What is the Value of a Single Human Life?

This is a fundamental question in our society. It doesn't just touch on the huge moral (and secondarily, political) topics of abortion and euthanasia, but on something far more common:  it hits us all, every single day in every single human interaction.

I recently began re-reading a book series that was beloved to me in my youth: Lloyd Alexander's  The Chronicles of Prydain, beginning with The Book of Three.

Early on in the story, the protagonist, Taran, meets the great Warrior Prince Gwydion, his hero, and upon meeting him is both awed and disappointed. The man in person does not meet his mental image of a "hero" nor does he encourage it. He reveals his humility and wisdom when the passionate Taran suggest the two of them go against the Horned King alone.

"Then we should stop him," Taran declared. "Attack him, strike him down! Give me a sword and I will stand with you!"
"Gently, gently," chided Gwydion. "I do not say my life is worth more than another man's, but I prize it highly. Do you think a lone warrior and one Assistant Pig-Keeper dare attack the Horned King and his war band?"
Taran drew himself up. "I would not fear  him."
"No?" said Gwydion. "Then you are a fool. He is the man most to be dreaded in all Prydain..."

Ahh. What a beautiful dialogue to demonstrate the point. Here we have a lowly commoner (like most of us), and we have a Great Hero, actual royalty, even! And when the commoner wants him on a pedestal and seeks in his own pride to raise himself to the level of his hero, the humility of the hero brings him back to earth, even to the degree of calling him a "fool"!

Can you imagine such a rebuke? (Does it perhaps call to mind Jesus rebuking Peter by saying "Get behind me Satan!" or to James and John by calling them the "Sons of Thunder"?)

I couldn't move on from this passage, especially a single seemingly-insignificant line from Prince Gwydion:  "I do not say my life is worth more than another man's, but I prize it highly."

There it is. What is the value of life? Is there any such thing as one life being more valuable than another? In any give situation, who determines who should live and who should die? In any given human exchange, who is owed more respect or less respect?

Our current society is driven by hero worship. Never before in history have celebrities been such a huge force behind politics and causes. People did not used to follow mere actors, whose trade was to entertain the masses. Now, it matters not if someone is educated; it matters only that they are beautiful and popular and "in".

That is not to say that those who are "celebrities" necessarily buy into this image of themselves; I would not accuse them of valuing themselves above others, but rather, I cast the role of naive and starstruck Taran upon the American public at large.

The problem is we don't see the humility of the Prince in the story in those we as a public perceive to be our "leaders". We don't see moral fortitude (or any solid moral compass at all), and when it comes to celebrities, even the popular spokesactors haven't a leg to stand on when questioned in most cases. They are but straw idols to be cast upon the wind and torn apart by crows when the appetite suits them. They become victims of the same society that elevated them seemingly only to eventually rip them to shreds.

So let us speak directly then, of politics. Every few years it is a tidal wave of politics, a tsunami that never really goes away, but seems to regather and build for an even greater assault every four years.

I am always left scratching my head over the adulation given to certain politicians, and in contemporary society: Obama. I can't understand why he wasn't vetted and vilified as were the other candidates, and I was shocked when he was never forced to answer tough questions in previous presidential debates.  He didn't like the question he just said, "Let's move on." and they did.

I make no apology: I don't like Obama, and I have often thought, and even stated that if I were ever to meet him, I would refuse to shake his hand. His clear anti-life status, his abuse of our natural-law and Constitutional freedoms, his various methods of America-bashing in other countries, his constant prideful faux-pas in "gifts" to other Heads of State, his obvious dismay and outright attempts to crush out any legitimate criticism of himself and his policies, his attempts to crush religious freedom...all for his own power and his own glory. I despise him as a man and I am offended as what he has done to the Office of President.

And there, those last words, that's what stop me. Office. Office of President.

Many years ago I considered the Secret Service, researched it a bit and pondered for myself the role the Agents take. They agreed that they would take a bullet for the President! What a noble cause! How beautiful a way to die!

Except that ultimately, I didn't want to die for the President. I thought it would be a nice idea, but, no, no, if I was going to die for someone, I wanted to die for someone I cared about. Someone more like...me.  Someone who came from my community, lived their life and perhaps had something terrible happen to them. Someone..normal. Not someone whose life was "more valuable" than that of the average person.

I was raised to respect authority, and certainly, I do. I also learned through trial and error that respect may be owed to a particular position, but the person who holds that particular role may not be worthy of that respect; but one gives it anyway. Not for the person, but for their Office.

This is why those Secret Service Agents who protect the President can do so even if they disagree with him or even personally despise him. They do it because they defend NOT the man, but the Office. They can recognize that his life is worth no more or less than their own. What IS valuable is the office he holds, for if the Office falls, so does the country.

I have to realize, because of this, that if I ever do meet Obama and am in a position to shake his hand, I must do so, not because I respect him as a man (for I don't), but because I respect the Office of President of the United States, and it is right and just to give it and him as a human being, simple respect. I respect the fact he was created in the image and likeness of God, no matter how he has chosen to distort that image (for I am a sinner, too, and am also distorted.)

Ah! But What of Life? For Anyone? What of the Everyday?

Most of us won't meet political heavies or celebrities or royalty. Most of us just go about our lives every day and try to eke out our existence, work with people professionally and of course, simply try to keep our heads down and shoulders to the grindstone.

But if we're pressed and if we really think about it, we DO tend to give more value to certain lives than we do to others.

Think about it. In the workplace, do you treat EVERYONE with the same respect? Or do you treat the CEO with more?  How do you speak to the CEO in comparison to the IT guy locked in the basement? How to you treat your Pastor versus the Mechanic doing your brakes? How do you treat the Parish Council member versus the elderly confused lady who asks random questions and speaks about random things you know nothing about?

How many average human interactions every single day cause you to change your level of respect and interior admiration or desire for approval according to the person standing before you?

Whose life is worth more?

Is any life worth more than another?

Do the wealthy deserve more respect? Or should we not give the same respect to the poor?  To the person we dislike? To the person we like? To the person who is lost, the person who serves us in some way, the person we serve by employment or other obligation?

The issue of Life isn't to be compartmentalized; it's not just about abortion and euthanasia, but is part of our everyday lives, in every moment, every interaction.

It doesn't mean we have to like or approve of everyone. It doesn't mean we have to "respect" someone in the sense of placing them on a pedestal. What the call to value life means is this: we must hold ALL to the highest standard, we must give ALL basic human respect and it should not matter whether we are speaking the Pope, the President, the CEO, the Janitor, the Stable groom, the Housekeeper, the Pastor, the Mechanic, the Cashier, the Religious Sister, or the homeless guy on the corner. (Hint: learn his name!)

Life is life. In Genesis, we learn that blood, the symbol of Life, belongs to God alone. So it was that God Himself, through His Only Son Jesus Christ offered His blood so that we might live for eternity. Jesus gave us the example of holiness we are all to live. He did teach to respect Civic leaders, but in practice, to be like Himself.

Personalities and politics are not part of God's Kingdom; they are of the world. We are called, through Baptism to bring about the Kingdom of God in word and deed, and foundational to this is respect for all Life, and to know that every human being is willed and loved by God. It's not a matter of political action, but in how we all live our lives. It matters not if we pray outside an abortuary and then return to our regular lives and bash our neighbors and coworkers.

We have to catch ourselves when we find we are caught in the trap of valuing one life over another, and remember to find Christ in them, somewhere, recalling they, too, are known and loved.

I fall very, very short of this, every single day, and pray one day I may finally practice what I am incoherently trying to preach.


** Disclaimer:  I am not stating that the Truth should not be taught  and I am all for condemning the moral attack upon our society, namely abortion, homosexual "marriage", euthanasia, the Health Mandate, the attack upon religious freedom, etc. These things are ideas, not people. In this post I am attempting to focus on basic human discourse, no matter what our position. Every life is a gift from God and we need to treat every life we meet according to that reality, and THEN address the darkness within us that makes us into total idiots.***

Catholics and the Press

It's no secret that the Media hates us but if we are to be honest...it's partially our fault. 

Recently I happened to witness an exchange between a reporter and a Catholic spokesman and was dismayed by the image given to the Reporter about an important Catholic devotion, one that is quite central to our Faith. I also saw others try to explain things to a reporter who had no qualms in asking for details and clarification, citing that this was entirely new to him and he truly wanted to understand.

I believed him.Truth and sincerity were in his expression and body language, conveying slight embarrassment.  I also knew that the people speaking to him had their minds elsewhere and let's face it: it's really hard to explain our beliefs about things we take for granted because they have always been our practice and belief.

It must be terribly confusing for "an outsider", e.g.  the secular press, to come into any religious organization or something associated with a religious organization, and obtain details of an event, people, or person involved in whatever story they happen to be covering.

We bloggers are often the first to condemn the Media (yup, I'm right there in that crowd!) and harp at them for interviewing this or that dissident or mis-informed individual. We're always rolling our eyes and cringing when we hear or read a reporter's summary of our beliefs and practices or how it applies to a situation, and then, if the spokesperson of a particular place is quoted, we either tend to condemn that person as a "dissident" or, more likely, the reporter with some other defamatory label usually lumped in with "The Liberal Media."

I don't think that's really fair. 

Now, don't go off on me in the combox about the general fact that the Media as a whole is, in fact, actually quite liberal. Even most liberals agree with that! And they've got plenty to say about the "conservative" media, too, and I'll stand in line to condemn the "conservative" end, also without qualms.

So let's move past that and actually shine the light on ourselves as Catholics for a moment. It's necessary and we do need to take a good, hard look. 

Like it or not, if something is happening involving a Catholic parish, reporters and big trucks with huge antennae are going to show up and stick microphones in people's faces. We don't have to like that fact; few people do, even those who are trying to get a story into the News in some way. It simply isn't comfortable to be a bug under glass. The only people who are comfortable with it are veteran reporters and news anchors in cozy studios.

Let's look at things from a different perspective

First let's consider the Catholic psyche.

We Catholics often grow up in our faith and we are accustomed to our liturgical worship; it is quiet, it is contained, and it is constant. We don't just have the Mass which is infinite and contains everything in heaven and earth, but we have the Liturgy of the Hours (LOH) seven times per day, or for busy people, the Magnificat magazine (which is often a bridge to the LOH). We have Eucharistic Adoration, Processions (a bit more public than our typical form of prayer!), Rosary, various prayer groups and just a general culture of prayer that is inherent in our religion.


The world does not understand this intense form of prayer because it is not available for public viewing. While it may be emotional, it is hidden and is not open to reveal to observers who expect us to react in a different way. In the world of religion, Catholicism is very introverted for our relationship with Christ is so intense that we have no need to announce to others what we are doing and when.

But the world does not understand this and if we are in crisis or if a group experiences a great event that is somehow related to the Catholic Church, the general public is confused. They confuse our regular prayer cycles and think if it appears we do nothing, we in fact, are doing nothing when the opposite is true.

They are, quite understandably, a bit stymied by the fact that Catholics pray so quietly and in a crisis, we don't "rally" like many do, but we bow our heads and bend our knees and do this privately or in the silence of the Eucharistic Adoration chapel. If we don't have such a chapel, we to to the Sanctuary and we do the same thing with Jesus hidden in the tabernacle.  

Then enter the Press, in some form, mostly secular or participants in a different non-Catholic or non-Christian religion...or no religion at all.  

The Press is supposed to be conditioned to be "unbiased" (Journalism 101) but the reality is they are human beings and as such, they are biased. However, let us, for the sake of the virtue of charity, assume the best of these professionals and hope they really ARE trying to be unbiased, especially when it comes to religion.

Yet, the largely-secular Press, by practice at least, comes into a Catholic parish and is suddenly confronted with all sorts of theological terms: Liturgy, Eucharistic Adoration, Transubstantiation, etc.

Now, think of who is called upon to respond to the Press at a given event:  often it's the Priest, and really, dear Father has his mind on many things. Perhaps his explanation to the media is harried and clipped because while he knows he must give this interview, his heart is with his flock and all that needs to be done to serve them in this given event or crisis. The parish business administrator may be called upon to become the Spokesman and you know what? That person may not even be Catholic as his job calls for knowledge of business, not theology. He may give an explanation of a Catholic practice of which he has rudimentary knowledge and may even admire, but if he doesn't share the Faith or have direct knowledge through shared participation in a given devotion, he may get the explanation wrong.

It's also quite possible that the person giving the interview to the Press has his or her mind on the larger community, and out of lack of faith, fears our beliefs are not palatable to the general public, and further, may not have a succinct explanation of it. The reporters need word bites, not long theological treatises. So the spokesman bungle the explanation, or, more likely, hedges the explanation to make it seem like something other than what it is...maybe something more Protestant or more "generic" to the allegedly larger non-believing crowd.

Inherent Catholic Culture

As it is, what I'll call "orthodox Catholics" who tend to prefer the quiet, unobtrusive liturgical prayer that characterizes our culture are not very likely to step up to the mike and speak for us. It's just not part of our collective Catholic personality to want to be in the spotlight. Those Catholics who do, though, unfortunately tend to be overwhelmingly blustery and condemning.  Or perhaps they step up out of a sense of duty or parish role and do the best they can with what they have and just pray it all goes away quickly.

Now, when it comes to the blustery types, common to what the world wants to call we "conservative Catholics",  if I were a Reporter, I'd run far away, quickly, and never darken the door of that parish ever again. I'd certainly never call up such people for an interview. Who wants to be lectured-to and condemned as "liberal media"? Why even risk that?

We so often see that some of the more "socially-active" parishes have much of the media spotlight, and we know that those same parishes for some reason tend to be missing the proper theology to back up their explanations, too. But because the personality of those parishes is more extroverted, they are also more press-oriented and so the Media, as a whole, will naturally gravitate towards them. If you were a member of the Press, wouldn't you look for comment on a Catholic topic at a place where you were more likely to be well-received?

Heck, I would!  And, having worked with difficult people in many places, yeah, I'd call the nice witness before I'd call the one I knew was going to be a problem to me personally in the fulfillment of my job!

Here's the thing, my dear friends...we need to do a serious examination of conscience in our relationship with the Press and we need to see where we are at fault...and what we can do to change it. And really, it has to start with we bloggers because, at least online, we are the face of the Church. And we're scaring the secular  Media away. That's not going to help our cause.

Here are my suggestions for good Catholic PR: 

* If you are called upon to be a spokesperson for you parish or our Catholic-related event and need to use terms like "Eucharistic Adoration" or "Liturgy of the Hours" or "Vespers", for example, you need to have a concise definition fresh at hand, use the actual terms for our practices, and understand that our terms may be new to the reporter who visits us.

* Don't shy away from theological terms - such terms invite questions and questions invite answers which tend to develop friendly relationships. (Keep an eye on evangelization y'all. Maybe not that reporter, but if he or she gets it right because you took the time, it can go a LONG way!) 

* Be open to the reporter's requests for definition - have it handy! Write it down on a card you can hand out, even!  (Hey! Media-ready flash cards! I get dibs on the copyright and patent on that idea!) 

* Don't try to evangelize the reporter. *cough*  They're used to that and expecting it because of the fact they're visiting a church. If you don't do it, it will throw them off and you're more likely to help them get your comments right because they'll relax and stop worrying about how to politely turn down your invitation to their Bible study!  ;-)

* Be patient with the reporter. They're just trying to get a job done, they were sent to you by someone over their head and may not even want to be there. Give them the benefit of the doubt, be gracious, and know that this is part of your job, too, even if you're "just a volunteer". Or "just a random guy".

* Stop painting the Media as a whole with a broad brush condemning all. "The Media" is made up of human beings and they have editors who make certain demands. It isn't the reporters who are "in your face" who have the final word on a story: it's their editors. And probably other people, too, like investors. I don't know. I'm not a journalist. Thank God! (No offense to Journalists!)

UNCONCLUDED CONCLUSION

I guess, ultimately, what I'm trying to say is that if we want to change the state of the Media in the United States, we need to learn to be more friendly TO the Media and stop expecting them to acquiesce to us. We complain they seem to have this or that dissident theologian who has long been discredited, but really, if we don't throw out a welcome mat, they're not going to come pounding down our doors and asking us to comment or explain this or that detail.

We don't have to compromise our Faith; we just need to do better at explaining our beliefs. 

What I witnessed recently renewed my hope in the Press, and I think there are many who would really appreciate a good definition of terms, would be happy to have a knowledgeable Catholic on hand for questions and research, and truly, want to do a good, ethical job of getting the story right.

Maybe, for once, we should give them a chance and recognize that we are our own worst enemy and only we have the power to turn the tide in that regard. 

Like Fireflies

Summer evenings in June and July, whenever Mom and Dad let us stay up after dark, were dedicated to the capture and containment of fireflies. We had no desire to harm them (we won't talk about what happens when you squish them during a "glow"), but to place them in a jar and use them as natural flashlights. My brother and I tried to "train" them to glow at the same time.

As it turned out, the fireflies weren't interested in being trained, but it didn't matter to me; they were the only bug I ever loved. Other than ladybugs (the REAL ones, not the orange Asian Beetles that have infringed in the last 10 years or so).

Ahh....childhood. The Good ol' days.

You may be rolling your eyes, but for days, I've been in a nostalgic mood. 

While I wish I could provide photos, a camera/computer glitch has prevented me from revealing incredible photos of something many of us remember and considered to be a staple of our society. What was it?

A....phone booth. Right. The kind you'd put money into and dial, maybe while holding the handset in a handkerchief,  shirt tail, rag, kleenex...etc...depending on your location when using it.

I used to go out always having enough change for a phone booth, because that's the advice given to young women who might be in need of a ride home if her friends either got too fresh or too wasted to get them back home.

Do you know I STILL carry the proper change on me for that purpose?

Even as I watch them fade away, and a point brought to bear: the one I photographed is no longer in existence...I can't help but carry the change in case my pre-paid cell decides to die.

Home

Today at Mass, I don't really know why, I was especially weepy. All throughout, I worked hard to maintain my composure, and didn't realize until Father gave the blessing to Fathers for Father's Day why I was crying.

 I weep for what I no longer have and what I can no longer celebrate. You'd think I'd "get over it" after 15 years, but with the date falling so close to my birthday, it's impossible to ignore. The man half responsible for my life is not here to share it with me in any way.

Related Tangent aka God's Sense of Humor

Last night, for my oncoming birthday, my surviving family took me out to dinner at our favorite restaurant, which, unfortunately is in a modern strip mall which as of late began to host a Planned Parenthood clinic. The office next to it advertising some other service had a far more important message, and although they did not have any intent for their message to reflect upon the business next door to them, it was impossible to read without seeing it. I pray any woman walking into Planned Parenthood sees their neighbor's prominent advert: "Permanent Choice".

Yes. That's what stands out. Right next to "Planned Parenthood".

Heh. That business wasn't there a couple months ago; I hope women see it and realize that abortion is, in fact, a permanent "choice".

Meanwhile back in my nostalgic musings...

There's also been another twist in our life: the aunt, my dad's sister, somewhat estranged due to certain actions taken after his death, has invited us to visit their new home, which just happens to be across the river from the neighborhood where I grew up.

There's a lot of history there; much of what we become as adults is contained in our earliest years, and even though we moved when I was only ten, I can't help but remember, fondly, the sunny summer days of running through the woods and joyful winter sledding of my childhood.

Although I look forward to this trip, which I hope and pray my brother and I can make this summer, I can't help but be a bit emotional about it. The last time we were there we were with our Dad, and this time, he will only be a memory.

A part of me knows that when we return, I will be disappointed for the character of the uncommon  neighborhood will have changed, and so I will no longer be able to remember it as it was then. Yet another part of me cries out for this vision of  "home", in hopes there will be something of comfort there, something that has remained, a sign a constancy, a sign that in spite of the passage of time, some part of our childhood innocence has been preserved.

Yes, I'm weeping today. Weeping for what was, weeping for what (and who) I never appreciated properly, weeping for a world that passes by too quickly to capture.

We all live our lives as though this is all there is, but as I've gotten older there is one thing I lament: we never appreciate what we have until it's gone. Movies and books have been published on this topic to no end, in every genre and form, but still, we never learn.

Our lives pass by like the glow of early summer fireflies; and even when we try to capture the moment, it is gone, and even a mason jar covered with foil won't allow us to keep time from slipping through our fingers.

I guess, though, I'd rather have this bittersweet nostalgia to temper my musings than no memories at all.

You know what? I hope that if we go this summer, I'll have time to wait and watch for fireflies, and capture them once again, only to let them go free in the nighttime breeze.

New Beginning

November is such a deathly month.

The festivities of All Saints' Day leads into the remembrance of all those who have passed on the Feast of All Souls. We the faithful are encouraged to visit cemeteries and pray for the dead, those Holy Souls in Purgatory, and in the meantime the skies tend to be darker, the sun gives less light, we rise in darkness and work the only light of the day away while we are crammed into stuffy offices.

The physical darkness also leads to a darkness of the soul, in a sense, as well. Recently when I went to Confession the priest observed how the temptations seem to crouch and attack even more vehemently as we descend into this dark season, and we must be that much more on our guard.

When we fall into sin, especially when we refuse to repent, our intellects become darkened as well, we begin to lose our way all too easily, and this makes it that much more necessary to cling to Our Lord, to keep our eyes on Him, and to stay close to the Sacraments.

I've been wandering around in a fog myself of late. Ever since the time change, rising with a kiss of light in the sky but leaving work in darkness, I'm discombobulated. Earlier this week I was sick with food poisoning and struggling against a mini-depression. (Not speaking in the clinical sense).

I'm always a little frustrated during this time of year, because the trees have given up their glory to the encroaching season, their skeletal branches reminding us all of death. The parks no longer draw crowds, instead they are taken over by Canadian Geese that leave their droppings as payment for the layover. We cannot walk in the evenings because it is so dark and there aren't enough street lights. There is always a feeling of danger, so I opt to remain close to home where I can control some of the light that shines through the darkness to light our way.

Today, though, I woke up to snow, and I actually breathed a deep sigh of relief.

Although for years I have dreaded the first snow, a conditioned response from my years working in Insurance Claims (even as I worked as an Investigator snow was a nightmare to my ability to do my job effectively), and last winter was spent on mostly-bald tires, this year, for some reason, I'm relieved.

While I'm not quite ready to sing praises to snow, I am grateful for the light it brings and reflects. Now I may choose to walk the dog in the evening, for the whiteness of the snow absorbs and reveals the lights of the city, or if it is clear, the light of the moon.

It is like a new beginning, this advent of winter. Just as we recognize human death as the beginning of eternal life, so is the coming of winter in November a revelation in some way, of the promise of eternal beatitude. It is one of the reasons I so love the seasons here in the North, for even in the darkest time of the year, we are surrounded by light, should we choose to see it.

The Few, the Ragged, the Humble: The Remnants

You can still find them there.

The remnants of times gone by.

They kneel in their pews, their heads covered, their gnarled fingers imperceptibly crawling along their beads as they stare either downward towards those archaic prayers, or, rather, focus on a particular point before them.  You can walk in front of them, you can drop kneelers or even hit a pew with a sledgehammer, and they will not move, will not acknowledge your ministrations of random noisemaking, even if you carry it out directly in front of them.  They don't move. They are more stalwart than the most steady Marine at guard at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, the British Guards at Buckingham Palace, or the Swiss Guards protecting the Vatican.

Hollywood loves to portray the Catholic Church in this way; sometimes they do so just to pull in the stereotypes, complete with a priest hanging out in a box; a priest who clearly has nothing better to do and spends his life pathetically awaiting the penitents who never come, unless, of course, those who do bring with them a ragtag bunch of cameramen hoping to imitate the success of  Hitchcock's "I Confess".

If clinging to the old artful stereotypes doesn't work, Hollywood has their own version of aggiornamiento, involving the same setting, but casting a sense of perpetual evil in the place of holiness, in vilifying the saint instead of canonizing the human, whether he be clergy or the little old Italian babushka hiding a deep secret of her true identity.

Still, "Hollywood" fails with radical dismality, for they lack both the faith and the art to understand the reality of the Catholic Church and even more directly, the prayers of the living "relics" who make up the powerhouse that defies popular categorization.

What happens most often in our age, through the media, is an ancient portrayal of Catholicism, a portrayal involving all that was beautiful, all that involves our patrimony. In reality, if one were to view such an image and walk into an average Catholic Church of our time, most likely they would be not just disappointed, but outright scandalized.

There is nothing in the vast majority of Catholic church buildings that transcends. Most Protestants visit Catholic parishes and think to themselves, never verbalizing their criticism for fear of offense towards their Catholic bretheren, "Why the HELL did you do THAT to your church?"

They come expecting beauty, and they get Podunk City Hall in BF Egypt.

People are so underwhelmed by the lack of transcendence that they fail to notice the humble figures at prayer in spite of spartan, or in some cases, outright offensive surroundings.

The Praying Babushka

Admit it.  We all love the idea, if only that, of entering a Catholic church, noting the symbols of our faith, and really, don't we take comfort from the woman or man praying at the shrines, or, maybe, just kneeling in a random pew having private recourse to God in His own House?

Isn't that comforting?  Doesn't that image draw you in, and invite you to lay your own burdens at the foot of the Cross?  Doesn't that  very presence of a praying person make us wonder, deeply, if maybe they might pray for us, too?

Popular culture would have us believe the Church is dying, but for years and years now, the vanguard of Popular Culture has revealed images of Catholicism recognizable to souls throughout the centuries:  the priest in the box, the praying babushka. The images encompass the darkness of sin and the simple holiness of the humble, unknown saint.

We don't see Hollywood film the "Church" so many of us have attended since birth, though, because no self-respecting film director finds "art" in modern Catholic parishes. There is nothing to set us apart these days from our Protestant counterparts. Most Catholic parishes haven't the art, the architecture, or the faith to draw the attention of Hollywood anymore. We're so lacking in beauty these days that we might as well be a neutral version of Andy Warhol's monochromatic series in  beige.

It wasn't always so, and, in fact...it isn't so.

The Church is a visible, living structure. She is the Bride of Christ, a Holy Nation, the Mystical Body of our Savior.  She is One, Holy, Catholic and Apostolic.

Aggiornamiento

One can walk into many parishes in my diocese and find the backbone of the Church, the small, unnoticed, stereotyped and ridiculed souls at prayer. Sometimes their heads are covered with demure scarves. Sometimes with various forms of lace. Sometimes with hats. Usually with no headcovering at all, for such is not a dominant custom in our age. Yet they come, people of faith, they kneel, and they pray. They come at all hours of the day and night, for Mass and to remain or to come back for the silence and prayer afforded by the deep sanctuary of the chapel seeking solace and making intercession in the presence of Christ Himself.

There is comfort in the flickering light of the Sanctuary candles, there is confidence gained through the blaze that lights up the votives to the Saints who are constant in prayer in their state of beatitude.  There is humility to be found in both the brightest and darkest of chapels, and in all places, the faithful are laying down their lives from their very roots.

They are the remnants, they are the seed, and they are the new growth.

Some laugh at the Catholic Church, and say she is dying.

They of little faith will be astonished witnesses to the Resurrection, in our very own age. They will recall the purgation, they will remember their own ridicule, and in the end, they will fall to their knees and find that the perceived remnant was really only the catalyst, the moss that clung to the rock to make life possible for others.

They say that the Church is a remnant of a time gone by, when in reality, the world is only gossamer, but the Church is eternal.

+JMJ+

Deep Thoughts With Adoro

I have been pondering friendship the last couple days, very grateful for my many friends, all those present locally,  those I met through the internet (blogging, etc.), and those I have yet to meet in person.

What's so wonderful is how many of them want to be Saints, are striving every day for holiness, and many times without even realizing it they are dragging me kicking and screaming with them.  (Other times I just let myself be dragged!).

This pondering made me realize, though, that none are without fault. Although admittedly some of my friends have faults that are less apparent, none would ever yet claim to be saints...and if they did we'd laugh at them!  :-)

So as I pondered, I realized that true friendship consists in people who put up with each other's faults and imperfections as gently as necessary, and as firmly as needed...and they are always there when you need them.

Thank you, to all my friends, for helping me to try to be as holy as I ought, for not slamming me when I'm down in my weakness, and for helping me to be a better friend to you.

God bless you.

Accepting Ourselves Part II

The other day while visiting a religious book store owned by friends of mine, I confessed how terrified I am as to what is going to happen once I finish with school. I'll have my Master's, but still in a job that pays less than peanuts (I work for the Church, after all), and with yet ANOTHER summer of unemployment stretching before me. How am I going to pay my loans? How am I going to pay my regular bills?  I'm rushing towards that wall and it's bigger than the wall of Jericho...and I have no trumpet!

She pointed out that now, three times, I've had to take this leap: first when I quit my job having nowhere to go, and then since I began this one, somehow God provided what I needed to avoid bankruptcy, foreclosure, etc.

On a whim, she ran to a particular shelf and handed me the book I quoted yesterday:  "Interior Freedom" by Jacques Philippe.  "Merry Christmas!"

This little book HAS been packed with solid stuff that, in fact, I DO need to read!  It's intense, it's to the point, and even as it relieves a burden, it really shifts it to the painful points I'd rather avoid.

In reading it, I have to admit, it is an exercise in self-knowledge. I've been on the alert a couple times as it seems to begin to "water down" certain teachings, but the author comes around and refuses the allow the reader to ignore the hard moral teachings.

Yesterday I quoted about "Accepting our Defects"

And today, I quote a little from the other topic:  Accepting others:

Often we fail to accept others because deep down, we do not accept ourselves.  If we are not at peace with ourselves we will necessarily find ourselves at war with other people....if we close our hearts against other people, make no effort to love them as they are, never learn to be reconciled with them, we will never have the grace to  practice the deep reconciliation with ourselves that we all need. Instead we will be perpetual victims of our own narrow-heartedness and harsh judgments toward our neighbor.  

~ Philippe, p.43-44

Oh, yes, I totally agree. That's not to say I've overcome it, but I think my own problems with others stems from this very thing.

There's a lot more to the book, but as I've read it, I've come to recognize my own self-loathing.

That's exactly what it is and I must say it again:  absolute self-loathing.

So often, even as I look back on my life, I haven't so much been sorry for my sin or my foibles, but rather, my apologies have come from my complete repentance at even being alive. I've felt that I should apologize for my very existence.

It's as if at some point in my history someone told me that I was never intended or even a mistake of God, yet I am "tolerated" for the sake of "charity".

Do I really BELIEVE this?

Intellectually, no. I know it's ridiculous.  Yet as I read, I can't deny the reflection that I've had to confront about myself, my perceptions, and my life. How I've reacted to others, how they've reacted to me. It's painful.

Accepting ourselves is much more difficult than it might seem. Pride, fear of not being loved, the conviction of how little we are worth, are all too deeply rooted in us. Think how badly we react to our falls, mistakes, and failures, how demoralized and upset we become, how guilty they make us feel. 

Only under the gaze of God can we fully and truly accept ourselves. We need to be looked upon by someone who says, as God did through the prophet Isaiah:  'You are precious in my eyes, and honored, and I love you.'  Consider a very common experience: a girl who believes she is plain begins to thing that she might not be so frightful after all on the day a young man falls in love with her with the tender eyes of someone in love.

We urgently need the mediation of another's eyes to love ourselves and accept ourselves. The eyes may be those of a parent, a friend, a spiritual director; but above all they are those of God our Father. The look in his eyes is the purest, truest, tenderest, most loving, and most hope-filled in the world.

~ Philippe, p 35-36

I've not spoken to anyone of this, as it's such a painful part of my own history, but I identify strongly with "the girl" Fr. Philippe cites above. I was in a three or so year relationship with a man I thought I wanted to marry, and whom I believed wanted to marry me...eventually.

Then I found out through a mutual friend that one day when they were talking he said to her that he stayed with me because he was afraid I'd have a "hard time finding someone else."

I don't think I've EVER had anything so cold and cruel said to me in my life - before or since.

I confronted him on this statement, which he denied, but I knew him well: he was lying and couldn't look me in the eye.

It didn't help, either, that since that breakup (which I forced) I never really dated again.. I just wasn't interested. Sometimes I've wondered if perhaps I've discerned religious life because I refuse to entrust myself to a man ever again, in any way.  And it's a serious question.

But no; I did honestly explore whether I was called to marriage, and I did honestly and purely seek a call to religious life. And my vocational ramblings continue, at least in some way I can't ascertain even now.

When I look back on that horrid day, with that horrid bit of news, what shocks me the most is not how cruelly it cut me, but how completely unsurprised I was to feel that dagger twisting in my back and ripping my guts out through my spine. It was as if it was expected.  I was supposed to apologize for being alive again, for wasting his time for those years.

What we need to realize, all of us, is that while we are flawed, we are all WILLED by God, and LOVED by God, even that waste-of-skin-and-oxygen-amoeba who thought that I'd never "find anyone".  It might be hard, but I have to acknowledge that even HE is willed by God and held in existence out of Our Lord's love for him.

Maybe I have a hard time accepting that, and I don't know why. I don't know how far it goes back, but as I've written before, I've never felt like I'm a part of this world. More and more, I feel like the eternal pilgrim, but even pilgrims have a place...while on pilgrimage.

We find it so difficult to accept our own deficiencies because we imagine they make us unlovable. Since we are defective in this or that aspect, we feel that we do not deserve to be loved. Living under God's gaze make us realize how mistaken that is. Love is given freely, it's not deserved, and our deficiencies don't prevent God from loving us - just the opposite! Thus we are freed of the terrible, despair-inducing sense that we must become "good enough" to deserve to be loved.

I'm grateful to my friend for giving me this book - it's exactly what I needed to read, and re-read, and re-read again.  Although so far I've only pulled out a couple bits that focus on the self, do not be led to believe it's a bunch of "self-help" pop psychology! It doesn't deny sin, it forces one to accept responsibility, but in such a way that can help both a scrupulous soul and a lax soul alike.


** all quotes taken from "Interior Freedom" by Rev. Jacques Philippe, Scepter Press, New York, NY, 2007

Random Thoughts about Beauty and Rage

On Real Beauty:

I was thinking about beauty today, especially beauty in the faces of the people I love. Most are not beautiful by the world's standards, for we are just average, every-day people. I considered how maybe the surface-attractiveness as defined by the world might at times draw us to people, none of us really recognizes it as a defining feature.  Rather, we look at the wrinkles, the laugh lines, the dimples, the surface imperfections that, together paint a tapestry.  When I think of my friends and loved ones, I remember them with animation. They are not cold photographs, but flesh and blood with quick smiles, ready expressions and identifiable mannerisms that draw me past the surface and into their real presence.

They say that "beauty is in the eye of the beholder" and I must disagree.  To simply "behold" is to remain at the surface. To enter into real friendship and to know someone as they are, no matter what they reveal on the surface is true beauty.

Beauty isn't revealed in the appearance of the skin covering mere bones, but in the life that animates us all, giving glory to God.

On Rage Against Beauty:

It occurred to me at Mass last night that there is a reason so many rage against the perfect beauty of the Mass, and seek to remove the symbolism and accoutrements that draw us deeply into the mystery.  The Mass is the fullness of life, it reveals the fullness of God if we would but pay attention, and it is both the source of summit of all things.  This is the very depths of beauty as God intended it. It far transcends our paisley-colored lives, the Naugahyde coverings we use to either adorn our imperfections or block out the light of Christ.

It is no surprise that so many rage against the Mass, for when it is properly celebrated it reveals the fullness of God, forcing us to recognize the emptiness of our souls when we come face-to-face with Him.  Those who cannot stand the revelation are enraged, and instead of realizing true beauty and perfection, they seek to destroy the mirror that reveals them to themselves.

As Gaudium et spes, 22, tells us, "God reveals man to himself, making his supreme calling clear."  When we are not living up to our supreme calling, it is much easier to seek to destroy and thus deny the revelation of Truth than it is to shed the vestiges of a false life and choose to embrace holiness.

Celebrity Worship

One of the things about our culture that drives me crazy belongs to the Cult of the Celebrity.  I simply don't understand it.

Fair Warning:  this post is NOT going to be among my most popular; in fact, I am quite certain I will be losing readership over this one. Don't say you weren't warned, but you knew what I was when you started following me.  If you haven't been offended by my opinions, then you haven't been following long enough.

If I'm not honest, I'm not Adoro.  Just sayin'

Teen Celebrity Infatuation:

As a teen, of course,  I went through that particular phase of infatuation, writing letters to a few chosen male celebrities which were never answered (oh, thank God for that, I so wish I could forget those letters!), and went so far as to hang pictures of them on my walls. But I passed through that phase and moved on with my life. Admittedly, it was in moving on that I also let go of wanting to be an actress or famous person myself.

At that point, I finally began to see celebrities as people just like me with all the very same failings. I discovered at the same time, that if I was in the public eye, it wasn't comfortable, not fun, not glamorous, and actually...seemed overall to be quite ridiculous.

Over the years I've met a few celebrities, both secular and Catholic, and found them to be...well...average people.  I liked them just fine, but didn't find anything there to make me turn myself inside-out with adulation in their presence.

Yet I continue to see people rolling like submissive dogs peeing all over themselves when they read the words of this or that Catholic celebrity.

Clearly, as this is a Catholic blog, I'm focusing mostly on the ecstatic behavior of the average internet Catholic in the internet presence of some Catholic celebrity.

Seriously...it's downright embarrassing to witness.

Now, certainly, Catholic celebs don't have the worldly panache of the seculars, nor should they. And indeed, those held in high esteem are wonderful role models, based on what can be witnessed in the public eye.

Still, even with a good example, I don't see anything of them that is worthy of the public worship that is given to them day in and day out. I don't see why people find they need to hang on every word, or work so hard to be noticed and approved by this or that Catholic celebrity figure. It's almost like some people think their existence and very Catholicism must be recognized and ratified by some of these celebs in order to be authentic. 

I wonder at the reaction to these people, whose gifts given by God have placed them in the public eye, giving them a certain "Catholic Celebrity" status, and who, to so many, seem to be the final word on ANYTHING going on in the Church.

It fascinates me.

It fascinates me especially because I am sure that most of them, if not all, would not WANT the adulation of the masses, and probably didn't ask for it, and would further prefer that people NOT hang on their words.

Admittedly, though, I wonder at a few of these Catholic celebs who seem to crave that adulation and beckon it onward. The sad thing is that I've seen it not only via the internet, but also in person, in, for example, the "cult of the priest". There are certain priests who have a certain following of people who apparently see him as a kind of Savior...and will follow him ANYWHERE he goes. (I am not speaking here only of the internet, but also of a certain few priest-cults in my own diocese. But lest you are Protestant...check out the cult following of the charismatic pastors of the "Free Churches" in this area. Yeah..you suffer the same scourge and spiritual danger Maybe even MORE so for there are fewer of you.) 

Ew. Creepy.  

What I don't understand is WHY this behavior isn't so creepy over the internet? Isn't it the same thing?

I am seriously concerned that good, knowledgeable Catholics spend so much time hoping for the approval of certain Catholic "celebrities".

I am truly amazed that, in the past when I happened to criticize this odd obsequious behavior directed toward a certain personality, I was villified and quite literally admonished to "SHUT UP!", and even further, was calumniated by my accuser who said that all I talk about is "this" topic.Yet I had only brought it up once before with the very same question:  "What's the big deal about X Catholic Celeb?"

No one has been able to give me an answer, and so in place of the answer, they chose to insult me with an ad hominem attack...which I expect on this post as well, even though I've not given any names.

I'm sure all my readers have their favorite Catholic Celebrities, and some of you assume I'm talking about YOURS.

So I'll let your comments reveal what's in YOUR heart: who do YOU worship? And why will you tolerate no criticism against your hero or heroine?

And what does your lack of tolerance reveal about your own spirituality, lack thereof, your attachments, and how far you've fallen from Our Lord and His Mother if you're so ready to shut down a legitimate question about a mere mortal man or woman celebrity?

Seriously...if you rely so heavily upon some celebrity, whether it is an internet celeb, a priest, or an alleged visionary such that any legitimate criticism of them and their humanity pisses you off, it's a sign you need to get a grip and spend more time at Mass, Confession and Adoration and LESS time on the internet peeing all over yourself in hopes of being noticed.

That's all I have to say about that. Let the hate mail begin...combox is open for discussion.

**************************************************************

P.S. ~ The com box is NOT a litter box. If  you have need to relieve yourself, I suggest you find appropriate facilities elsewhere.  

Memory

Just an observation:

Matching socks is like a never-ending game of "Memory", wherein one tries to figure out where in that pile the other sock was once sighted. You just KNOW there's a match, and you can't figure out why the pack of new socks you bought is suddenly down to half what it was. And so you lay the "singles" aside thinking perhaps their matches are still in the laundry basket. And then the pile of singles grows, and there is much rejoicing in the land when finally, a match, at long last is found. While going about this menial task, you find yourself pondering fairy tales and dreaming of princes and princesses, until you realize that you're wearing a pair of mismatched socks with holes in them, and the idea of an actual match was just a fairy tale after all.

What If? Arbor Vitae....Redemptionis

Some time ago I wrote a post about the fact that fiction safely asks the question, "What if?"

It asks us to suspend belief, to enter a different dimension and accept the parameters of the fictional life being given. This crosses all the genres; historical, future, science fiction, mystery, and the obvious fantasy. Even anecdotal accounts have a certain amount of "literary license" or "poetic license" in the telling of tales.

There is beauty in this, though, for often these fictional worlds force us to consider things that transcend us. Not all of those things are good; not all have at their heart Truth or Beauty or Goodness. Not all of them INTEND to have those things at their source, not because they want to challenge us, but only to present something totally oppositional to what we live, which, in the end, forces us to realize those things that ARE true and good and beautiful.

Of course, there is fictional writing out there worth even less than the "Piss Madonna" or whatever that waste of urine is called. Oh, and not just the "artist" but his blasphemous work, too.

But I digress.

This evening I had a conversation with a friend and we discussed a few things that have come to mind during the last few years of my theological studies and some recent talks I have given.

The conversation made me muse a bit more, realizing that questions are important and it's possible to ask them in a way that doesn't offend Truth, but perhaps maybe reveals it more clearly. I don't know. All I know is that I am pondering some theological questions, hope to do so faithfully and no matter where I tread, I hope to remain a loyal daughter of the Church.

Of what, you ask, do I muse tonight?

It goes back to Genesis and Original Sin.

Fascinating stuff, of course. We know what happened but I'm going to recap anyhow:

Eve was hanging out in the Garden one day, minding her own business when the Serpent slithered up the Tree of Life under whose branches Eve was innocently contemplating God's Glory.

The Serpent, a real snake of action, never known to be appreciative of contemplation himself, rudely interrupted her reverie and asked her randomly,

"Did God say you shouldn't eat of ANY tree in the garden?"

His deception was simple and subtle and he licked his lips while he waited for Eve to process what he'd asked. But she was actually more astute than he'd realized.

Eve, rising from her prayerful contemplation, corrected the Serpent, and said, "That's not what God said and you know it. He said we can eat of the fruit of the trees in the garden, but if we eat from a particular tree in the center, we can't touch it lest we die. THAT tree, not "any" tree. Be proper in your use of language; language can be really misleading. You should know better."

The serpent, realizing that God had gifted humanity with a real intellect and not just tree sap for brains, saw that he had to be even more sublime in his tactics. But he also saw an opening.

Rather than engage in the semantics of the argument, he started a new one, to see if he could keep Eve guessing. This was fun!

"WHAT?!" The Serpent exclaimed. "He said WHAT?!"

He noted with satisfaction Eve's expression, alarmed both at the blasphemy (for which she didn't have a word) and the seeming intelligence of the Serpent.

Eve felt a shadow creep into her intellect and will. She deliberated and thought maybe she should listen to the Serpent for a moment, even though every fibre of her being told her she should run away screaming.

The Serpent, seeing in her eyes the doubt creeping in, continued in his most enticing of voices, speaking in a conciliatory manner so as not to offend her sensibilities, "You will not die. God knows that when you eat of this fruit your eyes will be opened and you will be like God, knowing good and evil."

He waited, licking his lips, resting on a branch in a bit of sunlight that had made its way through the leaves. He moved a bit so that the light wouldn't fall directly on him, for he hated when his scales reflected the sunlight. He found a satisfying spot in the crotch of the tree and rested there, burrowing deeply in satisfaction, sighing in preparation for a nice nap after his present work was done.

Eve pondered the Serpent's subtle words. "Eyes opened?"

Did that mean her eyes weren't opened? She reached up and wiped her eyes for a moment, looking around her at the beauty of creation, the sun, the dappled spots on the ground, and the animals crowded around her feet. They all seemed oblivious to this conversation, but only went about gnawing on leaves or resting in the shade cast by the Hosta plants under the Tree of Life. Eve wiped her eyes again, wondering if perhaps it was possible there was something she WASN'T seeing? Could the Father have held something back from them? The Serpent seemed to think so. Why would he use that phrase if she already knew everything she was supposed to know? Was she supposed to know MORE?

And what of this "good and evil"?

What did that mean?

Eve looked around her, and saw that everything was good. She had intimate union with God, she was physically comfortable all the time, she had enough to eat, just the right amount, and life was perfect. Most importantly, she reveled in the love of God and perfect union with Him while enjoying His Creation.

What was "evil"?

This made her curious. What would the deprivation of good be like? Was there another side to things? Wouldn't it be interesting to see what it was like where God was not present?

The Serpent rested, watching Eve's deliberation, watching her eyes taking in everything around her and finally alighting on the Tree of Life.

Her eyes, focusing on the Arbor Vitae lit up in a different way. She saw that the Tree was good, too, and the fruit...quite inviting. It was colorful and emitted a tantalizing fragrance, perhaps even more so because it was forbidden.

She'd noticed it before but in purity of intention considered it nothing more than an inedible flower in a different form. But now, wondering if God perhaps hadn't told them EVERYTHING she felt her mouth watering and reached out to the tree, almost against her will...but not quite.

Once it was in her hand, she hesitated no longer and quickly brought it to her mouth. The taste was sweeter than anything she'd ever experienced or imagined, and this solidifed the doubt introduced to her by the Serpent. Yet she could not understand the sudden bitterness that caused her to spit out the seeds, gagging but unable to eject the pulp she'd ingested so willingly.

The sense of nausea and bitterness faded quickly, and overcome again by the inviting fragrance and salivating taste buds, Eve bit again into the flesh of the fruit, then offered it to Adam, who finally appeared out of the dappled shadows of the garden.

He did not hesitate to eat of the fruit offered to him from his beloved spouse, although she offered him no explanation. It was enough to him that the fruit was in her hand. The fragrance of it called to him and even if he'd been able to resist the sensation, her trusted hand, he thought, would never lead him astray. In his love of Eve, he ignored the echo of the voice of God speaking deep within him cautioning him against eating of the Tree of Life. Eve...her hand...her fruit...was Life ITSELF!

He bit deeply of the fruit, wallowing in it, reveling in it, not even noticing the Serpent gazing from the crotch of the Tree, his forked tongue betraying his excitement.

Then Adam and Eve locked eyes and were ashamed, for they realized neither were covered, and they stood immodestly. They both dove to either side of the Tree and then, carefully made their way to the foliage on either side, both pulling Hosta leaves and fig leaves as they went, trying to cover their shame.

Neither understood the sudden desire they had for the other, a desire that focused not on their ends, but on their parts; not what the other would attain in sanctity, but what they could experience physically in that moment.

Then God walked through the Garden as was His custom and called out to Adam and Eve who were suspiciously absent from their typical joyful greetings.

"Where are you?"

God knew where they hid, but knew they had a choice: to accept or reject His loving question. He knew their shame and was saddened, but instead of condemning, He asked them first to come to Him in love and humility.

They did not come. In their shame, they continued to hide, and gather more leaves to cover themselves.

Adam, the first to speak, blamed Eve, and in so doing accused God, blaming HIM for putting "that woman" with him.

Eve, incensed, spoke up from the next thicket, claiming that it was all the fault of the Serpent. But she did not come out from hiding, for she was busy weaving clothing from the foliage that surrounded her.

We know the rest...we're living it every day. We know that Christ died because of this very event and the effects that followed.

But WHAT IF....

What if, when God walked through the Garden, Adam and Eve had come to Him as He called?

What if Adam had gone to God on his knees with the remainder of the fruit of the Tree of Life? What if he had taken personal responsibility for his actions, and instead of blaming Eve, had admitted that he firstly had neglected to protect her and secondly, had directly disobeyed God both out of his own will and out of his disordered love for Eve over God?

What if Eve had knelt in humility before God and admitted she engaged the Serpent instead of walking away, instead of calling God, and, worst of all...for doubting Him in favor of the word of a creature she could crush under her own heel if she but tried?

What would our theology be like, what would our world be like if Adam and Eve had, in effect, gone to Confession?

Yes, their sin would be erased...to a degree. But original sin, in some sense, would remain. Temporal punishment would still be a reality, for the wound would still be present. The propensity to sin would still have been introduced.

It would make sense for them to be ejected from the Garden, and for the same reason we recognize today; if they continued to have access to the Tree of Life, having already tasted its sweetness they would not be able to withstand it without eating of it, and, of course, if they continued to eat of it they would not be able to be healed of their disobedience and doubt. Ejecting them from the Garden was an act of Mercy which pointed, from the beginning, to the coming Redemption.

But, in the case of Adam and Eve's repentance, would the effects of original sin be lessened? Would the world be more like the Garden but without the Tree of Life? Would there still be pain in childbirth? Would food be brought forth through thorn-infested land or would it grow more easily with minimal efforts to harvest it? Would the preternatural gifts of the original pair be part of humanity now? And would death have entered the world?

I have all these questions, and more.

As my friend pointed out this evening, this is what happens when one gets a little theology. We ask the deeper questions, the "what-if" questions. Not seeking to change reality, but rather, hoping to better understand the reality that we live every single day.

My own pondering will continue, and as I understand it, this is of the type that has kept theologians awake for centuries. "What if?"

It's the "what if" that brings us into contact with God and forces us to pursue Truth. True questions don't lead us OUT of the Church, but INTO it.

On a personal note...

I look at the story of Genesis, and realize I'm a part of it. I live it every day. I give in to the Serpent's suggestions, I enter into dialogue, I deliberate and I eat of what is forbidden. And knowing my influence, I offer it to others, those who should know better.

We all live Genesis every day.

I am reminded of the Exultet sung at the Easter Vigil:

"O Felix Culpa!" O Happy Fault! O Happy Sin of Adam that has won us so great a Redemption!

Oh, yes, I've experienced the greatness of God's mercy. I fell hard, and I fell long but when I came back, God's mercy was far greater than my sin, for the Redemption is ALWAYS more powerful than the Fall.

I guess "what if" doesn't matter. When I look at the story of our Redemption, I do not see the the Fall, even though I live it. Rather, I am drawn into the Wounds of the Savior who reaches for me from the Cross, which has taken the place of the Tree of Life, for Jesus is life itself and feeds us directly from His own Body and Blood, while the Serpent lays crushed dead beneath the weight of the Cross and the heel of the Mother of God who kneels with all her children, pointing to her Son, pointing to Love Incarnate.

The Cross, the Crucifixion...there is the Tree of Life, the Arbor Vitae, the Redemptionis Sacramentum. There is Life Itself, raised up, drawing us to Him, just as He promised.

God always keeps His promises.

Romantic

It's a cloudy, rainy day in Minnesota, and something about this weather always seems to bring on a mood of cautious melancholy. For awhile I sat down to read one of my favorite books, Anne of Green Gables. I'm tired of deep theology and mystical spirituality. What I needed was...a bit of romance. A bit of an example of innocence and humor. A little dose of Anne Shirley.

For a long time now, I've wryly told people, "I don't have a romantic bone left in my body." In musing about that statement, though, I had to ask myself... "Is that really true?"

Have I gotten so jaded and cynical that I haven't a heart for romance?

Maybe the better question is, "What is Romance?"

Romance, like love in our modern age, isn't properly understood. It's become so warped that we who say we don't have it aren't really rejecting it outright, but perhaps the superficialiaty of this "enlightened" age.

Romance certainly can mean that one is prone to flights of fancy and impulsive acts of jealous destruction. However, the meaning is so much deeper than that.

We have this idea that to be practical, realistic, and reflective are antonyms to romance, yet I'd argue that without those three qualities, there can be no romance at all.

I've thought about my own writings, what I've written about discernment, conversion, and pursuing Jesus over the last few years. I've considered all of my words, spoken and unspoken, written publicly or written privately, the agony, the indescribable beauty of God, and I've now had to face my own hard statement: Can it really be said that I don't have a romantic bone left in my body?

Or is it actually that I've somehow managed to discover the true meaning of romance, just as I've learned the true meaning of love?

Real romance isn't all flowers and stars in our eyes and mooning about on tiptoe with our heads stuck in the clouds. I've rarely met a person like that, and if I have, romance actually had nothing to do with their sad condition.

No. Romance isn't fluff.

It's heartbreaking. It's sacrificial. It's a word that perhaps inadequately describes an indescribable interior motivation to go beyond where we ever thought we could in pursuit of understanding the deepest interior longings of our hearts. In that longing there is incredible joy especially when some of the final outcome is glimpsed as we follow that elusive lover from place to place, only to discover in the end that He has been present all the time, ever watchful, jealously guarding from the moment of conception.

Real romance is work, and it can be rejected, it can be lost, but not on account of the One we pursue, but through our own vile unfaithfulness. In this story, we are the antagonist, the adulterer, the unfaithful spouse constantly looking for salvation.

Perhaps its true, then, partially that I'm not a romantic. I fully reject the definition that limits the idea of romance to illicit affairs, celebrity clashes and bubble-headed characters of the big screen. I reject the hokey, ragged bodice-ripper paperbacks that could be put to better use as campfire kindling. I reject all of this because romance and love are supposed to be related and NONE of the above has ANYTHING to do with love, but only the pursuit of hedonistic self-satisfaction to the detriment of another soul.

No, I'm not a romantic. Not that kind. But perhaps I'm not entirely dead, either, for even as I reject the superficiality, I'm willing to embrace the fullness and the deepest truth of romance, for in some ways, I'm living it and writing about it.

We may not know how this particular romance will go, but we are all, every single one of us, called to enter into that story. Whether we are married or single, whether we are priests, brothers, sisters, friars, monks, nuns or hermits, we all have that deep interior longing for the elusive lover of our souls. He beckons us onward even when we cannot see, knowing that one day, if we follow and remain faithful, we'll be invited to that great unending wedding feast where we'll be bound forever to Him for eternity. We'll have to go through fire and flood, storms and collapse in order to get to Him, but we will go, because we cannot disobey the truth that calls us to carry on through any trial or tribulation. We do this, because He already did and showed us the way. Romance is that sacrifice, and our response.

That's real romance, and that's real love.

I guess I'm a romantic after all.