere to announce moral principles, including those pertaining to the social order, and to make judgements on any human affairs to the extent that they are required by the fundamental rights of the human person or the saving of souls.” (CCC #2032) The Church could not teach this, its magisterium would be null and void, were it not for the single expedient that Jesus gave His authority to it. I believe this. I see no reason to question it, and I see no reason why I should not die defending it.
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IN A WORD
14 April 2010
In the beginning was the word, and the word was with God, and the word was God. I wonder how long John took to come up with that line. I wonder how he must have felt when those words glimmered in his consciousness.
God said, "Let there be light... and there was... and it was good..." It is the Word of God that creates. It is the Word of God that brings things into being. It is the Word of God that allows creation to unfold because He speaks the words. The Word was there from the beginning, and it was God.
"...and the Word became flesh and dwelt among us..." Jesus, the Word of God, present in the beginning, was God, became man, and He said, "...my words are truth and they are life..."
Didn't Thomas Aquinas tell us that our senses, except hearing, deceive us, and that we can trust our hearing, and therefore have faith, because we hear the words, "...this is my Body...this is my Blood..."?
With such an august provenance, how on earth, ever, can words hurt? Why do I, I who have an unusually thick skin, allow words to penetrate and do such damage? Why am I totally incapable of protecting myself from the damage they cause? Is it because I am weak or is it because I am strong? I can't explain it. So here I lie, crumpled, contemplating the hurt and counting the cost.
Using words to destroy instead of build must surely constitute a grave evil. But how do I deal with this when it emanates from one whose next words will be, "...this is my Body... this is my Blood..."?
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In the beginning was the word, and the word was with God, and the word was God. I wonder how long John took to come up with that line. I wonder how he must have felt when those words glimmered in his consciousness.
God said, "Let there be light... and there was... and it was good..." It is the Word of God that creates. It is the Word of God that brings things into being. It is the Word of God that allows creation to unfold because He speaks the words. The Word was there from the beginning, and it was God.
"...and the Word became flesh and dwelt among us..." Jesus, the Word of God, present in the beginning, was God, became man, and He said, "...my words are truth and they are life..."
Didn't Thomas Aquinas tell us that our senses, except hearing, deceive us, and that we can trust our hearing, and therefore have faith, because we hear the words, "...this is my Body...this is my Blood..."?
With such an august provenance, how on earth, ever, can words hurt? Why do I, I who have an unusually thick skin, allow words to penetrate and do such damage? Why am I totally incapable of protecting myself from the damage they cause? Is it because I am weak or is it because I am strong? I can't explain it. So here I lie, crumpled, contemplating the hurt and counting the cost.
Using words to destroy instead of build must surely constitute a grave evil. But how do I deal with this when it emanates from one whose next words will be, "...this is my Body... this is my Blood..."?
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IN RESPONSE...
12 April 2010
The idea of writing a blog bloomed quite slowly because I began to realise that I am not getting any younger and hanging around until things improve enough so that I have the opportunity to write just isn't going to happen. "Start writing now," I said to myself, "or you'll never get round to it!" And, "Don't save it for a rainy day because it's raining now."
'...saving for the last day the most difficult intention of all, the lukewarm and indifferent of whom He said: "These souls cause Me more suffering than any others; it was from such souls that My soul felt the most revulsion in the Garden of Olives. It was on their account that I said: 'My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass Me by.'
Now if I may tell you my personal opinion. I honestly believe that Divine Mercy Sunday is for people like myself. Those who think that they are not worthy. Those who are ashamed of their sin, so much so, that they remain on the outskirts, afraid to go anywhere near to receive any blessings or graces from Him. Sin obviously distances us from God - and it's a cold and lonely place to be in. As a result, we tend to become very lukewarm in our relationship with God, or worse - indifferent...I think it is because we are so ashamed of our own sin, or our weakness to overcome sin...that we tend to harden our hearts...not only towards God - but towards ourselves...and thus - towards our bretheren too. How can we receive forgiveness, if we do not forgive ourselves also? If we cannot forgive ourselves for our own sin, how can we be merciful to those who do us wrong? It's a vicious circle that pushes us further and further away from God.
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The idea of writing a blog bloomed quite slowly because I began to realise that I am not getting any younger and hanging around until things improve enough so that I have the opportunity to write just isn't going to happen. "Start writing now," I said to myself, "or you'll never get round to it!" And, "Don't save it for a rainy day because it's raining now."
At first, I began writing this blog more for my own benefit than anyone else's - to affirm my own faith, as it were - but it transpires that at least four other people that I know of read this, only one of whom is a family member (not even my wife reads it!) Anyway, the point is that I hadn't thought about how I would feel knowing others are reading what I write. Even now, as I write this, it feels peculiar. I am happy you are reading this, don't get me wrong, I just hadn't thought much about how I would react if someone actually commented on a post.
Well, it happened, and I have chosen to react by doing the following. It's from a close friend and I m privileged to post part of the response.
___
___
'...saving for the last day the most difficult intention of all, the lukewarm and indifferent of whom He said: "These souls cause Me more suffering than any others; it was from such souls that My soul felt the most revulsion in the Garden of Olives. It was on their account that I said: 'My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass Me by.'
Now if I may tell you my personal opinion. I honestly believe that Divine Mercy Sunday is for people like myself. Those who think that they are not worthy. Those who are ashamed of their sin, so much so, that they remain on the outskirts, afraid to go anywhere near to receive any blessings or graces from Him. Sin obviously distances us from God - and it's a cold and lonely place to be in. As a result, we tend to become very lukewarm in our relationship with God, or worse - indifferent...I think it is because we are so ashamed of our own sin, or our weakness to overcome sin...that we tend to harden our hearts...not only towards God - but towards ourselves...and thus - towards our bretheren too. How can we receive forgiveness, if we do not forgive ourselves also? If we cannot forgive ourselves for our own sin, how can we be merciful to those who do us wrong? It's a vicious circle that pushes us further and further away from God.
___
Thank you.
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TIT FOR TAT
12 April 2010 (2nd Sunday of Easter,
or Low Sunday, or better still: Divine Mercy Sunday).
I have always been struck happy by the almost divine wisdom exercised by Pope John Paul the Great in placing the Feast of Divine Mercy at the 2nd Sunday of Easter. It seems so right. Mercy flows directly from the Resurrection.
All my life, I have had this insatiable appetite to see justice done as the minimum requirement for order in the face of wrongdoing – especially if the wrongdoing has been perpetrated against me. Then, maybe, once I am satisfied that justice is done, only then can I be free, maybe, to dispense mercy or be lenient. It is clearly a case of “an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth”, at least in principle first, then we’ll see how much of bad hair day I’m having come sentencing. I have not ever really been able to consider another sequence to these things, until now, that is.
I discovered recently, again, that I have had this the wrong way round, more than a bit. St Thomas Aquinas taught that God’s mercy and justice are, well, so not like mine. God is supremely just because He is supremely merciful. In other words, He doesn’t come over all merciful after He exercises His justice. No. God’s justice is predicated on His mercy. God is perfectly merciful in the first place and, as a result of being perfectly merciful, He is perfectly just. This is an alarmingly illuminating revelation for me, it’s up there with an epiphany, and one which is going to be a bit of a tall order for me.
What Jesus taught now makes perfect sense: “Love one another...”; “Love your enemies...”; “Turn the other cheek...”; “Forgive seventy times seven...” I never understood it before. The only way I could accommodate what Jesus taught, on one hand, with my personal notion of ‘retributional’ justice on the other, without going mad, was to assume that He was like that because He was God, and I am like this because I am a mere mortal.
Jesus, however, defined a new notion justice by describing what it means to be merciful. At the top of the list, then, is the perfect example: "Father forgive them..."
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MEAT & VEG
09 April 2010 (Easter Friday)
It occurred to me recently that I may have been barking up the wrong tree a bit. It is quite common to hear the question, ‘What would you change if you could live your life over again?’ Although I suspect I am not near the end of my life, I took the time to ponder this question as if I was lying on my mat, counting the remaining gasps of my life. Two answers to this question seem possible.
One answer I might give is, “Nothing. I wouldn’t change anything. My life was perfect as it was.” Rubbish. My life isn’t perfect. Actually, it’s a mess. And it has been a mess for quite some time. It is completely unreasonable to think that I wouldn’t want to tweak, or adjust upwards, or tune-out, some things in my life if it was handed to me on a platter for seconds. I am certainly not the type to take a second helping of vegetables when there’s fillet on offer.
Another answer I might give is, “I would live harder, laugh louder, love longer, take more risks, hug trees, smell flowers, run barefoot, climb every mountain, ford every stream, …yadda yadda.” I don’t believe those platitudes for a minute. If I’ve not done them in the past, and I’m not doing them now, I’m not likely to start doing them second time round.
So, what constitutes the fillet of my life, and what are the veggies?
Well, for one, I realised that I shouldn’t be wasting any time contemplating seconds. I have one life. This is it. Like it or lump it. No seconds. You see, although my life is a bit of a dog’s breakfast, it is my mess. I made it. I pretty much know where everything is in it, and there is a certain quality to its messiness that is indelibly mine: here be Philip. If I was somehow suddenly substituted from my life, my replacement would say, “Yup…this is Philip alright,” and that’s actually a good thing. My life has my stamp on it.
I have to stop thinking about the possibility that I am going to be able to choose what I want for seconds. I have to stop looking at the food on my plate as if that’s what’s been dished up for me. I have to stop thinking that I might want more fillet or fewer veggies. It’s simply not going to happen. And anyway, I shouldn’t be looking at the food at all. I should be eating it, chewing it, swallowing it, savouring it and burping loudly all the way!
Now, pass the gravy please…and the Bread and Wine.
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It occurred to me recently that I may have been barking up the wrong tree a bit. It is quite common to hear the question, ‘What would you change if you could live your life over again?’ Although I suspect I am not near the end of my life, I took the time to ponder this question as if I was lying on my mat, counting the remaining gasps of my life. Two answers to this question seem possible.
One answer I might give is, “Nothing. I wouldn’t change anything. My life was perfect as it was.” Rubbish. My life isn’t perfect. Actually, it’s a mess. And it has been a mess for quite some time. It is completely unreasonable to think that I wouldn’t want to tweak, or adjust upwards, or tune-out, some things in my life if it was handed to me on a platter for seconds. I am certainly not the type to take a second helping of vegetables when there’s fillet on offer.
Another answer I might give is, “I would live harder, laugh louder, love longer, take more risks, hug trees, smell flowers, run barefoot, climb every mountain, ford every stream, …yadda yadda.” I don’t believe those platitudes for a minute. If I’ve not done them in the past, and I’m not doing them now, I’m not likely to start doing them second time round.
So, what constitutes the fillet of my life, and what are the veggies?
Well, for one, I realised that I shouldn’t be wasting any time contemplating seconds. I have one life. This is it. Like it or lump it. No seconds. You see, although my life is a bit of a dog’s breakfast, it is my mess. I made it. I pretty much know where everything is in it, and there is a certain quality to its messiness that is indelibly mine: here be Philip. If I was somehow suddenly substituted from my life, my replacement would say, “Yup…this is Philip alright,” and that’s actually a good thing. My life has my stamp on it.
I have to stop thinking about the possibility that I am going to be able to choose what I want for seconds. I have to stop looking at the food on my plate as if that’s what’s been dished up for me. I have to stop thinking that I might want more fillet or fewer veggies. It’s simply not going to happen. And anyway, I shouldn’t be looking at the food at all. I should be eating it, chewing it, swallowing it, savouring it and burping loudly all the way!
Now, pass the gravy please…and the Bread and Wine.
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MOTHER OF ALL VIGILS
07 April 2010 (Easter Wednesday)
The most time I've ever spent in our Chapel of Adoration is three hours. I have had the pleasure of doing this only once and I can't remember if it bothered me being 'stood-up' by the two who were supposed to do their hour after me. As a general rule, I stay in the Chapel until the next guy comes, but three hours is my limit, I think. I know I would have been hard pressed to stay longer.
Part of the appeal this year, for me, in celebrating the Triduum at the Cathedral was that the Vigil Mass was at midnight, not at 19:00 like most of the parishes in the archdiocese of Durban. I was really looking forward to it. I wanted something big for Easter this year and I suspected the Cathedral was going to deliver. It did.
St Thomas Aquinas rightly called the Easter Vigil 'the mother of all vigils' - it was a glorious occasion. At this Vigil sixty converts were received into the Church by the Sacrament of Baptism. They also made their First Holy Communion, and they were also Confirmed - three sacraments in one go! A spiritual triple whammy. I suspect that many of them would also have celebrated the Sacrament of Reconciliation that day, too; making four out of seven Sacraments received in one day (or out of six, if they were female). Not only that, but they received this good grace at the hands of a man who could be our next Pope. In all my years of being a Catholic I have never experienced that quantity of good fortune at one celebration of Mass. I couldn't help smiling despite the tears welling up in my eyes.
Now, if you could somehow have told me all this, ahead of time, I know I would have made extra sure of my place in the pews and I doubt I would have missed it for the earth. But suppose you could somehow also have told me that the Easter Vigil at the Cathedral this year was going to be four-and-a-half hours long, and that it would be so crowded that I would have to stand... would I still have gone? And suppose you had also been able to warn me that I was going be trapped in the parking lot for an additional half hour afterwards... would I still have gone? I am ashamed to say that I probably wouldn't have. And that, my friend, is sad. Very sad, indeed.
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The most time I've ever spent in our Chapel of Adoration is three hours. I have had the pleasure of doing this only once and I can't remember if it bothered me being 'stood-up' by the two who were supposed to do their hour after me. As a general rule, I stay in the Chapel until the next guy comes, but three hours is my limit, I think. I know I would have been hard pressed to stay longer.
Part of the appeal this year, for me, in celebrating the Triduum at the Cathedral was that the Vigil Mass was at midnight, not at 19:00 like most of the parishes in the archdiocese of Durban. I was really looking forward to it. I wanted something big for Easter this year and I suspected the Cathedral was going to deliver. It did.
St Thomas Aquinas rightly called the Easter Vigil 'the mother of all vigils' - it was a glorious occasion. At this Vigil sixty converts were received into the Church by the Sacrament of Baptism. They also made their First Holy Communion, and they were also Confirmed - three sacraments in one go! A spiritual triple whammy. I suspect that many of them would also have celebrated the Sacrament of Reconciliation that day, too; making four out of seven Sacraments received in one day (or out of six, if they were female). Not only that, but they received this good grace at the hands of a man who could be our next Pope. In all my years of being a Catholic I have never experienced that quantity of good fortune at one celebration of Mass. I couldn't help smiling despite the tears welling up in my eyes.
Now, if you could somehow have told me all this, ahead of time, I know I would have made extra sure of my place in the pews and I doubt I would have missed it for the earth. But suppose you could somehow also have told me that the Easter Vigil at the Cathedral this year was going to be four-and-a-half hours long, and that it would be so crowded that I would have to stand... would I still have gone? And suppose you had also been able to warn me that I was going be trapped in the parking lot for an additional half hour afterwards... would I still have gone? I am ashamed to say that I probably wouldn't have. And that, my friend, is sad. Very sad, indeed.
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GOOD v. EVIL
05 April 2010 (Easter Monday!)
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It occurred to me during the Good Friday liturgy (yes, at the Cathedral), that a common misconstruction I have held for as long as I can remember is to think of God and the devil as somehow equal in size and power. We speak of God v. satan, and Heaven v. hell, and Good v. bad, and so on, as if they are worthy adversaries. But they aren’t. While evil may occupy a plane dedicated in its opposition to God, it is by no means equal to God in its opposition.
Good is not opposed to evil in the same way as evil is opposed to Good. I have not ever really understood this distinction until now. It is probably because the distinction is idiomatically shrouded in images of man’s war-mongering proclivity that it has resulted in a distortion of the notion of ‘the final victory of Good over evil’. In fact, I am sure it would be more helpful to not think of the final spiritual conflict of Armageddon, i.e., the last war between Good and evil, as a battle that has a winner and a loser. The simple expedient that satan was and always will be a created thing, and that God is ‘I am’, predicates the no-contest.
What I learned during the Good Friday service is that God is not a bully. If God wanted to, He could extinguish satan and hell and evil in the same way as I could swat a gnat. Yet, He doesn't.
"Look at Me!" he could say. "Look how mighty and powerful I am, and look how easily I overcome evil!" Nope. Rather than using the devil's modus operandi, He gives us the freedom to choose to love Him and to choose to do Good. Total freedom of choice to surpass evil.
There is a delightful scene in the movie 'Bruce Almighty' where Bruce asks God, "How do You get people to love You without messing with their free will?" "That's a good question," God replies, "Let me know when you have an answer."
I remember once, in my mind's eye, seeing the bold letters "TGIF" (thank God it's Friday). Below them was a scene of the crucifixion in silhouette. Underneath the silhouette were the words, "How was yours?"
That's how.
"Look at Me!" he could say. "Look how mighty and powerful I am, and look how easily I overcome evil!" Nope. Rather than using the devil's modus operandi, He gives us the freedom to choose to love Him and to choose to do Good. Total freedom of choice to surpass evil.
There is a delightful scene in the movie 'Bruce Almighty' where Bruce asks God, "How do You get people to love You without messing with their free will?" "That's a good question," God replies, "Let me know when you have an answer."
I remember once, in my mind's eye, seeing the bold letters "TGIF" (thank God it's Friday). Below them was a scene of the crucifixion in silhouette. Underneath the silhouette were the words, "How was yours?"
That's how.
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BLAH BLOG BLAH
01 April 2010
For the first time in years I went to Holy Thursday Mass at our Cathedral in Durban - and our Cardinal was concelebrating Mass! What a treat!
For the first time ever I experienced my participation in the Mass, from beginning to end, as one prayer to God. Normally the Mass is carved up into sections. This time it wasn't. Even the memorial 'washing of the feet' felt part of Mass.
During the homily, however, something quite weird happened. The Cardinal stopped mid sentence, turned to me, and in front of everyone, said in a booming voice, "Philip, your blog is great but without love-in-action, without you being of selfless service in the Kingdom of God, your blog is nothing more than words. Boring words. Blah blah blah blah blah." Everyone turned round and nodded in agreement.
No, of course he didn't say that, but that's the message I got from his homily on 'love one another'. I guess that's what it means to be holy: be of selfless service.
I am not there yet. Not even close.
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For the first time in years I went to Holy Thursday Mass at our Cathedral in Durban - and our Cardinal was concelebrating Mass! What a treat!
For the first time ever I experienced my participation in the Mass, from beginning to end, as one prayer to God. Normally the Mass is carved up into sections. This time it wasn't. Even the memorial 'washing of the feet' felt part of Mass.
During the homily, however, something quite weird happened. The Cardinal stopped mid sentence, turned to me, and in front of everyone, said in a booming voice, "Philip, your blog is great but without love-in-action, without you being of selfless service in the Kingdom of God, your blog is nothing more than words. Boring words. Blah blah blah blah blah." Everyone turned round and nodded in agreement.
No, of course he didn't say that, but that's the message I got from his homily on 'love one another'. I guess that's what it means to be holy: be of selfless service.
I am not there yet. Not even close.
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MASS MEDIA
(It's Wednesday 31 March 2010 - past midnight!)
UPDATED POST.
I am proud and happy to be Catholic. I want to be Catholic. I am Catholic. I can't help it. If I wasn't Catholic, I would convert to Catholicism. I have been told that that is a very arrogant thing to say. Perhaps it is. I'm sorry if it offends you but there is no explaining the conviction and I can't express it any other way.
I can't tell you what joy wells up inside me when I see something Catholic in the secular media. Sometimes it is a picture in the newspaper of the Pope smiling. I immediately say a prayer for him and swell with pride at being Catholic. Sometimes I will see a sportsman furtively make the sign of the cross thinking no-one has seen him - but millions have! I jump for joy insde because in a world that is openly hostile to Catholics it is necessary for these glimpses of holiness to make it past the secular censors. Sometimes I will be watching a movie and there, in the background, sometimes almost out-of-picture, is a crucifix on a wall, plain as day!
A highlight for me is when I find movies or TV series that are so utterly pro-life, or so totally pro-God, or so demonstrably pro-Catholic, that it is a miracle that they make it to TV or movie screen. 'Nothing Sacred' was superb TV series. Why that series ended escapes me. 'Joan of Arcadia', another. 'Lord of the Rings' is a classic example. Another is 'Juno'. Yet another is 'Smart People'. There was even an episode of 'House' that was a clarion call to all pro-lifers! I know there are many more, and I look forward to seeing them and being thrilled by them all.
The greatest joy in the movie media is when there is Mass. Of course it saddens me when they get it wrong but sometimes they get it right and what a joy it is to watch. The Mass, or the part of it they show anyway, in a movie – what a thrill!
Rightly so, however, pre-eminence has recently been given in the media to child abuse by Catholic clergy. As a Catholic I am shocked, disappointed and profoudly saddened by this. It physically hurts to see the whole Catholic Church, the Pope included, dragged through the mud because of the crimes of some clerics. I feel betrayed by those who have wantonly sacrificed their God-given anointing. This is not merely another expression of the fall of mankind from grace. Not at all. This is a malicious, premeditated, insidious subterfuge, and violent treachery against the Church, perpetuated from within and milked from without. Every Catholic should be in pain - this really smarts.
I didn’t want to quote anyone but myself in this blog but sometimes you bump into an expression of a thought that fills your mind and brings peace. It cannot be improved. It is a perfect thought – straight from Heaven:
"...We should be grateful for the attention which the media devotes to the sins of Catholic clergy, even if constant repetition may give the false impression that Catholic clergy are particularly sinful. That attention is a profound tribute to the priesthood which we celebrate at this Mass of the Chrism. People instinctively expect holiness in a Catholic priest, and are especially appalled when he does evil...”
Loathe as I am to direct you away from my blog, I am happy to provide this link to the full homily given yesterday at the Chrism Mass by Archbishop Thomas Collins of Toronto.
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UPDATED POST.
I am proud and happy to be Catholic. I want to be Catholic. I am Catholic. I can't help it. If I wasn't Catholic, I would convert to Catholicism. I have been told that that is a very arrogant thing to say. Perhaps it is. I'm sorry if it offends you but there is no explaining the conviction and I can't express it any other way.
I can't tell you what joy wells up inside me when I see something Catholic in the secular media. Sometimes it is a picture in the newspaper of the Pope smiling. I immediately say a prayer for him and swell with pride at being Catholic. Sometimes I will see a sportsman furtively make the sign of the cross thinking no-one has seen him - but millions have! I jump for joy insde because in a world that is openly hostile to Catholics it is necessary for these glimpses of holiness to make it past the secular censors. Sometimes I will be watching a movie and there, in the background, sometimes almost out-of-picture, is a crucifix on a wall, plain as day!
A highlight for me is when I find movies or TV series that are so utterly pro-life, or so totally pro-God, or so demonstrably pro-Catholic, that it is a miracle that they make it to TV or movie screen. 'Nothing Sacred' was superb TV series. Why that series ended escapes me. 'Joan of Arcadia', another. 'Lord of the Rings' is a classic example. Another is 'Juno'. Yet another is 'Smart People'. There was even an episode of 'House' that was a clarion call to all pro-lifers! I know there are many more, and I look forward to seeing them and being thrilled by them all.
The greatest joy in the movie media is when there is Mass. Of course it saddens me when they get it wrong but sometimes they get it right and what a joy it is to watch. The Mass, or the part of it they show anyway, in a movie – what a thrill!
Rightly so, however, pre-eminence has recently been given in the media to child abuse by Catholic clergy. As a Catholic I am shocked, disappointed and profoudly saddened by this. It physically hurts to see the whole Catholic Church, the Pope included, dragged through the mud because of the crimes of some clerics. I feel betrayed by those who have wantonly sacrificed their God-given anointing. This is not merely another expression of the fall of mankind from grace. Not at all. This is a malicious, premeditated, insidious subterfuge, and violent treachery against the Church, perpetuated from within and milked from without. Every Catholic should be in pain - this really smarts.
I didn’t want to quote anyone but myself in this blog but sometimes you bump into an expression of a thought that fills your mind and brings peace. It cannot be improved. It is a perfect thought – straight from Heaven:
"...We should be grateful for the attention which the media devotes to the sins of Catholic clergy, even if constant repetition may give the false impression that Catholic clergy are particularly sinful. That attention is a profound tribute to the priesthood which we celebrate at this Mass of the Chrism. People instinctively expect holiness in a Catholic priest, and are especially appalled when he does evil...”
Loathe as I am to direct you away from my blog, I am happy to provide this link to the full homily given yesterday at the Chrism Mass by Archbishop Thomas Collins of Toronto.
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CARS & CATHOLICS
30 March 2010
It is the weirdest thing. I will spend the whole day thinking about what it is to be Catholic so that I can post it to the blog in the evening, only to sit down at the keyboard, idea in head, and then write something completely unplanned.
It's Tuesday of Holy Week. Am I any holier? On a scale of 1 to 10, I'm probably a 2 – and that's not always the case, especially when I am driving the car. Come to think of it, driving a car on today's roads (in South Africa, at any rate) is about as close as one can get to the end of one's life on a regular basis and for the most part remain alive. Hardly a trip goes by without incident. It's either a first-hand close-shave or it's some other poor soul who's actually made to the end of his life in a mangled wreck. Shame. Sadly, it is carnage out there but I won't get drawn in to the current debate on alcohol, the taxi mafia, and the trucking industry, all of which are responsible for the murder of us innocents.
I will say this, however. It is while I am driving – and I know I drive a little too swiftly sometimes so, Lord knows, I am grateful to be aware of this irony – that I frequently dwell on my utter incapacity to tolerate idiots. I am completely unwilling to forgive other road users when they are inconsiderate, inept or just plain unconscious. I know it's not enough to be aware of a problem - you actually have to do something about it. Like I say, I am a trying Catholic.
Once, to help me, I listened to Monteverdi’s ‘Vespers’ on the way to Mass. Track 8, ‘Nisi Dominus’. Brilliant. It helped. Singing holy stuff at the top of your voice stops you getting angry but it doesn’t fix the underlying problem. It’s only symptomatic relief, and it's temporary. In the car, I can be very un-Catholic.
On many occasion I have barely got out the church gate after Mass on a beautiful Sunday morning, sun shining and everything, only to hoot and shake my fist aggressively at the moron in front of me. All that aggro, and the taste of Holy Communion still in my mouth! How un-Catholic and how unholy.
All is not lost, though. Almost immediately after an outburst I am filled with remorse. I realise the error of my ways and make a determined effort to do better...like the prodigal son in a Toyota. I sigh deeply and bitterly regret getting so angry over so little. ‘Calm down!’ I say to myself. ‘Go with the flow. Leave the idiots alone, let them be. Stay alive. Make it home. God loves them. I’m Jesus’ chauffeur. I’m Jesus’ chauffeur. I’m Jesus’ chauffeur...
So help me...you IDIOT!’
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It is the weirdest thing. I will spend the whole day thinking about what it is to be Catholic so that I can post it to the blog in the evening, only to sit down at the keyboard, idea in head, and then write something completely unplanned.
It's Tuesday of Holy Week. Am I any holier? On a scale of 1 to 10, I'm probably a 2 – and that's not always the case, especially when I am driving the car. Come to think of it, driving a car on today's roads (in South Africa, at any rate) is about as close as one can get to the end of one's life on a regular basis and for the most part remain alive. Hardly a trip goes by without incident. It's either a first-hand close-shave or it's some other poor soul who's actually made to the end of his life in a mangled wreck. Shame. Sadly, it is carnage out there but I won't get drawn in to the current debate on alcohol, the taxi mafia, and the trucking industry, all of which are responsible for the murder of us innocents.
I will say this, however. It is while I am driving – and I know I drive a little too swiftly sometimes so, Lord knows, I am grateful to be aware of this irony – that I frequently dwell on my utter incapacity to tolerate idiots. I am completely unwilling to forgive other road users when they are inconsiderate, inept or just plain unconscious. I know it's not enough to be aware of a problem - you actually have to do something about it. Like I say, I am a trying Catholic.
Once, to help me, I listened to Monteverdi’s ‘Vespers’ on the way to Mass. Track 8, ‘Nisi Dominus’. Brilliant. It helped. Singing holy stuff at the top of your voice stops you getting angry but it doesn’t fix the underlying problem. It’s only symptomatic relief, and it's temporary. In the car, I can be very un-Catholic.
On many occasion I have barely got out the church gate after Mass on a beautiful Sunday morning, sun shining and everything, only to hoot and shake my fist aggressively at the moron in front of me. All that aggro, and the taste of Holy Communion still in my mouth! How un-Catholic and how unholy.
All is not lost, though. Almost immediately after an outburst I am filled with remorse. I realise the error of my ways and make a determined effort to do better...like the prodigal son in a Toyota. I sigh deeply and bitterly regret getting so angry over so little. ‘Calm down!’ I say to myself. ‘Go with the flow. Leave the idiots alone, let them be. Stay alive. Make it home. God loves them. I’m Jesus’ chauffeur. I’m Jesus’ chauffeur. I’m Jesus’ chauffeur...
So help me...you IDIOT!’
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SIT! (Good God)
29 March 2010
I deleted a line from yesterday's post. It was a good line but it didn't fit well so I removed it. It was something I said to myself while I was sitting during the Gospel. Yes! Can you believe it: we had been told to sit during the reading of the Passion. You know, I remember my mother saying to me, as a child, that if I stood dead-still during the whole of the Passion, I would get a soul out of Purgatory. I remember that so well and I have sort-of observed it to this day. I was quite indignant at being commanded to 'Sit!' like a good dog, and I commiserated with the poor soul whose turn it was to be set free. Of course, as an adult, I know it's not like that in real life but there is some merit to be gained for others, in the vast economy of grace, by freely choosing to do something good however small, and if not fidgeting during the Passion was as good as a hyperactive child could be, then I suspect more than a couple of souls would have strolled into Heaven as a result.
It was the act of being forced to sit when everything in me wanted to stand that I realised two things. Obedience and humility are not my strong suit, and how important it is to try to be holier-than-normal during Holy Week. As I said, my Lenten observance isn't worth the paper it's written on but being forced to sit during the Passion felt so very unholy and weak indeed.
I said to myself, "At least you can try to be holier-than-normal this week. Just try." So, I am trying. No, seriously, I am.
At the end of the Passion, the reader (not the priest) said, "The Gospel of the Lord." Apart from the fact that that is not said at the end of the Passion, it should not ever be said by a reader! I gagged. I could not bring mself to respond, "Praise to You, Lord Jesus Christ." I couldn't. It would have been so wrong. They had made me sit when I should have stood and now they wanted me to respond by saying something that simply wasn't true.
I asked myself, was I being 'more holy' by trying to do what was right, or was I just being a litigious little twit?
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I deleted a line from yesterday's post. It was a good line but it didn't fit well so I removed it. It was something I said to myself while I was sitting during the Gospel. Yes! Can you believe it: we had been told to sit during the reading of the Passion. You know, I remember my mother saying to me, as a child, that if I stood dead-still during the whole of the Passion, I would get a soul out of Purgatory. I remember that so well and I have sort-of observed it to this day. I was quite indignant at being commanded to 'Sit!' like a good dog, and I commiserated with the poor soul whose turn it was to be set free. Of course, as an adult, I know it's not like that in real life but there is some merit to be gained for others, in the vast economy of grace, by freely choosing to do something good however small, and if not fidgeting during the Passion was as good as a hyperactive child could be, then I suspect more than a couple of souls would have strolled into Heaven as a result.
It was the act of being forced to sit when everything in me wanted to stand that I realised two things. Obedience and humility are not my strong suit, and how important it is to try to be holier-than-normal during Holy Week. As I said, my Lenten observance isn't worth the paper it's written on but being forced to sit during the Passion felt so very unholy and weak indeed.
I said to myself, "At least you can try to be holier-than-normal this week. Just try." So, I am trying. No, seriously, I am.
At the end of the Passion, the reader (not the priest) said, "The Gospel of the Lord." Apart from the fact that that is not said at the end of the Passion, it should not ever be said by a reader! I gagged. I could not bring mself to respond, "Praise to You, Lord Jesus Christ." I couldn't. It would have been so wrong. They had made me sit when I should have stood and now they wanted me to respond by saying something that simply wasn't true.
I asked myself, was I being 'more holy' by trying to do what was right, or was I just being a litigious little twit?
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PALM SUNDAY 2010
28 March 2010
I am not good at doing Lent, and Lent this year has been no different from its predecessors. Just like last year and the year before, I haven't given anything up; I haven't donated more money to the poor; and I haven't become more loving towards my fellow man. I don't like giving things up. I don't like donating to the poor. And, quite frankly, 'my fellow man' has been a bit of an idiot of late and, if I don't tolerate fools gladly, why on earth should I love them just because it's Lent? In short, Lent was invented for other people, not me. I wish I could unsubscribe.
Today, however, is Palm Sunday 2010 and during Mass this morning it occurred to me that I could at least try to do something original and Lent-worthy in its last week before Easter.
Last night we watched 'Julie & Julia' and it wouldn't surprise to me at all to learn that the number of posts to blogs have probably increased during the tenure of this movie. Well, I mean, this blog is one!
While there is no big idea behind this blog, it is with renewed attention that I return to my postings. I plan to write one every day - like Julie - but instead of dealing with recipes and cooking, I plan to deal with what it's like being a Catholic, more specifically, a stumbling Catholic, a very trying Catholic. As Julie intimates in the movie, this will be about discipline and, Lord knows, that particular virtue is in very short supply this side of the keyboard.
Anything goes. Whatever crosses my mind from a Catholic lay perspective gets written down here. One post per day, starting today, Palm Sunday 2010.
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I am not good at doing Lent, and Lent this year has been no different from its predecessors. Just like last year and the year before, I haven't given anything up; I haven't donated more money to the poor; and I haven't become more loving towards my fellow man. I don't like giving things up. I don't like donating to the poor. And, quite frankly, 'my fellow man' has been a bit of an idiot of late and, if I don't tolerate fools gladly, why on earth should I love them just because it's Lent? In short, Lent was invented for other people, not me. I wish I could unsubscribe.
Today, however, is Palm Sunday 2010 and during Mass this morning it occurred to me that I could at least try to do something original and Lent-worthy in its last week before Easter.
Last night we watched 'Julie & Julia' and it wouldn't surprise to me at all to learn that the number of posts to blogs have probably increased during the tenure of this movie. Well, I mean, this blog is one!
While there is no big idea behind this blog, it is with renewed attention that I return to my postings. I plan to write one every day - like Julie - but instead of dealing with recipes and cooking, I plan to deal with what it's like being a Catholic, more specifically, a stumbling Catholic, a very trying Catholic. As Julie intimates in the movie, this will be about discipline and, Lord knows, that particular virtue is in very short supply this side of the keyboard.
Anything goes. Whatever crosses my mind from a Catholic lay perspective gets written down here. One post per day, starting today, Palm Sunday 2010.
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11. THERE'S NO DOUBTING THOMAS
I want to talk about the poor guy in today’s Gospel, sometimes called Doubting Thomas. I like to give him another name. Me. I think, of all the incidents in Scripture this has to be the easiest to identify with. I don’t think it’s at all fair that Thomas gets such a bad rap. At first glance, it might sound like he’s very different from the rest of them by not believing in the resurrection without firsthand evidence and, yes, he does seem to go off half-cocked and actually say out loud, ‘Unless I put my hand into his side, I refuse to believe,’ which is about as close as you can get to calling someone a liar but, when all is said and done, he’s really no different from the others. Here’s why. I would like to ask you a question. You arrive home one evening and a group of your friends are there, say, for supper or something. Just as you open the door all of them rush at you in a state of uncontained excitement bordering on apoplexy and they’re all there waving their arms about and jumping around and exclaiming things like, “You’ve won the lottery!” and, “You’re rich!” and, “Can you believe it?” Things like that. Tell me, what is the first thing that’s going to go through your surprised, little head? I’ll bet you’re going to say something like, “Let me see the winning lottery ticket. Then I’ll believe,” or, “Let me hold it in my hands, and let me check the winning numbers first. Until I can do that, I refuse to believe.” Now, I think that’s a perfectly rational response, a normal, reasonable and very human reaction to such epic news. So why do we come down so hard on poor old Thomas when all he wanted was a respectable amount evidence that he’d won the Jesus-lottery, so to speak? Surely, it would have been somewhat puzzling (to me, anyway) if he’d simply accepted the news of Jesus’ resurrection based solely on the say-so of his frenzied friends. That would have been highly spurious. Even John, the apple of the apostles, had to run several blocks and first see the empty tomb with his own eyes before he believed what the women had said. There’s another thing that requires closer scrutiny. In Luke’s account, Jesus appeared to the apostles (there is no singling-out of Thomas) and while it is true that these others didn’t actually use the words, “Until I can put my hand into his side… etc.”, their actions betray their thoughts. They were scared rigid because they thought they were seeing a ghost. Even after Jesus spoke to them and wished them peace, and even after he showed them his hands and his feet telling them to touch him, and even after he swallowed a gobful of Kob, these unwilling witnesses remained immobilised and dumbfounded! I want to laugh every time I read that passage because Luke tries so hard to get us to believe that it was, in fact, overwhelming joy which was masquerading as catatonia. At least Thomas fell to his knees and worshipped when he saw Jesus. This lot just stood there and gawked. Jesus said to Thomas, “You believe because you see me,” followed by, “Happy are those who have not seen and yet believe.” It could well be that Jesus is talking not only to Thomas but to all of them gathered there, and to all of us gathered here today at Mass, too. These are strong words, however, because of what is not said. These words of Jesus make me ask myself, “As a Catholic, am I one of those who (as Jesus says) has not seen and yet believes, or am I one of those who (like those who stood and gawked at Jesus) has seen and still refuses to believe?” Do I stand dumbfounded before the Blessed Sacrament, resurrection after resurrection, insisting that Jesus first eat fish before I believe? In any event, Thomas’s ‘My Lord and my God’ says it all. In my book of reckoning, Thomas is one of the heroes of the resurrection. If you ask me, there’s no doubting Thomas.
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10. CATHOLICISM
(I read something by a US politician. I wanted to say more.)
Catholicism – nothing else – is the bedrock of the informed conscience and fully human behaviour. On this substrate alone should mankind construct the faceted edifice it calls “modern life”. Catholicism is the only yardstick with which civilisation may measure itself truly, whether it cares to or not. There is no discussion because nothing is equivalent to Catholicism. Everything else is inadequate.
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09. IGNATIUS
There are many occasions in Scripture when it is easy to place oneself in the shoes of the characters in the stories or the miracles. Like Peter, I often think that I probably would have denied Jesus for the sake of immediate expedience, and I ask myself, ‘Isn’t this what I do every time I commit a venial sin?’ On the other hand, however, I like to think that perhaps I wouldn’t have betrayed Jesus with Judas’s singular malice of forethought but, then again, isn’t this what I do every time I commit a mortal sin? I like this kind of thinking. It makes the characters in Scripture come alive a little more, and it makes it even easier for me to be in the room with them, so to speak. One of my favourite places to be in Scripture is in the story of the woman with the flow of blood. I would like to have her faith. Simply put, she wanted only to touch the hem of Jesus’ prayer shawl; no fuss, no attention, just faith. Truth be told – I digress here a little – when I die, I would really like to meet this woman and say to her ‘thank you’. She epitomises for me what true faith is all about. In another place in Scripture I am in a crowd. I am a secret ally of Jesus and I have been following him for months now, listening carefully and watching him closely, and I have been doing this without anyone recognising me. He intrigues me, I get the feeling he knows which side his bread is buttered, but I daren’t let on to anyone that I am probably one of his biggest fans, well, not just yet anyway. I am at the point in this particular incident when the idiots want to stone a woman. Everyone knows that this whole ‘caught in the act’ thing is a trumped-up charge, a set-up, and they’re only doing it to try to catch Jesus out. The Pharisees have it in for him. They’re hell-bent on it, actually. His apostles look so worried. They haven’t been paying attention and I bet they’re thinking that things could go horribly wrong here. Personally, I think this is going to be quite interesting because, as I see it, there is a flaw in the Pharisees’ plan – and I bet they don’t know it. The problem is that they have flung the poor woman right in front of Jesus. They wouldn’t be able to stone her without also hitting him! Like I said, they’re idiots. Here’s something else you may not know. I discovered this only a short while ago. I can tell when Jesus is about to make a point because he gets everything quiet. You’ll see in a moment. The idiot Pharisees, surprisingly, have asked a very good question. Truth be told, I couldn’t answer it. I tried to answer it in my head though, but the closest I could get to an answer was something quite weak: “So? Where’s the man who was with her? Why haven’t you caught him too?” I tell you what, I will faint if that’s the answer Jesus comes up with! Jesus doesn’t answer the question at first. He is sitting on the ground, his back is against a rock, his head is down, and his arms are resting on his knees. He has a stick which he’s holding in both hands and he’s idly doodling in the dust. All eyes are on him and I think he knows it. I smile because I know this is how he’s getting everyone’s attention! He always does that – he gets their undivided attention. Anyway, after a good while, he raises his head slowly and, squinting against the sun, looks around at everybody and says quite innocently, “He who is without sin, let him throw the first stone…” and with that he looks down at his doodling again. Jesus has spoken. The word of the Lord! Now he’s got their attention! For a moment the whole world goes completely silent and you can actually hear the tip of his stick doodling in the dusty ground. The silence is slowly replaced by murmurs of agreement among the apostles, and much nodding of heads. The idiot Pharisees don’t know what to do. They just look at one another, and then look back at Jesus, who is still doodling in the sand. I swear, I saw Jesus chuckle! I wanted to clap and cheer! I so very nearly shouted out, “Yes! Yes! Stick that in your pipe and smoke it, you silly Pharisees! I’m a fan of the Son of Man!” but I didn’t. Maybe later I will. One at a time, each accuser drops his stone and walks away, in angry silence. Vengeance is hanging in the air like raw meat. For me, though, the real treat was the look of relief on the young woman’s face when she saw all the stones fall harmlessly to the ground. It was priceless. She cried, you know. She stood there and cried. Jesus stopped doodling exactly when the last stone hit the ground, and then he got up. Think about that for a moment. How did he know it was the last stone? His head was down. I have no idea. You just had to be there! The beautiful thing about “being there”, of course, is that you can allow yourself the luxury of sub-text. You get to see the things that may have happened that weren’t recorded. Better still, you get to record those things in your own mind because you can put yourself there. Matthew, Mark, Luke and John wouldn’t have seen those things that you can allow yourself to see. Like, for example – I haven’t told you this yet – but Jesus smiled. It’s magnificent, actually, and it’s not in Scripture. Right after Jesus finished talking to the woman, only for a moment, everything stopped like a freeze-frame photograph. Everyone and everything stood solid and still. Only Jesus and I could move. Then he looked straight at me, and smiled. ‘Come!’ he said.
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08. A MOMENT BEFORE HEAVEN
I slowly closed my eyes and, in my imagination, I died. I allowed myself to imagine what it must be like to be dead. I didn’t float upwards and look down on the mourners. I didn’t move towards a light and there wasn’t a warm, fuzzy feeling nor a rapture. I wasn’t dying, I was already dead. In an instant, and without fanfare, I was standing alone in front of a large crowd. Thousands of people were facing me, looking at me, each one silent and standing still. It was unnerving because, as a rule, large crowds do not stand still nor remain silent. But it was not uncanny and I did not feel afraid. In fact, I felt quite secure, as if I was supposed to be there, and this event (whatever it was) seemed to be exactly what it was supposed to be, although I had no idea what it was. All I knew for sure was that I was not in heaven. At this point, I need to describe to you an awareness of the absence of certain senses. There was no warmth or cold. There was no wind. I couldn’t tell if I was inside or outside. There wasn’t any light but it wasn’t dark. The hardest thing to describe, though, is the absence of time. It was not so much that a day was like a thousand years, or vice versa, but more like the idea that time was completely irrelevant. Let me try to explain it. You know how we say, ‘time flies’ or ‘time stood still’, or ‘time waits for no man’, or ‘time marches on’? Well, this was nothing like that. Time simply did not apply, it had no context. Had I uttered those phrases it would have sounded like I was speaking gibberish. It wasn’t that time didn’t exist, though. It did, but it was as if we existed in the river that meanders in between individual seconds. If I could open a window, I could show you time. Sigh. Maybe I shouldn’t try to explain it! Out of nowhere an ordinary voice of a man spoke – a gentle, reassuring voice – like he was standing right next to me, and he spoke loud enough for only me to hear him. I liked his voice and I was drawn to him. “Do you know who these people are?” he asked. “I recognise only a few of them,” I said, pointing across to those I knew. “I am not sure who all these others are over there.” I replied. “That is fine. Look a little longer.” I looked and I could see my immediate family members, I could see my cousins, aunts, uncles, and I could see my friends, and also some acquaintances. What was strange, though, was that I could see people who I knew were alive at the time I had died. The crowd was a mixture of the living and the dead. Those I recognised, anyway. I must admit, I did find that a bit odd. Most of the crowd, however, I didn’t recognise. I also noticed that there didn’t appear to be anyone in the crowd who I would call famous or notorious. Most of the people seemed perfectly ordinary. “Um, am I supposed to recognise everyone?” “No, you are not. Each of these people knows you, though.” “Everyone here knows me?” I looked a little closer. “Yes. Some know you better than others.” “Am I going to meet them?” “Do you want to?” “Um, yes, I suppose so.” “You do know you are not really dead?” “Yes. I am not really dead.” “…and you do know you are not in heaven.” “Yes, I guessed that from the lack of angels and music,” I said, trying not to be flippant. “Indeed! So where do you think you are and why do you think all these people are here?” “I suppose this is a moment before heaven…” “Hmmm. Interesting.” “…but I have no idea why all these people have come here to meet me.” At the same time as it dawned on me that these people had actually not come here to meet me, so the voice left me and for the first time I felt very alone and insecure in front of the large crowd. It is hard to describe the gravity and tenor of what happened next. For the first time since allowing myself to die, I began to feel guilty, as if I had been caught red-handed not once but thousands of times all at once. The weight of this impartial and honest culpability was almost too much to bear. One by one, clear as crystal, face-to-face, and, inexplicably, all at once with a singular force I could barely endure, they told me who they were and how they knew me, that is, what I had done to them. These were people I had hurt in some way throughout my life, and most I had hurt more than once. The moment their greeting met my ears I recalled the pain I had caused that person. I was re-living in vivid detail the unforgiven sins of my life, each and every one, in the real-life presence of those I had hurt. The only difference was that now I didn’t want to hurt them. Futile though it was, I tried with all my might to not hurt them again and, as each scene played itself painfully in my soul, I begged loudly for their forgiveness, each one individually and all at once. Oh, what anguish I have caused the very nature of love itself! How my soul aches with shame and remorse! As quickly as the blameworthiness had come so did it wane, and I lay crumpled on the floor, sobbing and exhausted. I became aware of a change, as if a new day had dawned. There was an indescribable almost tangible sensation of satisfaction and contentedness. Order is restored and everyone’s debts are paid. There was no ugliness or pain or sin. Justice and mercy are effected. It was the living accomplishment of distilled love, and the thought came to me that this is precisely what Jesus must have meant when He said, ‘It is finished!’ Each person in the crowd now came up to me again, individually and all together, and gently picked me up so that I could feel this love in their hearts. The free outpouring of their humility was completely rehabilitating. I felt profoundly and uniquely forgiven. At that very moment, I knew there was something I had to do. Suddenly, with people all around me, I was standing in a crowd of thousands, silent and still, facing you.
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07. A TRINITARIAN FATIMA PRAYER
(This is a personal adaptation of the famous Fatima prayer. It could be prayed, for example, when one enters a Chapel of Adoration, i.e., prayed on one's knees, with one's forehead on the floor.) Father, creator of Heaven and Earth Maker of all that is, seen and unseen Have mercy on us. We believe in You We adore You We hope in You And we love You Have mercy on those Who do not believe in You Who do not adore You Who do not hope in You And who do not love You Lord Jesus Christ Son of the living God Have mercy on us. We believe in You We adore You We hope in You And we love You Have mercy on those Who do not believe in You Who do not adore You Who do not hope in You And who do not love You Most Holy Spirit Lord, giver of life Have mercy on us. We believe in You We adore You We hope in You And we love You Have mercy on those Who do not believe in You Who do not adore You Who do not hope in You And who do not love You
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06. I WOULDN'T HAVE MERCY ON ME
O God, if I was You, I wouldn't have mercy on me. I have torn at Your beard and spat in Your face. I have neglected You and rejected You. And betrayed You. What more evidence do You need? At least Peter wept bitterly when the cock crowed. I seem only to have mocked You and laughed in disgust. At least Judas threw down the coins in the courtyard. I seem only to have banked my thirty pieces of silver. Lord, I am the very soldier: "Here, let me do it! Let me be the one. Give me the hammer. Let me bang in the nails!" O God, if I was You, I wouldn't have mercy on me. And yet, You do. There is no reason in the world for You to have mercy on me, Save that You love me with mercy that will save me. Let me now pray, O merciful love, "Save me and have mercy, for I am not You."
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05. REGRET
(You know how sometimes when a priest tries to introduce change -- for the better -- and some parishioners still get their noses put out of joint? Well, this got me thinking...) I am sometimes asked, 'Of all the things in creation, is there anything You regret creating?' Some people might think that I regret creating sin or the devil. As unfortunate as these things are, they are not what I regret. I regret most creating noise. There would be many more people in the world today in-tune with Me if I had created mankind deaf. Noise is impenetrable. Mankind surrounds itself with such a storm -- no wonder you struggle to find Me -- and you completely forget that I Am found only in the gentle breeze. Now, it has come to My attention that some of you are squabbling like geese over Fr Tony's request to have peace and quiet before Mass. Hmmm. I would like to ask you two questions. First, whose house is it? When you are in your house, you may do as you please. When you are in My house, however, do as I please. Second, in your defiance and objection, are you sure that you speak for Me? Do you walk so closely with Me, and hear Me so clearly, that you can shout down the voice of My anointed son, your shepherd? Beware! The Pharisees did as much and some are still paying for their hardness of heart. Be still. Know that I Am. God.
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04. THIS TERRIBLE DAY
(I was profoundly affected by the Tsunami and the carnage and devastation it caused. Oddly, I was particularly taken with the thought, 'Who was the very first person to have drowned in the Tsunami...?) I am the first to have drowned, this terrible day. You don't know me Nobody does I lost everything this terrible day, including my life And yet, there is only one thing I need The sea knew no limits this terrible day It invaded the land And kept coming and coming Wave after wave, overwhelming Laying waste and wrenching and wrecking I lost everything this terrible day, including my life And yet, there is only one thing I need I saw my mother drown, I saw my father drown They were old and infirm, and the sea didn't care I saw my two young children drown, together They were young and feeble, and the sea didn't care I looked into my wife's eyes as life left them She was pregnant and weak, and the sea didn't care There was nothing I could do. Nothing. Why do you not believe me? I lost my whole family this terrible day Brothers, sisters, cousins, aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews, grandparents Everyone. I lost all my friends and neighbours and enemies this terrible day. Everyone. All who knew me are gone. Everyone. I am no longer remembered with longing And my name cannot be brought lovingly to anyone's mind There is no `in memory of me' And now I am an all-alone anonymous soul yearning for Heaven So, please, please pray for me Release by bond Acquit me from my Purgatory You are my last hope And your prayers are the keys to my kingdom come I am the first to have drowned, this terrible day. You don't know me Nobody does And there is only one thing I need.
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03. HALF WAY
(I wrote this one Christmas. I was about 40.) I am, I suspect, about half way through my life already And I have not done anywhere near Half of what I should have done And what little I have done, I have done less than half well. Look at my so-called half-life. See: - more hurting than healing; - more hankering than hoping; - more hell-bent than heaven-sent. Apostasy not apostolate. I apologise. I want to begin again.
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02. CUT IT AWAY!
Cut it away and take it from me. I want it no more. I surrender it freely. I cast it aside. I return it to You in the blink of an eye. Lord, why did You give me such freedom of choice? Did You not know I would Choose to not choose You more often than not? Take it away, release me from this! I've saddened You enough with the poor choices I've made. I'm calling the shots now, Creator-of-me Place me in Purgatory - right at the back, From its reaches of dark, adjacent to Hell, I will still gaze upon Heaven And no longer Choose to not choose You above everything else. Forgive me, my Lord, my contemptible sin, I have forgotten, a moment, such freedom to choose You Is freedom to love You Freedom to love You is freedom to love others And freedom to love others is a heartbeat from Heaven And the glory of days.
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01. STEPS
(I have recently discovered that this 'idea' is quite common. Forgive me.) Not at all is this story meant to evoke in your mind, good reader, the thought that perhaps something miraculous may have happened. No such thing happened. I am not describing a miracle. Nor am I describing a vision. I did not see anything or anyone, nor did I hear anything-words or otherwise. Our Father God in Heaven did not speak to me, nor did His Incarnation, nor did His Most Gracious Mother. Nor was it an angelic apparition, nor a portent, nor a dream. I stress this only because it would be a serious error on the part of the reader to consider even for a moment that this was anything other than personal. I truly believe that it was my lucid imagination set free for a while, during a relaxed time of prayer, in the presence of the Holy Spirit. It was nothing more than this. I have told this story to about ten people only two of whom have suggested that I should write it down because, they say, there may be some merit in it for those who wish to grow closer to the Lord. Please, good reader, if you do not grow closer to the Lord after having read this little story, please forgive the intrusion, and accept my apologies. If, however, the story helps you in your walk with the Lord then-praise God-take the story as yours, I give it to you freely, and use it as the Lord directs you. ___________ I cannot tell you with any great accuracy when I imagined this. I do remember, however, that it must have been around the Christmas season (2000). I remember this because the story has little to do with Christmas and more to do with Easter. I think it was a Saturday morning. I was seated in the front bench of the Chapel of Adoration during one of my pitifully infrequent visits to Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament. We were alone in the Chapel, and I remember that I had been trying to pray. I do not pray well, even at the best of times, for I am distracted by many things; most notably my own imagination and thoughts, including the re-living over and over again in my mind, in intense detail, every aspect of some recent event of my life-especially an event where, for example, I have lost an argument, or have suffered the ignominy of a personal defeat or embarrassment. It really is a most dreadful state of affairs and is most disquieting to a soul that is earnestly trying to pray! On this occasion, however, I remember that I seemed to have been experiencing moderate success in focusing on my prayer without succumbing to the usual distractions, perhaps this was because I was reasonably well-rested and my whole attention and imagination were closely harnessed to the prayer-thought at hand, so to speak. I remember that I was trying to tell Jesus that I was tired-not physically tired, the other kind of tired-I was trying to tell Him that I was tired of being depressed. I was telling Him that, for reasons I couldn't explain, I always felt down-and-out and fed-up. I was either angry for no reason or nonchalant at everything, all the time. I am sure that had I had the temerity, I would have told my Saviour that I was feeling so low that, frankly, I didn't give a damn any more. The more I thought about my condition, the more I told Him that I seemed to be always miserable and that it was affecting my work, my home life, my marriage, and my relationship with my children. I was either yelling at everyone or I was parked-off on the sofa, for hours-on-end in front of the TV, unable to move. I told Him that this was affecting me so deeply and so profoundly that it was beginning to influence the very ordinary decisions of daily life. Not only that, but nothing seemed to make me happy any more. I was miserable and I wanted Him to solve my problems for me. I remember that I became so overwhelmed by feelings of self-pity that tears welled up in my eyes and I began to cry. Up to this point, when I look back on that moment, I have no qualms about severely reprimanding and upbraiding myself for such a contemptuous and loathsome display of self-centred wretchedness. It is without doubt the worst of sins; deplorable and detestable behaviour before the Lord. It is only through the grace of God that these thoughts of mine changed from self-pity to self-awareness or, rather, to an awareness of just how far I was from God. I was somehow aware of the need for contrition and my prayer changed from self-indulgence to self-accusation and sorrow. I, of all people so privileged, should have no gripes with anyone, let alone the Source of all my privilege! "I am so sorry," I sobbed. "Please help me! I am weighed down by all my offences against You; the One against Whom no offence should ever be committed. I am oppressed by own sinfulness. I am immobilised by dejection. I cannot seem to do anything for fear of offending You. I do not know what to do next. I cannot move. Please forgive me. Please help me." At this point in my contrition, my imagination began to wander a little. I imagined that the path to Heaven was a long stairway consisting of thousands and thousands of stone steps leading up to a bright light in the distance, far away at the top. Along this stairway was a handrail that ran all the way from the very top (where Heaven was) down to the very bottom (where I was). I saw myself there clearly, slumped against the handrail on the first step like someone worn out from climbing steps all day! It was not a pitiful sight nor was I being judgmental. It was, simply, where I was: on the bottom step, unable to move, unable to haul myself onto the next step, even by pulling myself up along the handrail. I remember that I looked up at the stairway and saw all the steps, countless thousands of them, between me and Heaven. The more I peered into the distance to see what Heaven was like, the more steps there seemed to be, and the further Heaven seemed to recede. There were too many steps to count; and certainly too many to walk up. It was exhausting just looking! If this was how I felt after taking only one step on the way to Heaven, I thought to myself, then there was no way in the world that I was going to make it even half way up all these the steps. Then I became aware of movement in the light at the top of the steps and a voice called to me from far away. It was Jesus calling from Heaven. "Come!" He said. "You can do it! Take the next step. Come!" I am sure that even the most holy of souls would have instantly fallen to the ground and prostrated themselves in the presence of the Lord, and begged for forgiveness. I, however, didn't. I was aware that homage wasn't being required. It was as if I knew that the Lord was talking to me and that He simply expected me to answer Him. So, I did. Now, some readers might say that the dialogue below is a rather brazen way to speak to one's Master and Creator, for even mere mortals reproach and reprimand one another for less impertinence than this; but in my imagination I felt that I was not being impudent. I was, for the first time in a long time, being honest and I felt that that was all that was being asked of me. "No I can't just `Come'," I said. "I cannot move. All I want to do is rest here on the rail. I can't move my feet. They are too heavy." Then I said something that changed the whole aspect of the conversation. ".and anyway," I continued, "it's all very well for You to stand up there and shout, `Come!' from the dizzy heights of Heaven when You've already run the race and won. You're no good to me up there. You're not helping me down here." "Come!" Jesus said again. "I can't," I replied, "I just can't." In an instant, Jesus was standing right next to me on the first step. There we were: the King and I. I looked at Him and He looked at me. I imagined that this is what He must have looked like after He had risen from the dead, perhaps how He appeared to the apostles in the upper room after the Resurrection. "You can do it!" He said, smiling. "Take the next step." "No I can't," I replied again, "You must help me-and You're certainly not helping me by standing there cheering me on. I am a wreck. Look at me!.and look at You.You're all dressed in a flowing white robe, all showered-up and clean-shaven. It's all over for You, You've made it to the top, but it's just beginning for me." I looked up at the steps and contemplated again the absolute enormity of the task ahead me, and when I looked back at Jesus to tell Him that I simply couldn't do it, He had become the Jesus who was being crucified. I reeled back in horror, `so disfigured did He look.' It was worse than any picture ever painted of Him being crucified. There was so much blood; the crown of thorns dug into His head; His face was beaten and swollen; His robe wet with blood; His arms outstretched, tied to an enormous cross-beam. Here was Jesus, my Saviour, my friend, suffering to death right in front of me. I wanted so much to help Him, to take away His pain, to be able to help Him carry the cross, or wipe His face, but I could not move. I have never been more angry and frustrated with myself my whole life. I felt trapped inside the person that I had allowed myself to become. "Why can't I help You?" I screamed in frustration, tears welling up in my eyes. Jesus said nothing. He turned slowly towards the steps. With one mighty, pain-filled heave He moved up onto the next step. "Come," He said, "we have a way to go." "Why are You doing this?" I yelled, "and why me?" Without any hesitation came the soft reply that freed me. "Because you are worth it."
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