Why Robin Williams?

Why can’t I let go of the death of Robin Williams? At 61 years old, I lived through President Kennedy’s assassination, a common emotion filled memory I share with most of my generation; but maybe my memory and fixation on Princess Diane’s death is more akin to my experience of the death of the comedian of my age.  Unlike the death of the president and the princess, my current death obsession is lived out in on line newspapers and video clips rather than television.  That has to be a good thing. But still, why Robin Williams?

One thought, definitely not the final word, is that his tragic death brings other suicides I’ve lived through into better focus.  My first was a man who was in his early forties, a few years younger than me; he was my boss, a real supporter, and a commanding executive presence.  My last was the gift of yet another father figure for me, a good man who took me in just like my father did…and just like the other men I’m privileged to say have done the same.  Maybe it’s that the death of Mork dramatically confirms for me something that life and a series of good teachers has taught me: we, especially men, are far more fragile than we think, and we cannot afford to not accept the help that is available to us as we live out life’s blessing, and suffer through it’s inevitable curse.  

Maybe Robin William’s death, at one level, supports a current thought that I recently expressed in my Clinical Pastoral Education (CPE) class: literally, God uses life’s everything, the blessing and the curse, to transform us into His image, and to make us whole (thank you Fr. Richard Rohr).  From my CPE final evaluation:

In evaluating my learning in my last unit of CPE, my supervisor indicated an interest in a Theological Reflection entitled, “It is Well With My Soul,” integrating (Candace) Pert, Jung, and Rohr.  I did that, adding the bible story of Jonah in the belly of the whale.  For me, the most important thing about this particular work and study is that it reinforces an important truth for me: in Horatio Spafford’s song, “It is Well With My Soul;” in Matthew and Luke’s Gospels, the sign of the prophet Jonah; and in the work of Pert, Jung, and Rohr; everything coheres or belongs (as Fr. Rohr likes to say).  In transformation, God uses everything to make us whole: tragic suffering (Spafford), complete loss of control (Jonah), our shadow (Jung and Rohr), and the wondrously made emotions and feelings in our body (Pert).  It’s almost as if every story is the same story in God’s economy, a story of how God uses everything to make us whole if we will allow it.  

 

Of course that must be true if there is only one unifying, redeeming truth, one creator God.  So, it is no surprise that my theology for pastoral care and behavior science applies to and reflects the pastoral care I provide for my patients; I’m just trying to help them see, hear, or feel their story which so closely parallels mine – literally, as Pert would say, at a distributed, molecular level.  Perhaps the pastoral care I provide my patients is more about how I am wired than anything else; and my wiring schematic is finally not much different than my patient’s.

 

We all have access to people and treatment that can help; and, again, we men need it the most, and are at the same time less likely than our better halves to go find it.  Mom’s, dads, brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, cousins, friends, coaches, teachers, therapists, doctors, pastors (maybe especially of the feminine ilk); therapy, medication, sharing, intimacy, relationship, trust, liturgical celebration, music, poetry, literature, a good newspaper (my literature), a shared meal, coffee/tea/or me…help is out there.

 

Robin Williams had it, lost it, found it, and lost it all again, just like we all do; in people and treatment God will, only if we allow, use it all to make us, and re-make us, in His image…as many times as it takes.  If only Robin would have stayed with it, as he did so many times, for just one more take. Even still, I trust God is never finished with us; it’s not a wrap until He says it is.

 

 

 

 

“It is Well With My Soul”

I am an Chaplain Intern in Clinical Pastoral Education and this theological reflection was assigned by my supervisor.  The assignment was to integrate Fr. Richard Rohr, Carl Jung, Dr. Candace Pert with the song “It is Well With My Soul” by Horatio Spafford.

“It is Well With My Soul”

In 1871 the Great Chicago Fire nearly destroyed Chicago; it surely destroyed much of the wealth of Horatio Spafford, a prominent American lawyer and supporter of Dwight L. Moody, American evangelist and publisher.  After helping Chicago rebuild, literally from the ashes, and losing his only son two years prior, Spafford planned to sail to Europe with his wife and four daughters.  Delayed in Chicago on business, Spafford sent his family across the Atlantic on a ship, the Ville du Havre, promising to join them later.  The ship collided with another ship off the coast of Newfoundland and sank in 20 minutes.  Spafford’s wife was saved, but his four daughters died.

Spafford sailed to England after receiving a telegraph from his wife that began with the words “Saved alone.”  Reportedly, at some point in the journey, the ship’s captain called Spafford to the bridge: “A careful reckoning has been made, and I believe we are now passing the place where the Ville du Havre was wrecked.  The water is three miles deep.”  On this night, alone in his cabin, Spafford reportedly wrote the words of his now famous hymn “It Is Well With My Soul.”

When peace, like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say,
It is well, it is well with my soul.

Refrain:
It is well with my soul,
It is well, it is well with my soul.

How could a person who had suffered, was in fact suffering such a loss, even utter the words “it is well with my soul,” much less write a hymn about it?

Franciscan Fr. Richard Rohr, an internationally known evangelist and teacher, says “the place of the wound is the place of the healing,” and:

“All healthy religion shows you what to do with your pain. Great religion shows you what to do with the absurd, the tragic, the nonsensical, the unjust. If only we could see these “wounds” as the way through, as Jesus did, then they would become “sacred wounds” and not something to deny, disguise, or export to others.”

Richard Rohr is, of course, channeling Carl Jung “writ large,” one of Fr. Charlie’s (my CPE, Clinical Pastoral Education, supervisor) favorite phrases; but we can recognize Jung’s shadow work in words like “denial, disguise, or export.”  In our last unit of CPE, Chaplain Alan admitted that even though it was one of his learning goals, he still struggled with understanding “shadow.” Can you give me an “Amen?” But here’s some good news.

Channeling Dr. Candace Pert, Fr. Charlie tells us we are “wired for bliss.”  Candace Pert dashes the popular notion of “the power of the mind over the body,” noting that her research shows that the mind doesn’t dominate the body, it becomes the body – body and mind are one.”  We aren’t wired like the original central processing mainframe computers of old, where all the intelligence was centrally located and transmitted out to “dumb terminals;” we are wired like the new distributed computer networks, where intelligence is distributed and resides in the PC I used to “process” this theological reflection, and in the networks, yes the “clouds,” I am connected to.  Given that, my body (wondrously integrated with my mind at a molecular level) is a delicately balanced network where everything, perhaps especially emotions, is used; as Candace Pert describes it,

“…all emotions are healthy, because emotions are what unite the mind and body.  Anger, fear, and sadness, the so-called negative emotions, are as healthy as peace courage and joy.  To repress these emotions and not let them flow freely is to set up a dis-integrity in the system, causing it to act at cross-purposes rather as a unified whole.”

As Richard Rohr likes to say, “Everything Belongs,” the title of one of his bestselling books.

“The genius of Jesus’ ministry is that he reveals that God uses tragedy, suffering, pain, betrayal, and death itself, not to wound you, but in fact to bring you to God. So there are no dead ends. Everything can be transmuted and everything can be used.”

Of course, we would rather have a great sign than suffer, a great leader who will restore the kingdom, rather than a crucified one.  Last week in supervision, Fr. Charlie reminded me of Jonah and Job, “There’s only one sign I’m going to give you: the sign of the prophet Jonah” (Luke 11:29, Matthew 12:39, 16:4).”  Richard Rohr adds, “Sooner or later, life is going to lead you (as it did Jesus) into the belly of the beast, into a place where you can’t fix it, you can’t control it, and you can’t explain it or understand it. That’s where transformation most easily happens. That’s when you’re uniquely in the hands of God.”

Literally and figuratively, that’s exactly what happened to the prominent American lawyer Horatio Spafford, as he was swallowed up by the belly of the beast off the coast of Newfoundland, and spit up on the shores of England.

So how do we transform short of pulling a Jonah, Job, or Horatio?

Shadow work, or as Richard Rohr calls it, “shadowboxing,” is humiliating work; but as Carl Jung put it, “Where you stumble and fall, there you will find pure gold.”  Richard Rohr continues:

“Suffering is the only thing strong enough to destabilize the imperial ego. It has to be led to the edge of its own resources, so it learns to call upon the Deeper Resource of who it truly is, which is the God Self, the True Self, the Christ Self, the Buddha Self—use the words you want. It is who we are in God and who God is in us. At this place you are indestructible!”

Richard Rohr uses a large and small circle to depict the “True Self” and “False Self.”  The small circle I use is Little Richard, my ego, persona, or “idealized self” – the Richard I want you to see.  I protect Little Richard by dispatching the negative aspects of my personality onto my “shadow” self.  Of course this means a whole lot of Little Richard has gone deep into to my other-than-conscious-self, but at least, thanks to Candace Pert, I know it’s still accessible somewhere in my wondrously integrated body.  The large circle, my “True Self,” is who I am in God, en Christo.  Picture the two circles, Little Richard and Big Richard, side by side, not yet touching.  As I do my shadow work, my shadowboxing, more and more of my shadow comes into the light.  This will be a lifelong bout; shadowboxing never stops.  Fr. Richard and Fr. Charlie both teach that that when something “upsets” me, or I have a “strong emotional reaction out of proportion to the moment,” my shadow has been exposed – “when you notice them, the cock has just crowed (Mark 14:68)” says Richard Rohr.  Finally, too far into the second half of my life, the circle that is Little Richard is beginning to move into the circle that is Big Richard, my True or God Self – maybe for about 10 seconds a day.  So the journey is into my True or God Self one day at a time, a few more seconds each day.  Richard Rohr offers a “tell” for which “self” I’m operating out of: anytime I am offended (which is most of the time, every day), I am living out of my false, Little Richard, self, because Big Richard, my God Self, is “indestructible,” and cannot be offended.

In “shadowboxing” the closer you get to the Light the more of your shadow you will see.  According to Richard Rohr, one master teacher cleverly puts it, “Avoid spirituality at all costs; it is one humiliation after another,” and finally:

“The important thing is to learn from your shadow side. Some call this pattern the discovery of the “golden shadow” because it carries so much enlightenment for the soul. The general pattern in story and novel is that heroes learn and grow from encountering their shadow, whereas villains never do. Invariably, the movies and novels that are most memorable show real “character development” and growing through shadow work. This inspires us all because it calls us all.”

I always wondered why I get so emotional watching great movies, listening to wonderful songs, secular and spiritual alike.  Maybe it’s my “golden shadow,” that knows if the hero characters in my movies, songs, and novels can be transformed, so can I…perhaps, someday, like the final transformation Horatio Spafford describes, from the belly of the whale:

And Lord, haste the day when the faith shall be sight,
The clouds be rolled back as a scroll;
The trump shall resound, and the Lord shall descend,
Even so, it is well with my soul.

Refrain:
It is well with my soul,
It is well, it is well with my soul.

Wintley Phipps rendition of It is Well With My Soul.

http://www.godtube.com/watch/?v=FCM21CNU

The Calling of St. Matthew, by Caravaggio

Following is a theological reflection I presented in my Clinical Pastoral Education Class in the fall of 2013.

‘The Calling of St. Matthew, by Caravaggio

We have a new Pope.  That’s old news.  The media has done a great job spreading the news, covering reports of Pope Francis’ humility from moment one.  After the smoke clears, they report that he heads back to the apartment he had prior to entering the papal conclave, the secret meeting of the College of Cardinals to elect a new Pope.  He pays his own bill, carries his own bags, takes possession of the big and spacious papal apartments; but then he chooses to live elsewhere, where there are more people.  “I cannot live without people.”  The good news about Pope Francis just keeps coming, but last week, in yet another wide ranging interview, he goes deeper.

Who is Jorge Mario Bergoglio, our new Pope Francis?  “I am a sinner.  This is the most accurate definition.  It is not a figure of speech.”  He continues, referencing Caravaggio’s painting of the call of St. Matthew: “That finger of Jesus, pointing at Matthew. That’s me. I feel like him. Like Matthew.”  Then, according to the account, the pope whispers in Latin: “I am a sinner, but I trust in the infinite mercy and patience of our Lord Jesus Christ, and I accept in a spirit of penance.”

After my divorce, I remember all the trips from Springfield to my hometown in Wood River.  I even hit a train, barely, one morning, heading to the confirmation of one of my sons at the United Church of Christ.  But it was the trips back to Springfield, always the trips home, that I remembered the most.  I felt so guilty and helpless after visiting or attending an event for my three boys – and it always hit me hardest as I got in the car to head home.  Then, like clockwork, about 45 minutes into the trip, just south of Litchfield on I 55, I’d feel it.  I’d feel God’s presence begin to consume the guilt and replace it with a feeling of calm and trust that I was going to be okay.  It wasn’t so much an answer to prayer, although I probably was praying; it was a intervention in my sadness, sometimes my tears.

I’ve talked about this often.  I remember bringing it up in my first unit of Clinical Pastoral Education to try to prove that I did have, and could report, my feelings.  But it came back to me yesterday as I reflected on Pope Francis’ “I am a sinner” introduction.  Of course I can identify with his experience of his sinfulness.  But it is his statement that “…I trust in the infinite mercy and patience of our Lord Jesus Christ” that really hit me.  That’s what I experienced on those long trips home, “infinite mercy and patience.”  Nothing was fixed.  Jesus just came to me in my helplessness.  He didn’t ask me to do anything, he didn’t say anything profound.  He was just there.  In a way that none of my friends or family could, he affirmed that I was, in fact, going home.  It wasn’t about anything I had to do when I got there, or anything I needed to do with the guilt I felt about my failure in the home I had just left.  It was about comfort and peace right now, and a sense that I was okay.

Yesterday afternoon as I re-thought what I would offer in this Theological Reflection, I listened again to a song that has been making me cry since September 9^th.  It is Wintley Phipps rendition of “It is Well with My Soul.”  I thought of just playing the song and talking about its’ impact on me, and everywhere I see God in the words.  While that’s not what I decided to share, as I write this it strikes me that this is how I felt as I drove through Litchfield on those trips home: it is well with my soul, nothing more, nothing less, more than enough.

In Caravaggio’s painting that Pope Francis uses to introduce himself to the world, he sees himself in Matthew.  I see myself more in the man to his left, the man with spectacles, the man Matthew may be pointing at.  Like Matthew, he’s in the range of Jesus’ pointing finger and his face is in the light; but his hand is on the money, on the table, out of the light.  That looks more like me, a hand still on the table (not so much on the money), but in the light and turning toward Jesus.  Matthew, a sinner, heeded the call to follow Jesus, as has Pope Francis.  I’m still in the world, one hand on the table, but I’m also in the light, in Jesus’ gaze.  Could Matthew be pointing at me saying, “What about him, can he go too?”  I hope so; I think so.

Frankly, I’m more attracted to Matthew’s Gospel account of his calling than the painting, especially when he responds to the Pharisees who questioned why he was eating at Matthew’s house with “tax collectors and sinners.”

“Go and learn the meaning of the words, ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice.’^* I did not come to call the righteous but sinners.”  Matthew 9:13

I wish I could whisper the words of Pope Francis in Latin, but the translation works perfectly for me: “I am a sinner, but I trust in the infinite mercy and patience of our Lord Jesus Christ, and I accept in a spirit of penance.”  I felt it on all those trips home; I feel it in the song of Wintley Phipps.  It feels okay, safe, calm, chosen, affirmed, overwhelmed, contrite and forgiven; and I “accept.”

Please treat yourself and listen to Mr. Phipps proclamation of the good news: it is well with my soul.

Mary, Thomas Merton and Maternal Love

I wrote this (actually Thomas Merton did) a few months before my mother died.  

Yesterday was the Solemnity of the Assumption of the Mother of God into heaven. I’m not surprised that this feast is a difficult one for my non-Catholic sisters and brothers to understand; I am a little surprised that this may be a difficult concept for Catholic’s like me.  I’ve posted below an article I found by Thomas Merton, a Trappist Monk Catholic writer and mystic.  Here’s an exerpt.

They imagine, and sometimes we can understand their reasons for doing so, that Catholics treat the Blessed Virgin as an almost divine being in her own right, as if she had some glory, some power, some majesty of her own that placed her on a level with Christ Himself.  They regard the Assumption of Mary into heaven as a kind of apotheosis (elevation to divine status) placed in the Redemption would seem to be equal to that of her Son. But this is all completely contrary to the true mind of the Catholic Church.

So how does this misconception about the Blessed Virgin miss the true mind of the Catholic Church?

It forgets that Mary’s chief glory is in her nothingness, in the fact of being the “Handmaid of the Lord,” as one who in becoming the Mother of God acted simply in loving submission to His command, in the pure obedience of faith

In Evening Prayer, every time I pray the Gospel Canticle of Mary, or the Magnificat, I can’t help but feel the Virgin Mary’s soul soar as she responds to her cousin Elizabeth’s loud cry, Most blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb – Luke 1: 42.  As I pray the Magnificat, I can’t hide from Mary’s humility before God, her praise not of what she has been chosen to do, but what God has done for her.  From Luke 1: 46-49:

My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord;

my spirit rejoices in God my savior.

For he has looked upon his handmaid’s lowliness;

behold, from now on will all ages call me blessed.

The Mighty One has done great things for me,

and holy is his name.

 As Merton puts it, The glory of Mary is purely and simply the glory of God in her. and she, like anyone else, can say that she has nothing that she has not received from Him through Christ.

I grew up in a time that most of the Catholics I knew did, as Merton suggests, treat Mary more as Blessed Virgin, almost divine being in her own right.  And I’m proud to say I still know many who may, well, lean in that direction.  The best example may be my Mom.  And you know what?  If I can grow old with half the faith and grace she has, not just while she continually prays the rosary for all of us, but all the time; I’ll die a happy man.  Some of that’s my love of many of our older Catholic traditions and ways, more of it is because I see it working in Mom and the many like her who seem to have so much more faith than I, women and men.  But here’s one more thing from Merton about Mary…and mothers, wives, sisters, aunts, nieces and men who aren’t afraid of their feminine side.

In all the great mystery of Mary, then, one thing remains most clear: that of herself she is nothing, and that God has for our sakes delighted to manifest His glory and His love in her.

It is because she is, of all the saints, the most perfectly poor and the most perfectly hidden, the one who has absolutely nothing whatever that she attempts to possess as her own, that she can most fully communicate to the rest of us the grace of the infinitely selfless God.

…all our sanctity depends on her maternal love. The ones she desires to share the joy of her own poverty and simplicity, the ones whom she wills to be hidden as she is hidden, are the ones who share her closeness to God.

Understanding Catholic Devotion to Mary — Thomas Merton

http://www.catholic.org/clife/prayers/merton.php

The Church’s Treasure

The true state of affairs is this.  Valerian has issued an edict to the Senate to the effect that bishops, presbyters and deacons shall suffer the death penalty without delay  — from a letter by Saint Cyprian, bishop and martyr.

Saint Sixtus II, bishop of the Church of Rome, was arrested while celebrating the sacred liturgy in the year 257 by order of the Emperor Valerian.  That day, August 6, he was put to death with four deacons.  Four days later, another deacon, Saint Lawrence, became a martyr of the same persecution.  St. Lawrence’s Feast day is today, a special day for me as my middle name is Lawrence.

Valerian wasn’t just after bishops, presbyters and deacons.  He went after Christian Senators, distinguished men and members of the equestrian class, Ladies of the upper class, even members of the imperial staff.

Again, from Saint Cyprian: Let all our people fix their minds not on death but rather on immortality; let them commit themselves to the Lord in complete faith and unflinching courage and make their confession with joy rather than in fear, knowing that in this contest the soldiers of God and Christ are not slain but rather win their crowns.  Farewell in the Lord, dearest brother.

More from St. Augustine, bishop, on Saint Lawrence: For on this day he trod the furious pagan world underfoot and flung aside its allurements, and so gained victory over Satan’s attack on his faith.

And so St. Cyprian and Augustine herald Christianity’s tradition of persecution and martyrdom, St Cyprian focusing of the stark reality of Christian life in 257; St. Augustine also reminding us of what St. Peter said, Christ suffered for us, leaving us an example, that we should follow in his steps. 

St. Augustine takes it further:

…in the Lord’s garden are to be found not only the roses of his martyrs.  In it there are also the lilies of the virgins, the ivy of wedded couples, and the violets of widows.  On no account may any class of people despair, thinking that God has not called them.  Christ suffered for all.  What the Scriptures say of him is true: He desires all men to be saved and to come to knowledge of the truth.

Of course there is still persecution and martyrdom in Christianity today.  The witness of these Christians, those persecuted, those martyred, speaks to us today as loudly as it did in 257.  We Christian’s are blessed by such a heritage.

I heard at Eucharist this morning that St. Lawrence was one of seven deacons in charge of the “purse,” from which they took care of the poor and needy.  It is said that after the death of Pope St. Sixtus II, Lawrence gave the poor and needy the rest of the money on hand, and even sold expensive vessels in order to give more away.  When ordered by the Prefect of Rome, a greedy pagan, to deliver the church’s treasure, he gathered together the city’s poor, needy and sick and presented them to the Prefect: This is the Church’s treasure!  For this, Lawrence suffered a slow, agonizing death.

There’s a great movement in America decrying the persecution of the Church in America.  I just don’t get it.  I think President Obama is wrong is telling our Bishops that much of our most important work no longer qualifies for exemption as a religious institution, requiring our educational and healthcare organizations to provide in their insurance plans abortion-inducing drugs, contraceptives, and sterilization, which are contrary to Catholic teaching.  I just don’t like the way our Bishops are going about it, and I especially don’t like the ideologues they’ve joined forces with.

The blessed martyrs of 257 were put to death, without delay, because they refused to denounce their Christianity; in the same time, brother and sister Christians of every class faced the same death penalty.

I can think of any number of ways America is the greatest country in the world, and allowing me the religious liberty to openly and without restriction follow my faith, may be the best reason.  And if I don’t like a law or executive order the government decrees, I get to vote fairly often to throw the rascals out.  Anyway, I’m often reminded that my Kingdom is not supposed to be of this world.

So far my vote won’t be with the conservative ideologues, even though I support our Bishop’s right to fight for what they believe.

I’ll stand with my namesake, St. Lawrence, and the treasure of the Church he died for, it’s poor, needy and sick.  I’ll be voting for a government that continues to see supporting poor, the needy, the sick and the elderly as one of its’ primary responsibilities – regardless of the cost.

Isn’t that how Christians have always done it, especially the martyrs?  Regardless of the cost?

Read all about it…

Zion, the Royal City of God

In days to come,

The mountain of the LORD’s house

shall be established as the highest mountain

and raised above the hills.

All nations shall stream toward it.

Many peoples shall come and say:

“Come, let us go up to the LORD’s mountain,

to the house of the God of Jacob,

That he may instruct us in his ways,

and we may walk in his paths.”

For from Zion shall go forth instruction,

and the word of the LORD from Jerusalem.

He shall judge between the nations,

and set terms for many peoples.

They shall beat their swords into plowshares

and their spears into pruning hooks;

One nation shall not raise the sword against another,

nor shall they train for war again.

Isaiah 2: 1-4

Sunday’s are prayer, Eucharist, and the Sunday news shows, unfortunately for me, not in that order.  So on this Lord’s Day, I continue to be immersed in the tragedy of the senseless slaughter in Aurora, Colorado; and in the work of the first responders to not only save as many lives as possible, but to prevent further loss of life at the apartment of the man arrested for these atrocities.  For me, one of the more compelling moments came when the Aurora Police Chief Dan Oates first briefed the media, and the nation, on Friday afternoon.  Chief Oates became the brutally honest, emotional face of the many heroes responding to an truly impossible situation.  Saturday he was more controlled, but he again spoke bluntly: “If you think we’re mad, we’re sure as hell angry.”

Then I read two blogs from two friends.  I’ve pressed both below.  They have nothing to do with the murders in Aurora…or do they?

Back in the “Searin Sixties,” Deacon Henry was managing editor of the Southwest Louisiana Register, and his newspaper had joined forces with two Catholic Priests “promoting desegregation and racial justice,” so much so, that “segregationists dubbed us The Congo Chronicle.”  Sadly, he also offers this statement: “With this information as background, I hope that what I am about to say will be received with some objectivity – but I doubt that some people can be objective at all because of their racial bias and political loyalties.”  He then offers some thoughts on the Travon Martin tragedy in Sanford, Florida, a few minutes from our Church in Altamonte Springs; and some “advice” from St. Paul, including:  “Owe nothing to anyone, except to love one another; for the one who loves another has fulfilled the law.”   Stay with me now.

The second blog is from Fr. Richard Rohr.  On this same Sunday morning that I’m engulfed by the latest news and opinion on Aurora, Fr. Richard blogs about his study of Paul’s Letter to the Ephesians.  “Paul, or whoever wrote it, says that the exact meaning of the cross is that “Jesus destroyed in his own person the hostility” between groups (In fact, he repeats it twice in both 2:14 and 2:16) Jesus did not take sides with his Jewish religion against the pagans, but instead he did a most amazing thing, which we have yet to comprehend. The author says that he destroyed the hostility “THAT WAS CAUSED BY THE RULES AND DECREES OF THE LAW”. In other words, the very identification of his group (or any group) with its own customs and practices is what justifies their hostility toward another group, and maintains their own superiority system–which is always violent in maintaining itself.”

Isaiah, Deacon Henry, and Fr. Richard.  Isaiah prophesied all nations would “stream” to the “mountain of the Lord’s house;”  that He would provide “instruction,” and “set terms for many peoples.”  Deacon Henry worries that “people can be objective at all because of their racial bias and political loyalties,”  and reminds us of Paul’s warning, “Owe nothing to anyone, except to love one another.”  Father Richard says Paul wrote that Jesus “did not take sides with his Jewish religion against the pagans,” but that Jesus’ death on the cross destroyed all hostility between groups.

Again we have a violent murderous rampage involving at least one (my characterization) weapon of mass destruction.  Liberals and big city Police Chief’s and mayors will, like me, blame the guns.  Conservatives will blame the deranged murder.  As Deacon Henry fears, these groups will not be objective, they just default to their bias and loyalty.  As Fr. Richard says, these groups default to their “own customs and practices…what justifies their hostility toward another group and maintains their own superiority system.”

Isaiah says there will be only one default, and it can only be found on the “mountain of the Lord’s house.”  His instruction, His judgment, His terms.

There is only one group.  Read about it.

A Jolting Message

A Jolting Message.

Sanford, Florida

Sanford, Florida.

It’s just to loud…

I pray the Liturgy of the Hours as often as possible.  Office of Readings, Morning Prayer, sometimes Evening and Night Prayer.  Last week was one of my worst weeks ever.  One of the things that I allow to detract me from the most important thing, my prayer, is all things politic.  So you’d think I’d be ecstatic with my Catholic Church jumping, again, into the political fray.  It just can’t get any better than political and religious, can it?  But my prayer tells me something different.

Anyway, I missed my prayer last Monday, and for the rest of the week, but the Lord made up for it yesterday.  As I caught up on the biblical and non-biblical readings from the Office of Readings, I found inspiration in the biblical readings from Judges, especially in the way the Office enhances the readings with Responsories from the Hebrew and Christian Scriptures.  Last Wednesday’s biblical reading offers a story from the book of Judges, Gideon’s conquest of a far greater force with what’s left of his army — God’s remnant. God tells Gideon: “You have too many soldiers with you for me to deliver Midian into their power, lest Israel vaunt itself against me and say, ‘My own power brought me victory.’”  22,000 “fearful” soldiers leave, 10,000 are left, and by the time God is finished there will only be 300 soldiers.  After the reading, the Responsory is from First Corinthians: “To shame the strong God chose the weak. He chose those whom the world considers contemptible, those who were nothing at all, to humble those who were everything.”

Just before my prayer, I read the blog of the man I trust to keep me honest on prayer, Church, and politics.  Father Richard Rohr, in the post below, writes of our Bishop’s “campaign” called a “Fortnight for Freedom.”  Fr. Richard gives credible voice to the feelings I’ve recently had about our Bishops. He offers similar comments on our Catholic Sisters in “Vatican vs. the Nuns” (posted below on May 14).

I’ve said on this blog that I’m in no position to question what our Bishops believe, although I feel certain Father Richard has earned that right.  But I wonder. The Bishops surely believe they have God on their side. Why then, in their “Fortnight For Freedom,” and with the Sisters, such shows of power and force? Gideon’s conquest, linked by the prayer of the church with Paul’s exposition on the weak and humble, are, as Fr. Richard likes to call them, great themes of Scripture. Why is so much more required?

I’ve always thought that the Gospels, and the Hebrew scriptures that prophesy the coming of Jesus and the New Covenant, were written so God could reveal Himself, through His Son Jesus, especially to the simplest among us — by the power of the Spirit. In fact, I believe the simplest among us have a preferential option to really hear, and believe, the Good News.

As I pray the great themes of scripture, there is no question in my mind where Jesus would have stood in all this. He would have stood with the simpler, the poorer, the less powerful, the more humble, those who suffer, the little ones. So it’s an easy call for me to stand in solidarity with the Sisters in their response to the Bishops.  It’s easy to see where the power is in that equation.

The “Fortnight for Freedom” is more difficult.  I can’t stand with my President, although I’d like to; I can’t stand with the Bishops, and some of the company they attract, the ideologues who think there are only one or two pro-life issues rather than a “consistent life ethic.”

While I’m in no position to tell the Bishops what to believe, or do, I can tell them that I just can’t hear them – it’s just too loud.  Too big a campaign, to many soldiers, way too much noise.  And if it’s just too loud for me, I wonder whether those in the privileged position, the poorer, the less powerful, more humble, those who suffer, the little ones, can be evangelized in this way.  If it’s not Good News for them, is it the Good News?

God only needs 300 soldiers to win His battles, right?  That’s certainly Good News.