Genie In A Bottle

I was talking with someone the other day about Sacraments and discovered that we have radically different views. While I can see where he's coming from, I don't think I'll ever agree. One of the main differences between our two understandings is that I think, when all the elements are present, the Sacraments are always effective, while he thinks that can't be said with any certainty because it would turn God into a genie Who could be forced to do something by someone who utters the right 'magical' words.

While I agree the idea of shoving God into a glass bottle to be summoned as a wish-granting servant is unnerving, I don't think it's possible to say the Sacraments don't impart a grace that changes a person. I guess what this means is that I'm going to go on and on about Sacraments now and that nothing short of a miracle will stop me. So you should probably put your hands together and pray for one.

So, Baptism. The idea put before me was that it is a sign of the community choosing to welcome you. That's all well and good, but I think Baptism also changes you. It binds you into the Church, Christ's body. You are now something that you weren't. I know the imagery of marriage to Jesus had been embraced by religious orders, but by being made one with the spouse -- the Church -- in Baptism, the soul is united to God. Jesus becomes a part of us because, in his love for us, he dwells in us and we in him. The reason that professing religious life isn't a Sacrament is because the substance of the soul's marriage to Christ has already been accomplished by Baptism. There can be a renewal and deepening of that relationship, but it's already there. The marriage remains even though the union hasn't been consummated and isn't complete: our Lord is a patient husband.

Baptism aside, on to Confirmation. The idea he discussed with me was that Confirmation is you choosing to be a part of the community that already welcomed you. I personally think the meaning of Confirmation has been somewhat warped by ripping it apart from the larger initiation ritual. It goes exorcism, Baptism, Confirmation; Confirmation is the seal of the Holy Spirit given to strengthen the person against the devil, to keep out the demonic which had been driven out, and to enhance / impart the fruits of the Spirit first given in the gift of grace. The Spirit indwells in you and forges an even closer bond between you and Jesus.

Next up: Eucharist. Oh boy, this is the one where people start throwing rocks at each other and shouting things like 'burn the heretic.' I really don't want to become a human marshmallow. I think the bread and wine actually become the Body and Blood of Christ, so you're partaking of the one Sacrifice of Jesus Christ for the world. I don't particularly care what happens to the substance of the bread and wine: it's either gone, leaving only accidents behind, or it's still there (and before you go complaining that two substances can't occupy the same space at once, remember that the One God is a Trinity and Jesus is both human and Divine). That question isn't particularly important. The person I was talking to believes that Eucharist is essentially a symbol that can help you accept that Jesus died to save you from your sins and to embrace that one offering for all time, thereby allowing you to 'participate' in that sacrifice.

He also thinks ordination doesn't do much more than confirm what God has already done in calling someone to ministry, that God has chosen you, and maybe that it adds a special blessing on that. But I think I'll save the Holy Orders discussion for another time.

Anyway, those are the Sacraments we got around to discussing. I've talked about Confession and Unction elsewhere, so if you're excruciatingly bored you can check that out, though I'd recommend against it. Obviously, anything I've said here is pretty superficial: I've done more sophisticated versions at other times, but really you need to embed it in a systematic approach to sacramental theology, and it's more fun if it's in the context of a robust catechetical program that includes stuff like Creation. Woohoo!!

While I agree with my friend that you can't force God to do anything, I also believe the Sacraments were freely given to us as gifts until the end of time. While they are a participation in eternal life, it's not like they cause or guarantee our salvation. That's the province of God alone (which means at some point someone will call me on my argument that Baptism grafts you into the Church but you can end up outside the gates of heaven anyway. Umm...it's complicated, so I prefer to avoid that minefield until absolutely necessary).

The only Sacrament at the end of time is the Church. I don't think the Church is a Sacrament now in the same way as the others but, someday, when we are all changed and made perfect within her, we -- the Church -- will be graced with the unity that will put us into perfect communion with God as a spouse interpenetrating us in an eternal perichoresis between God and the Church born from Christ's side. Though the marks of the other Sacraments remain on the soul, they have no more effect. They are for this life, not the next.

And for this life, they are real and true, gifts that do not fail.

Put Some Pants On, You Monster!

You may be familiar with Islamic rules of modesty for women: we’ve been hearing a lot about them in the news recently. While many people argue about what exactly this is supposed to mean, the Qur'an is pretty clear about things like covering up, although what exactly you must cover is, beyond the obvious, somewhat vague.

“Good women are obedient. They guard their unseen parts because God has guarded them” (Q 4:34).

An Islamic cleric, Hojatoleslam Kazem Sedighi, has expressed alarm and dismay over lapses in female modesty. He says (according to National Post), “Many women who do not dress modestly…lead young men astray, corrupt their chastity and spread adultery in society, which [consequently] increases earthquakes.”

Well…the Qur'an does mention that both women and men are supposed to turn their eyes away from immodesty (Q 24:30-31), so maybe the real problem is that they’re looking? That is a bit facetious: after all, the scriptures also tell women to dress modestly so as not to incite…um…anything. But earthquakes? This is the first I’ve heard of that. I’m sure that has scriptural grounding somewhere, but frankly I can’t find it. The only mention of earthquakes that I know of pertains to the last days (Q 99). I think maybe rampant fear of Western culture and its various licentious ways are getting the best of some people and pushing them to rather absurd conclusions.

“Their dread of you is more intense in their hearts than their fear of God: so devoid are they of understanding” (Q 59:13).

I think this concern with female modesty is rather overblown. It just directs people away from the real, serious and threatening problem which is much more important. Clearly, clearly, I’m talking about the lack of male modesty which is obviously responsible for volcanic eruptions.

“Say to the believing man that they should lower their gaze and guard their modesty; that will make for greater purity for them” (Q 24:30).

I mean, what is it with these men walking around in shorts above the knee? Or without shirts on? Their scandalous attire is causing the earth's core to heat up! And those tight pants? I mean, leave something to the imagination! Tempting the weaker sex like that with your immodesty: for shame.

Some of you may know that I have a great respect for the Muslim faith – heck, I thought seriously about converting – so I mean no disrespect to the Prophet or the Qur'an. However, I mean great disrespect to the morons who twist its message around and use it to disenfranchise people or treat them with less dignity than they deserve as human beings.

“But great is the guilt of those who oppress their fellow men and conduct themselves with wickedness and injustice in the land” (Q 42:41). Since the Qur'an is concerned with everyone’s rights, I’m interpreting ‘men’ as rather broader than just the male gender.

Forcing people to dress or worship a certain way, or making outlandish claims as to the results when they do not, undermines the beauty of Muslim beliefs, as it would undermine the power and poetry of all and any faith. The truth is that, in the end, each person comes before God and has a relationship with Him as an individual, and by taking away that aspect of volition you rob the believer of the chance to have real faith, determined only by that person’s own love of God.

“Thus did they earn God’s grace and bounty, and no harm befell them. For they had striven to please God, and God’s bounty is infinite” (Q 3:173).

Good Desire

My parish priest said something interesting on Good Friday. He said that if you come to worship requiring of yourself a perfect offering, you aren’t leaving room for grace to work in you. And if you require other people to make a perfect offering, you aren’t allowing grace to work through them. I realized something important then, which is a good realization since I spend so much time whining about liturgy and whatnot. As much as I think liturgy is important, and that it has rules, what’s most important is that it enables people to pray. So maybe I should stop being so judgmental about it, eh?

Being sick has forced – or allowed – me to make certain discoveries somewhat along the same lines as this. Because I get so absolutely exhausted, sometimes I actually don’t do daily prayer. *shock and horror!* I know, I know, for someone who liked praying five times a day that’s a totally messed-up state of affairs. But I’ve come to realize that prayer can’t be something I do just because I’ve told myself I have to. It has to be something I do because I desire to do it. Right now, I simply don’t have the drive to pray that much, and I think I’m deciding that that’s okay. Do you think writing this blog or the one for the church counts as some kooky form of meditation?

Along the lines of desire, I’ve been reading chapter three of Eldredge’s book “Desire.” He talks about how our understanding and practice of religion has become about killing desire; he thinks this is bad because it makes it impossible to follow God, since we can’t know our hearts. He says that “[we] are told to kill desire and call it sanctification.” For Eldredge, this is obviously a bad idea.

I admit that I have trouble with this idea because, in its simplistic formulation, it seems to exclude practices like asceticism. I think asceticism can be a good thing, and the people we’re studying in my course on mysticism tend to agree. Self-denial in various forms has permeated Christian tradition from the very beginning. At various times, I’ve practiced different forms of ascetic discipline myself, and I’ve found it very helpful.

Obviously, I’m no expert on this: I don’t come out of a religious formation, and asceticism, while a current in my life, has by no means dominated the practice of my faith. But I think that ‘killing desire’ can be crucial to discovering the true desire of the heart. Simplifying your life by taking things out of it both literally and figuratively opens up a space for God. Denying oneself certain things you want can help expose the fact that you don’t really need much of the stuff you want. Pain and exhaustion can show you how far you can really push yourself for something you believe in.

For me, all desire or want born of denial is a reflection of the deeper, truer desire of the soul for God. The feeling of wanting something because you don’t have it is a window to a fuller longing that comes to eclipse all else. When you feel hungry, it is a metaphor for your hunger for God. When you’re thirsty, it reflects in miniature a thirst for God. Being tired is a longing for the rest of God. Being in pain is a desire for God’s soothing embrace. Hours of prayer are a foretaste of loving God in totality, to the exclusion of all else. Chastity is an overwhelming need to be consumed by God in His Divine fire.

While I agree that a focus on these acts of ‘killing desire’ is dangerous because it can lead to a dead faith based on works, I think it’s invaluable insofar as it does not remove desire but reveals what lies beneath it – God, the source and end of desire itself.

Asceticism can also help derail unhealthy desires that have an unwholesome grip on a person’s life (which is why obsessing over something you’ve told yourself you can’t have defeats the purpose). It wasn’t an accident that Jesus said ‘he who looks at another man’s wife in lust has already committed adultery in his heart.’ Lust implies an all-consuming want, something that isn’t a true desire because it perverts the heart away from God. Adultery is the Biblical symbol of idolatry – putting something else in the place of God, worshipping it, giving it your heart. Asceticism can help curb these idolatrous tendencies, insofar as it reveals the heart’s longing for God and opens up a space for Him, and does not itself become a god in the place of God.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that “desire” isn’t as simple as wanting, that sometimes wanting does need to be killed, and that maybe the real desire we’re searching for deep within ourselves can set us free from judgment and form and open us up to the working of grace.

Because being focused on what’s right, being over-focused on that to the point you can’t see anything else, makes you like the older brother in the parable of the prodigal son: refusing to enter into the joyous embrace of the father, refusing to allow grace to uncover that desire, for the simple reason that you were right.


And now (for something completely different), a prayer by my younger self:

My Lord, I saw two doves today,
they were like You and I:
perched upon this lonely world,
longing for the sky.

I look to You, my Life, my All,
my perfect Dove is One;
and I, your soft companion there
with You in the golden sun.

One day, my Dove, I’ll fly with You,
in heaven’s full, perfect light;
that day we’ll dance, but now we rest
at dusk, and wait for night.

Tonight, we’ll steal away, my Love,
in cover of the dark;
we’ll hide on secret, verdant shores
among the rush and lark.

Soft, silent kisses we’ll exchange,
draw near as lovebirds do;
we’ll cast but one shadow on the waves,
as I enfold myself in You.

My perfect Dove, we’ll hide away
‘till dawn within the gloom,
and never You’ll depart, nor I,
though light be dawning soon.

The dark of night, my loving Lord,
while terrifying, too,
allows my fragile wings to bear
my softness close to You.

Behold The Mercy Of God

[in lieu of a real post, the homily I gave on Sunday]

Well, here we are, at the first Sunday after Easter and, in a way, it’s kind of a let-down, isn’t it? I mean, we’ve just finished celebrating Jesus’ Resurrection! We’ve come through a difficult Passiontide and arrived at a place of pure joy and miracle. Finally, Lent is over! Finally, Easter has arrived! We’ve had all the family dinners, the chocolate Easter eggs, the sugar high and the inevitable cranky period after it. We’ve been exhausted and reborn, horrified and overjoyed. Finally, it’s Easter! The Lord is risen! Alleluia!

So, what do we do now? What’s left? It’s like coming home from a really great party: now that the excitement is over, we feel a bit empty, kind of disappointed. “Oh, it’s over.” Don’t get me wrong: it’s great to be home. But there’s still that feeling, you know? That feeling of emptiness. Even though it only lasts a little while, because life goes on, it’s still a pretty powerful experience. Maybe part of that feeling comes from being suspended between times. Jesus is risen! But we’re waiting for him to ascend into heaven, and we’re waiting for Pentecost. What are we supposed to do with this time in between?

On the second Sunday of the Easter season – which is today – a little-known celebration is observed: the feast of the Divine Mercy. A Polish nun named Sister Faustina (who is now considered a Saint) received visions from our Lord Jesus Christ throughout most of her life. These visions – these messages from Jesus – infused her life, leading her to join a convent and shaping her mission as an Apostle of Mercy. Jesus instructed her to record everything he told her in her diary, and ordered her to proclaim his message of mercy to all people.

One of the things Jesus told her to do was to paint an image of him. In the painting, Jesus stands with one hand over his Sacred Heart and the other reaching out in a blessing. He looks pretty welcoming, like he wants you to come to him. Two rays of light emerge from his Heart. The red ray represents the blood he shed on the Cross, as well as the life of the soul; the whitish-blue ray symbolizes the water flowing from his side, and the soul being made righteous. Jesus’ death both gives life to our souls and purifies them, making them whole again. Most Divine Mercy Icons have these words written on them: “Lord Jesus, I trust in you.” Jesus promised Saint Faustina that the souls genuinely devoted to his Divine Mercy would never die.

Celebrating the Divine Mercy actually takes nine days: it consists of a series of prayers extending from Good Friday until today. Each day, prayers are offered for a different group of people. We begin by praying that all sinners will be immersed in the ocean of God’s mercy. And on the last day, we end by praying for all the souls that have become lukewarm – the people who once cared about God and don’t anymore, the people who have lost the fire of faith. We pray that they will be enfolded in Jesus’ mercy and regain that fire and passion. In Jesus’ revelation to Saint Faustina, the lukewarm are described as the people who caused him the most pain during his Passion: the people standing by who didn’t care, one way or the other, about what was happening to him.

All of these prayers are offered in the name of Jesus’ body and blood, soul and divinity. They are offered for our own sins and for the sins of all people. We pray using these words: for the sake of his sorrowful Passion, have mercy on us and on the whole world.

I personally love this feast of the Divine Mercy. I know, I know, it seems really weird to be talking about this now. You’re thinking, ‘man, this is depressing! Why in the name of all things are we talking about Jesus’ Passion and death right after Easter? You remember Easter, right? It was just last week! Stop ruining my cheerful mood with all this crucifixion talk and get back to the Resurrection where you’re supposed to be.’

That’s a perfectly normal reaction: we are an Easter people and we want to live there. But we tend to forget the difficult reality of the Cross a little too quickly after the Resurrection – I know I do. But there’s no such thing as Easter without the Cross! If we allow ourselves to forget that the two are part of the same act we might as well toss Easter onto the pile of things that have become totally secular. Totally meaningless. We might as well spend Good Friday saying: ‘Now, you just be patient a few more days, honey, and Jesus is going to bring you a nice basket full of candy, just as soon as the Easter Bunny rolls that giant egg away from the tomb!’

The fact that we’re here today testifies that we believe in something more real. To really believe, to really be Christian, means that Easter has a real effect on our lives. It is transformative, and not just some ritual involving chocolates and draping the church in white. This means we can’t just receive the promise of Easter and squirrel it away like a precious secret. Like the light flowing from Jesus’ Heart, it has to shine out of us, because if we don’t let it flow through us and out into the world we haven’t really received it, either.

What does it mean to receive this promise? How do we allow it to live in us? The answer is in the blue and red rays: we receive it by allowing God to breathe life into our souls and to transform us in His image. First, we must ask for the mercy offered to us on the Cross. Then we must be merciful. Today’s readings are full of the truth that Jesus’ resurrected life is an offering of, and call to, mercy. Acts of Apostles tells us that “The God of our fathers raised Jesus whom you killed by hanging him on a tree. God exalted him at his right hand as Leader and Savior, to give repentance to Israel and forgiveness of sins” (5:30-31). Revelation says “Jesus Christ [is] the faithful witness, the first-born of the dead […] who loves us and has freed us from our sins by his blood” (1:5).

In the Gospel reading, the Holy Spirit is given to the disciples along with the power to forgive sins. The idea that the Resurrection is about mercy is one of the oldest truths of our faith.

The final element in receiving the Easter promise comes with the command that we place all our trust in God. Blessed is he who does not see, and yet believes! The marks remaining in Jesus’ hands remind us that his sacrifice and mercy will never disappear. We can confidently rely on him as we strive to live the risen life. Accepting this truth is the source of our great joy, as in the light of Easter we see life.

And what life that is! The celebration of the Divine Mercy is meant to help us realize that Jesus’ forgiveness and compassion are total, that he forgives even the worst sin, and that it’s never too late to embrace his mercy. Our Resurrected Lord stands reaching out to us, calling us to him as beloved children. He bathes us in the light of his Crucified Heart. By taking his outstretched hand and standing in his life-giving mercy, we participate in the Passion that broke his Heart and make the heavy pain of it easier for him to bear. We must give ourselves over to Jesus in complete trust, believing firmly and absolutely that his mercy will indeed save us, covering over our sins and clothing us in righteousness.

I asked before what we should do with this time in between Easter and Pentecost. What we need to do is prepare to receive the Holy Spirit. We know there’s more to that than just running around proclaiming, “Jesus is risen! Jesus is risen! Alleluia!” To share in the risen life – to be faithful witnesses – we need to devote ourselves to God’s mercy. The crucial part of this devotion is committing ourselves to actually being merciful, to living the mercy for others that has been freely given to us.

To proclaim the Resurrection, we need to forgive other people. To anticipate Jesus’ ascension to his Kingdom, we need to evangelize the world by giving to those in need, whatever that need may be. To receive the Holy Spirit, we must be set on fire by love for others. And to await God’s coming in glory, we need to pray for the salvation of all the world.

We must always stand faithfully at the foot of the Cross, even now, especially now, as we celebrate Easter. It is by doing so that we, through believing, come to have life in Jesus’ name.




Readings: Acts 5:27-32; Ps 118:14-29 or 150; Rev 1:4-8; Jn 20:19-31
(11 April 2010, Second Sunday of Easter)

Flower Power

The January issue of Awake! (a Jehovah’s Witness magazine) uses the orchid as an example of Divine creation: surely such a flower testifies to the fact that God created the world, since it is clearly intelligently designed!

Well…what does intelligent design mean, anyway? Does it mean that God sat up in heaven drawing blueprints of flowers and then scattered the perfect little seeds? I dunno. If He did, then He must not have created everything at once: if all creation were simultaneous, we’d run into a little problem I like to call ‘the dinosaurs.’

So, every once in awhile God makes something new and then plunks it down on the earth fully developed. This causes a few problems, too. Among other things, it begs the question of why no one’s ever caught God with His hand in the cookie jar (so to speak).

Another intelligent design theory is the ever-popular Deism: God created the ‘stuff’ of everything and then sat back and let it evolve all by itself. The Clockmaker God, Newton’s God. This is a bit problematic, too. For one thing, there’s the question of whether He actually knew what all this stuff was going to turn into or was shooting in the dark. For another, it’s a bit odd that a hands-off God would do things like Divine Revelation and Redemption: shouldn’t everything just evolve to a perfect end all by itself?

The idea that God upholds creation by – oh, I don’t know – thinking the laws of physics is not particularly comforting. As it turns out, things like the speed of light haven’t always been constant. And if God, like, sneezes and loses concentration, will we all wake up with wings? (that would explain the angels)

Creationism and intelligent design are so mind-boggling that I’m tempted to ignore them altogether. The only problem is that I believe both that evolution is true and that the world is not the product of complete chance. Oh, I can believe that specific subspecies of orchids are totally random, since that doesn’t really change their ‘orchid-ness,’ or that the entire type of flower was just one possible outcome. The fact that they’re so delicate and complicated and beautiful, however, I think could only be true in a universe where God carefully watched over things as they took their own course, making sure that they could become what they are.

It’s the same with humans: why can’t we be both descended from apes and the special creations of God? A soul can’t be evolved because it’s supernatural, and only the natural can evolve. Nor can it be separated from the natural body and remain what it is – that’s why the final resurrection is embodied, so that the human person exists in wholeness. God wants us to be able to smell the flowers and see their beauty, not just to be able to contemplate them as intellectual objects from within some disembodied existence.

God created each and every one of us as human persons, knitting us together in our mothers’ wombs. But we also belong to this world. Anyway, it’s like everything that makes us not-apes – and everything that makes us apes – was able to happen because God nurtured and helped and made it possible, knowing what it is that He had created the world and everything in it to become. After all, aren’t our lives a mixture of precisely these two things: the self-direction of free will coming from inner growth, and the help of God that makes our actualization – our becoming who we are – possible? Our lives a collaboration between us and God in a world where we do not stand alone.

Don't Say I Didn't Warn You

(Mk 7:31-37)

The thing that unsettles me about this passage is that I don’t understand why Jesus would tell the crowd to keep quiet about what he’d done. He can’t be serious, right? The best way to make sure gossip spreads is to tell people not to talk about it: we all know that from belonging to parishes. The more he commands them to keep it under wraps, the more they’re determined to make sure everyone knows.

I personally doubt their disobedience had Jesus pacing around, anxiously pulling out his hair and thinking, “Why doesn’t anyone ever listen to me?!” This leaves me with a problem, because now I have to question why Jesus would say something he doesn’t mean.

I think that Jesus intends to test their faith in a way similar to his interaction with the Syrophoenecian woman in the passage immediately before this one, when he initially refuses to heal her daughter because she doesn’t belong to the chosen people – in both cases, he says something that elicits a proclamation of faith. A proverbial “you say that you believe: prove it.”

This healing episode is particularly interesting because it brings to life Isaiah’s prophesy about the healing of a mute man, and thus contains a message of Jesus’ messiah-hood that goes beyond his reputation as a wonder-worker. Here, Jesus-as-Messiah appears to everyone, and not just a select group of disciples. The story presents a conflict between silence and speech, between secrecy and proclamation. It is from within this conflict that the people must decide what to do.

Deciding whether to preach the Gospel or to curl up with it somewhere safe is a choice each person must make for himself, and the crowd’s decision not to shut up about it testifies to their belief that it should be told. They’re courageous in their own way, risking the wrath of Jesus himself. And we’re left with the uncomfortable truth that Jesus intends what he’s saying to have a different effect than what’s implied in the words themselves.

It shouldn’t be that surprising: most of Jesus’ teachings are parables. To understand him, it’s necessary to look beneath the surface and search for the truth. Mutely accepting everything he says could lead to some scary consequences, like not spreading the word, or thinking that God’s Kingdom is a giant mustard bush in the sky. I guess what I’m trying to say is that to really live the Gospel, you have to be willing to challenge it and allow it to challenge you, to push at it and follow what it calls you to do, even if the words you challenge come from Jesus himself.

I wonder what would have happened if the people in the crowd had actually done what Jesus told them to do. I don’t think it would have made much difference. The deaf-mute man walking around hearing and speaking probably would have given it away. And even if this story never spread at all, the effect of God’s Kingdom would still be present. Their involvement in it, their decision to act and participate, is what would have been lost; the real and crucial effect of their decision is in their own lives.

Of course, this thought experiment is a moot point, because the people in the story do go out and tell everyone. I don’t think they would have been capable of secrecy: revealing the Kingdom’s presence and then expecting the people to shut up about it is about as effective as trying to smuggle sunshine past a rooster. There are places in Mark where people do agree to keep silent, and their decision is the correct one. The key is discretion and judgment, allowing the Gospel to successfully reach into a specific time and place.

Our response to the Gospel should be no different. We should be fearless, always exploring our faith and proclaiming it, but never letting our own designs or desires displace the message of God. Our response to the Good News requires discernment. It requires the joyful courage to stand up and proclaim what we know, even when every voice is against us, even when it’s something no one wants to hear, even knowing that telling it isn’t without risk to ourselves, at the same time always being careful to discern what it is the Gospel calls us to do, and when.


(additional texts: Ps 81:8-16; 1 Kgs 11:29-32, 12:19)

To See One's Shadow

Today I was going to go to an Anglo-Catholic church to celebrate Candlemass – the Presentation of Jesus at the Temple. I’ve never actually observed it before, so I was exited. From what I overheard yesterday, it actually involves candles! I love candles from church services: I like to take them home and use them to light other candles.

Anyway, what happened instead is that I started going there after evening prayer and then realized that I actually wasn’t feeling very well and that it was cold. I really wasn’t looking forward to walking back alone in the dark. So I took the train home instead.

Since I don’t know anything about the celebration, I’ll do what I always do when I don’t know what I’m talking about: talk LOUDER. Just kidding, I mean I’ll talk about Mary. After all, it’s the Purification of Mary as well.

I have to confess, I find the notion that a woman is ‘unclean’ after childbirth distasteful. Ergo, I like to re-imagine what this ceremony means, even though my meanderings are basically groundless.

I imagine that, somehow, formally thanking God for your child and praising Him in an established ritual completes the process of giving birth to a child. That giving birth is as much a ritual as it is a physical process. That it’s a sacramental, like chrism or folding your hands reverently in prayer. Something inward, accomplished by and joined to an outward sign.

I think I read once that what happens with firstborn boys is that they actually belong to God, and that you sacrifice at the temple in order to buy them back or something. So Jesus belongs to Mary (and Joseph), not to God. Maybe that’s how she makes him turn the water into wine?

But enough of this. Today marks another holiday as well, one that seems to have far more bearing on our immediate lives. I mean, of course, Groundhog Day. All three groundhogs I know about saw their shadows today, so we’re in for a cold spell. Curses!

C. G. Jung understood the Shadow to be an archetype, a universal psychological construct containing all the things about ourselves that we try to repress (it’s something like the Freudian unconscious, composed of basic drives and desires). Our opposites, if you will. We tend to think of the Shadow as a negative splitting off (violence, hatred, etc.), what has been expelled from the Self. However, I think it’s more nuanced than that, more blurry, more individualized. The archetype is like a standard coat hanger that everyone has, upon which we place our individual and varied jackets. Even when we all have the same coat, they're all in slightly different shades. Maybe there’s someone out there who’s completely repressed their shyness. Whoever that it, is ain’t me.

Like all Jungian archetypes, the Shadow is part of a complex in which one part is dominant (for example: the Anima and Animus, male and female, also known as Soul). Total dominance is unhealthy: what’s necessary is the proper balance and integration. Professor Zuroff from the Psychology department says that the reason Luke Skywalker is so bland is that he’s over-repressing his shadow; Han Solo, who’s more vibrant, is doing it right.

Trying not to see your shadow, to block it out or cover it up with searing bright light, only makes you blind and unable to function (like Captain Kirk in that episode where the transporter splits him in half and neither the totally good Kirk nor the totally evil one can do anything useful).

We, like the groundhogs, are naturally scared of our Shadow, because we find it to be troubling, wild, threatening, unknown and uncontrollable. But being totally terrified by it isn’t useful either: then you just run away in fear back to ‘safety,’ freezing everything, pushing back the spring and the possibility of new life, leaving everything brittle and fragile and trapped beneath the perfect ice. I sometimes worry that’s what we’ve done to Mary: purified her.

What we need to understand about her is what we need in our own lives: to integrate the various aspects of ourselves and become the Self, the whole person in relationship with God, the Self as an intermeshing with both one's full humanity and the Divine, like perichoresis in the Trinity, around and in and through, together.

I think we’re not so much to be perfect as to realize that we are ransomed as Jesus was ransomed, free to return to God on our own, travelling through both the shadow and the light.

Mary, The Catholic Jew

Today is the Solemnity of Mary the Mother of God (alternately, it’s the naming / circumcision of Jesus, but we’ll put that aside).

In the catholic traditions, a special kind of veneration is due Mary, called hyperdulia (hyper-veneration?), as opposed to dulia, the veneration of the (other) Saints. I think this distinction was made at the Second Council of Nicea…but I’m not sure, and it doesn’t really matter. Definitely not the worship due to God, however, which makes it a little odd that the Church would replace a Christological feast with a Marian one, but I digress.

Anyway, the point of the homily today was that we tend to turn Mary into a Catholic with our devotions, and forget that she’s not a Catholic but a Jew. The point being, at least in part, that we have to stop doing that if we want to understand her.

This, of course, is absolutely true. Mary was obedient to the law – witness the naming and circumcision of Jesus on the eighth day – chosen by God and accepting of him while ‘under the law.’ In the Magnificat, she quotes the Hebrew scriptures.

What I don’t understand is why it has to be one or the other, and not both. In John’s understanding of the Gospel, Mary is the first person to declare Jesus for who he is, putting absolute faith in him when she tells the stewards to do as he tells them. Afterwards, his disciples begin to believe. She is there at the crucifixion. She is assumed into heaven, the Mother of the Church, the Queen of Heaven, closest to God of all the saints because she bore Him inside of her. Why can’t she be Christian and Jewish both? Her apparitions, some of which upheld and even demanded devotions such as the rosary, show us that her identity as Mary does not end with her death. She is the mother of all humanity. By all means, seek to become closer to Mary by understanding her Jewish life; that shouldn’t mean that we cannot understand her to be – like Jesus, who comes to fulfill the law – living both inside the Church and before it. In God, all things are possible.

Part of what’s interesting about John’s gospel, at least to me, is the role given to Mary as the person who calls forth Jesus’ first miracle, which he does only because she asks him to, against what seems to be his better judgment of his mission. The most perfect disciple, the beginning of the Church. It’s interesting that we somehow manage to maintain such a strong Marian devotion alongside an institutional church which has, for the most part, been composed entirely of men. The catholic faith is full of contradictions, especially when it comes to its Sacraments and symbols, but somehow I still wonder about this one. The Church as Sacrament…what does that mean for the churches that we have built?

But I ramble.

Part of the point of the Solemnity of Mary is a focus on the fact that she’s the actual mother of God – Theotokos, rather than God-bearer. It’s supposed to help us better understand that Jesus is fully human because we see that she did not merely carry within her some random stranger but gave his humanity to him, the humanity which redeems us. The idea that she sacrificed and gave of herself is integral to our faith, if you want to believe that Jesus is both fully God and fully man.

To quote H. Em. Card. Ignace Moussa I Daoud, Prefect of the Congregation for Oriental Churches, from a speech that was given at the 11th Ordinary General Assembly of the Synod of Bishops in 2005 (you can find it and other interventions on the Vatican website):

“We receive the gift of the Eucharist from the hands of Mary also. God has disposed that, thanks to her, the Incarnation, Redemption, the Eucharist and Communion would reach us. Mary was the first to receive in her womb the Body and the Blood of Christ. The Incarnation was the first Communion of history. The first tabernacle was her immaculate heart […] before any apostle or priest it is Mary who gives Jesus to the world. Mary and the Eucharist cannot be disassociated.”

[Warning: do not consume alcohol before blogging]

In [?] I Trust

Trust is a very important part of our lives, both as Church and as individuals. But what does it mean to trust, to be trustworthy? The final prayer in the Divine Mercy chaplet is “Jesus, I trust in you.” Trust, therefore, demands to be explored.

The interesting thing about trust is that it’s both a verb and a noun – an action and a thing – and that it is both of these at the same time, as well as being a description.

To trust is to have certainty that a person, in some respect, will act or behave in a certain way. It is certainty that the person is who you think they are, and that they will be that person. When someone tells a secret to someone else, they are trusting that person to do certain things in response, they are trusting that their secret will be received in a way that respects its integrity and dignity. ‘I trust you to understand,’ ‘I trust you to know that the secret is important to me,’ ‘I trust you to feel a certain way about it, a way that encompasses its nature,’ ‘I trust you to accept the secret as a knowledge that belongs to you though not an experience that belongs to you, to take it into account and not pretend that you never heard it, but also not to try and make it your own.’ These expectancy constructs are all based on trust as a certainty about another person. There can be trust, in the active sense, regardless of whether or not that certainty is well-founded: it is an action performed by only one person, the one who has decided to trust and reveal.

This kind of trust is also a noun, a state of being or affairs. When the trust is not betrayed – when the other person accepts that trust – something exists between you, a relationship based on mutual respect for the bond that trust creates. I think that relationship is important for both people, the one who is accepting the responsibility as well as the one who is reaching out to them in trust, when the person reaching out has also taken responsibility for themselves.

Genuine trust, I believe, always carries that kind of self-responsibility, because it acknowledges that in that decision is a risk that can be borne only by the person taking it. I choose to trust you, and in so doing I acknowledge myself to be the kind of person who does trust you, who believes in you, and who accepts that what I reveal belongs to me, is my own, and is my own to share or to conceal. Real trust is the greatest form of self-responsibility that there can be, as is the real acceptance of that trust by someone to whom the secret does not belong, but who chooses to be trust-worthy in the sharing of it.

Trust, of course, does not only have to do with secrets; trust can also be a form of dependence. ‘I trust you to catch me when I fall,’ to take an example from the clichéd trust-building exercises used in marriage counseling and group formation classes. ‘I trust you not to walk me off a cliff if you’ve volunteered to substitute for my guide dog today.’ ‘I trust you to help me in the way that you can, the appropriate way, and no other.’ ‘Jesus, I trust in you that you will love me and, at the final end, make everything right.’

Where would we be, as people and as Church, without this dependence on one another? Surely not a living metaphysical and real entity; surely not human; surely not truthful. Because we all depend on others in a myriad of ways, as we are supposed to. I don’t think this is unhealthy. I think that denying this essential part of our human lives constitutes a dangerous and destructive falsehood that denies the nature of what we are: that we are created to trust and depend, to be trustworthy and dependable. On whom can I depend but God? The best answer, I would hope, is ‘other people.’

Trust also always involves a vulnerability on the part of the person who trusts. They have, after all, given a great deal of power to another person in the hope that that person will not abuse that power, will not choose to violate that vulnerability. Which brings up what may just be the most important thing about trust: trust is hope. There is no trust without hope – it just isn’t possible. It is a choosing to believe in goodness, in kindness, in the humanity that God has created us to be. It is a hope in love, in one’s own and another’s strength. It is a hope in another person. Where could there be healing without hope? Without love, dependence, trust? These things are all woven together in a life that looks forward to and expects the resurrection, in a life that sees the promise of that resurrection here among us. Now is the kingdom, now is the day.

It makes me sad that disclosure of and healing from one’s secrets can be related to an interaction with another person that is devoid of mutual responsibility, expectation, investment and hope, rather turned in on itself where the act of speech, and not the relationship it inevitably demands, is grasped as the sole means of healing and self-responsibility. You might as well be talking into your web-cam. I personally would not want to think another person opened up their life to me as if I were a mirror to be used only for their own need to speak. I would feel devalued as a person, I would feel like I am being used, because in that action my own humanity, my own ability to be responsible with another person’s trust, is being devalued and denied. Trust is intimacy. Without intimacy there is no hope, no love. Without trust, life is not possible.

I sometimes think that this necessary intimacy is precisely what we have denied our priests (using ‘we’ for the moment to refer to the institutional Roman Catholic Church). We confess to them as if they were some sort of forgiveness-dispensing machine: just put in your quarter and receive healing. But is that really such a great idea, to forget that they are a person and not just standing in the place of Christ? Maybe that forgetting causes more harm than we know. Our priests are not allowed to marry. Our priests are expected to keep up one-way relationships with their parishioners where their own needs are suppressed, or at least never expressed, because of course a priest should not need anyone in his church or contribute something of himself to an intimacy between them. Our priests live alone. I don’t think it’s fair, and I don’t think it’s right, that we should limit or deny a priest this necessary element of vitality and humanity. It just seems like that kind of trust, that one-way expectation, does not account for who they are, and it’s a sacrifice that no one should have to make. It must be a heavy burden, that trust, knowing that you can never trust that person in turn – not really, because the expectation is that you will not attempt to do so. It makes me sad that anyone should have to live like that, especially our priests who represent Christ on earth, the epitome of that perfect love, hope and trust.

Now, this is not to say that unhealthy relationships cannot develop around the sharing of secrets or dependence or hope. Hope can be unrealistic, reflecting a denial of reality and an attempt to make another person carry to heavy a burden for you. It can be a way of shifting your self-responsibility onto another person and expecting them to fix things for you. It can be a gateway to inappropriate intimacy. An attempt to control another person. An attempt to avoid risk, ironically, by assuming that risk is eliminated by a relationship with another person. But that isn’t trust: that’s co-dependency. And the interesting thing about co-dependency is that in order for it to actually occur as a noun and as a verb, more than one person has to be involved in it. If your would-be co-dependent does not respond by allowing that relationship to unfold, you’re not actually co-dependent: you’re being stupid maybe, cowardly, afraid, manipulative and selfish, uncaring of another, but you are not co-dependent. All that there is is a false trust that mistakes hope for reality, certainty for the absolute, and dependence for unlimited and unbounded care.

That is not trust. But nor is it to be entirely condemned, either. We are, after all, human, fallible, weak, desperate and needy. There’s no sense in denying it, and trying to do so probably just creates the kind of psychological damage that makes people like Martin Luther despair of God because they themselves are not perfect, but flawed.

The fundamental difference between trust and co-dependence, I think, is something like that in trust the thing in question (secret, dependence, or whatever) is implicitly acknowledged, and that trust happens perhaps because of it but does not become it. Once the thing becomes imbedded in a relationship and forgotten, becomes a dynamic, becomes the intimacy…the secret becomes the relationship, rather than the relationship being alongside, within and around the thing, which remains always itself, for what it is. A mutual choice by two persons, belonging to one and entrusted to another, the responsibility of one person and not the responsibility and burden of the relationship.

That’s all I have to say about that. (which actually turned out to be quite a lot).

Oh, and therefore, I don’t think that it’s some sort of unhealthy trust if you feel hurt when it’s betrayed. After all, what person does not feel hurt by the ending of a relationship, by finding out that that relationship no longer exists, by hitting your head on the floor when you are not caught, be seeing that the thing you have hoped for has not come to pass? Hurt is healthy, because it reflects the true value of all these things, and so a sense of loss and pain when trust is broken can only be human, healthy and authentic as well.

Here In This Place

So, by now I'm sure everyone out there in cyberspace who cares about these things has heard the news about Ep. Lahey. I personally seem to be taking this rather hard because, for a variety of reasons, it hits close to home.

I think that what makes it worse is his role in the reconciliation process with survivors of child sexual abuse in his own diocese. It does take a great deal of courage to open up at all about such intimate issues -- not only what happened (though that is of course a part of it), but the ways in which it has affected and affects your life. What makes childhood abuse so difficult is that it does not really allow for a sense of the past...there is no real moment when you can look behind yourself and say 'it's over,' 'it's behind me.' Instead, it becomes an element of the present, of one's reality and lived experience of the world. It shapes everything around you so that it can never be left behind, not really. You carry it with you every day, in so many ways...a constant companion. These are the things it’s perhaps most difficult to talk about, because it involves opening up your private world, trying to express something that, at the end of the day, can't really be put into words. It involves the acknowledgment to another person of your vulnerability. It is very important that the people you choose to reveal these things to is able to listen, and to feel and express compassion, not so much for what has gone before but for the shape of your present, for the sheer challenge of trying to live a life where you've passed through it even while knowing that this passage can never be complete. It involves realizing that the journey itself is full of danger and that the constant evolution of your healing means you are never really in the same place more than once...that you may need to say it more than once, more than an hundred times, because each time you are not exactly the same person who is saying it, not saying exactly the same thing.

Because it takes a great amount of courage, trust is very important. A lot of the time, I think, it is not obvious why people choose to confide in those they do: a vague feeling, knowledge that the person has previous experience dealing with this sort of emotional fragility, sheer timing in that they're the only person around when it happens to explode out of you. In this case, it is fairly obvious why Ep. Lahey was chosen as someone to trust. His position in the Church makes him an ideal person, both because he represents the institution that allowed the harm to go on in the first place and because, well, we inherently trust our priests, do we not? We tell them our secrets, we come to them to find God, we entrust our children to them, because the lives they have chosen to lead reflect an undeniable goodness, service, and sanctity. It is a sad day when we can no longer look at our clergy without doubt, without concern, without a shadow of suspicion. Hopefully, that day will never come for most of us.

Trust is so important that it forms, I think, an integral part of the reconciliation process...reconciliation with yourself about the truth of your life, if nothing else. That trust makes it possible to see beyond, to hold onto the goodness of another person and know that you are not, after all, completely alone. The people involved in this particular case trusted Ep. Lahey and felt that his compassion and understanding played a crucial role in their ability to constructively confront their experiences. To not be alone in the public proclamation of it. To feel that, through all the shame, confusion, anger and hurt there was someone there whom they could trust and who might even, perhaps, help them to forgive.

So, obviously, finding out that the person you trust is involved at all in the same kind of hurt you’ve been entrusting them with is devastating. Because if the people who profess to care –- and even really do care -– do the same thing that they’ve listened to you talk about, who is there left? Who is there left to trust? I think it carves a new wound on top of an old one, making it even harder to really feel that you’re not alone. That’s what makes this case so particularly bad.

What should have happened is that Ep. Lahey never became involved in this case in the first place. What should have happened is something like this: Dear Holy Father, the diocese under my jurisdiction is about to enter into the process of reconciliation with child survivors of sexual abuse at the hands of our own priests. I request to be relieved of my Episcopal post immediately and to retire from the clerical profession. The grave reason necessitating this action is that, as it turns out, I have also been engaging in child sexual abuse. It would show a complete lack of regard for the souls entrusted to my care if I were to risk wounding them in such a horrible way. I am not requesting to be moved to another diocese not embroiled in a clerical sex-scandal; this would, of course, be terrible, repeating as it does the past sins of the institutional Church. Please accept my resignation immediately. Also, this event has spurred me to realize the implications and harm my actions can cause to other human beings. I’m thinking of turning myself over to the police, perhaps allowing them to catch more people involved in the trafficking of child pornography. Sincerely, your faithful servant.

But, of course, this didn’t happen. I sincerely hope that Ep. Lahey is able to find the courage to repent of what he has done. And it does, I think, take a great deal of courage to truly repent for one’s actions –- all the courage of your life. It means seeing, really seeing, what you have done for what it is, allowing yourself to feel all the deep pain of it, allowing the devastation to penetrate your soul, accepting the hurt and responsibility without any equivocation, any denial, any attempt at proving innocent. That willingness to suffer, that willingness to see yourself as you truly are, is the real measure of a life. And it’s something we all of us will have to face when we stand before God in judgment. I pray that we all find the courage to immerse ourselves in repentance so that we can all accept God’s forgiveness. God can forgive anything, but embracing that mercy means first accepting in all of its horror what we have done. We are all sinners, none of us more than another –- not really. None of us deserve or merit forgiveness. But, through God’s freely given grace, it is poured out upon all of us. The choice of our lives, I think, comes on the final day, and the task of our lives is to love and trust God enough that we can brave the horrible sorrow that accepting forgiveness will mean, trusting that God’s love for us will save us even from that, even from ourselves. So I pray for Ep. Lahey, just as much as for any of us, that he will find that courage and strength. Maybe facing the consequences of his actions in this life will help him to do that...though human justice can never look into the mystery of the human heart, it can help a person to see, to see as clearly as it’s possible to see in a dark glass, that they have sinned, and that they need forgiveness. So God can save them with a Mercy that knows no measure, and a Love that knows no end.

But I ramble.

The point is, I feel really, really sad and weepy and vulnerable about this, because I know what it’s like to have someone you’ve trusted with your most painful secrets break that trust by committing the same offense. To whom can I turn but God? But, of course, God is not all I need in this life –- God can’t really hug me or hand me Kleenexes. I need other people. Which is another reason I feel so bad. Because I, like the people of Antigonish, need to find the strength and courage to forgive, the strength and courage to trust again, to really put it aside and hand it over to God, and not live my life inside anger and vengeance and all that it means to not forgive. It is difficult, and I’m not sure that it can ever be fully accomplished until the end, when I come face to face with the true depth of my own sinfulness, which I can never fully appreciate behind the cloud of this life. Like everyone else, I need the final resurrection to be whole. But forgiveness now is necessary, as necessary as possible, because that too prepares you to accept the love of God, to understand the depth and meaning of mercy, that it is beyond anything that can be expected or comprehended or deserved. That only in God are all things possible.

We pray to the Lord: for the sake of your Son, have mercy Lord.
May everyone, all of us in need of your mercy to escape the darkness of hell, be lead into new light, and see your face.

Things To Think About

These are the lyrics of a song written by Francis Patric O'Brien in 2002, "In a Time of Pain"

In a time of pain when confusion reigns, will you hear our burning cry?
When the wound won't heal as the truth's revealed, when our anguish just won't die:
Come save us as you saved your Son, who was faithful to the end.
God of justice reign; through our sin and shame
be salvation, God, and friend.

When our leaders fail, when the dark prevails, be the path that will guide our way.
When our anger burns may we strive to learn to reveal the light of day.
Come save us as you saved your Son; in your truth we will be set free.
Teach us how to deal with the hurt we feel;
may we rise from this Calvary.

When the weakest ones have no place to run from the terror that haunts their days,
Who will give them peace, make their nightmares cease? Who will drive their dark away?
Come save us as you saved your Son, who embraced each child in pain.
May your healing balm bring a peace and calm
that will make us whole again.

Teach us what is just and in whom to trust; by your wisdom we will abide.
May the ones with pow'r, in this crucial hour, seek the Spirit as their guide.
Come save us as you saved your Son from corruption's deadly toll.
May we rise at last from our shadowed past
with your love as our guide and goal.

In a note at the end of the score, O'Brien writes: In this time of crisis in the church, many have found that, once again, music and lyrics have the power to confront and to heal. This text was written as a prayer to our good and gracious God to express the confusion, pain, and other emotions that well up within so many in these difficult days in the Catholic community. It is also intended to be a prayer of hope that our church may confront the darkness and move toward the light of Christ, which is our goal and guide.

At least for now, I think I'll leave it at that.

Scripture Is Open To Interpretation

Mt 5:27-37
“You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall not commit adultery.’ But I say to you that everyone who looks at a woman with lust has already committed adultery with her in his heart. If your right eye causes you to sin, tear it out and throw it away; it is better for you to lose one of your members than for your whole body to be thrown into hell. And if your right hand causes you to sin, cut it off and throw it away; it is better for you to lose one of your members than for your whole body to go into hell.

It was also said, ‘Whoever divorces his wife, let him give her a certificate of divorce.’ But I say to you that anyone who divorces his wife, except on the ground of unchastity, causes her to commit adultery; and whoever marries a divorced woman commits adultery.

Again, you have heard it said that it was said to those of ancient times, ‘You shall not swear falsely, but carry out the vows you have made to the Lord.’ But I say to you, Do not swear at all, either by heaven, for it is the throne of God, or by the earth, for it is his footstool, or by Jerusalem, for it is the city of the great King. And do not swear by your head, for you cannot make one hair white or black. Let your word be ‘Yes, Yes’ or ‘No, No’; anything more than this comes from the evil one.”

Read through a hermeneutic of…uh…relaxation, clearly what Jesus is saying is

If thou lookest at thy brother’s wife’s shoes and thou art beset by a grievous envy, in thy heart it is as though thou hast already procured them for yourself by immoral means.

Truly I say to thee, if thou hast possessions too numerous for thee, thou shouldest cast them aside; for it is better for thee to be wanting in possessions than to be thrown into the depths of bankruptcy because of thine excessive desire for them.

Truly I tell you, if thou hast disingenuous intimate relations, thou shouldest cast them away that lack in sincerity; for it is better for thee to lament the loss of thy beloved than to be flung into the abyss of scornfulness and vengeance.

If thou desirest to break up with thy partner, thou shouldest discuss it in the presence of their person, and not send such a missive in the manner of an electronic communication (excepting that thy relationship wast until this moment expressed solely in the manner of electronic communication and through no other means).

However, if thou desertest thy partner, thou art compelling them to alter their status of relationship on Facebook.
If thine ex-partner should engage in a novel relationship following directly from your desertion, thou didst compel them to alter their status of relationship on Facebook, which didst not pass unnoticed amongst thy common acquaintances and shall henceforth affect you also, and that thou didst this by compelling them reveal their status to potential suitors.
It was said of old that thou shalt not tell falsehoods nor make false promises in the name of the Lord. But truly I say to thee, that thou shouldest not embellish thy promises and thy word, nor shall thee secure thy promises by any thing except the value of thine own word; for all things belongeth to the Lord, even thine own self, and thou hast not the power to ransom them against your own word. Speak always only the truth, with clarity and without accessory, for to do otherwise is to succumb to the ways of the devil.


Verily, reader, thou art charged with the task of imparting this missive anon to all thine acquaintances, for it is verily a novel rendering of the words of our Lord.
Aroint with it then.

Also, I think this is a lovely occasion to reprint something you may have already seen:

Why I Hate Proof-texting

I hate proof-texting: that much has been established. Proof-texting is any time someone pulls from the Bible a passage which provides ready-made proof of the position with which they agree – or anytime proof is found that the contrary position is, indeed, incorrect.

I disagree with the practice of proof-texting because it does not acknowledge the Bible's textuality. A text is not simply a bunch of words on paper: it is a living thing, existing to be actively read. There can be no passive reader of a text, because a text is not actualized unless it has been fully engaged; a text cannot live unless it is constantly being read anew, vertically, through all its nuances as a being in relationship with the reader. There is a dynamic quality to a text, a flow, movement, and vibrancy. A text cannot breathe if it is not dynamic, is not vertically engaged, is not inhabited in a genuine quest for deep meaning. The text requires an always-returning, a re-reading, a new engagement which does not regard it as a static, lifeless thing.

When a person proof-texts, the Bible becomes a work, a purely horizontal thing which can be read linearly, a thing which does not admit of multiplicity, a static thing. You can search it for what you want, pull it out of the work – force it, if necessary – and take it home with you, never to return to the work again. You have abandoned the work but, worse yet, you have consumed it! The Bible becomes yet another object for our consumption, a one-dimensional thing without contradiction, tension, or life. The Bible becomes a commodity, bought and sold in the arena of understanding. But there is no real understanding, because the Bible, as text, has not been allowed to express itself, to speak, to be fully that which it is.

The Bible should never be made into a work. That would imply that it, as the word of G-d, is brought to us so that we can eat it, digest it, and throw it away without engaging fully in its complexity. That would imply that the word of G-d is one-dimensional, fundamentally lifeless. The Law, the Gospel, is written on our hearts, and our hearts are alive. A dead thing cannot be grafted onto a living; a static thing cannot bear the chances and changes of a heartbeat.

The word of G-d must be a text. Like an Icon, it is a window through which we enter into relationship with the Divine. In the context of right worship, it becomes alive through our engagement. It is written on our hearts because we do not simply look through it…we enter into being with it, vertically descending in its layers, allowing it to live and move and have its being. Always returning, always exploring, but never demanding, we come close to G-d in engaging the Bible as text. We cannot exploit it, or the richness falls away. We can never withdraw taking our goodies with us, or we lose the fullness to which we are called. G-d wants a relationship, a continual renewal, a continual engagement with His living Truth.

That is why I hate proof-texting: it denies the possibility that G-d speaks once but that I can hear Him twice, that that power belongs to G-d (Ps 62).

Consumption

Before I start, I’d like to say something: I am not a trend whore. By which I mean, I don’t buy things because they’re en vogue. In fact, as a general rule, I avoid wearing anything trendy until it’s been out at least 2 or 3 seasons, even if I already own it. Not that I attempt to purposefully look unfashionable, either – I usually aim for something in between cool/cute and mediocrity (unless I’m in a really bad mood…oh boy). The nicest compliment anyone’s ever given me clothes-wise is “You should be one of those people who dresses celebrities or something. You always look so original and fun, and you make things pretty without spending a lot.” At the time, I was wearing this sleeveless dress I got from Simons for, like, 5$, and converse boots coming to about mid-calf. Those were some great shoes. I had gotten a free shirt at some jeans store which I didn’t love, so I liberated its sleeves and fixed them up so I could cover my arms without putting on a cardigan. The dress had great lines so I didn’t want to break them up with an extra layer of clothing. I know I’m rambling, but that was a really great outfit, trust me. Suffice it to say, it’s clearly been a long time since I put any effort into being creative clothes-wise.

Anyway, I’m not a trend whore. But I’ve been walking by these amazing boots at Browns everyday…they’re those really tall boots that we’ve been seeing on the runway (anyway, I’ve been watching them on the runway, along with a lot of really structured pieces emphasizing the shoulders, shiny material, leather, plaid, some really interesting gathering, and stretch pants - again). Über trendy. But they’re also purple suede. Purple!!!! And they don’t have ridiculous heels on them either (like we’ve also seen on the runway and quite enough of that thankyou). I admit it: I’m infatuated with them. So, today I finally decided to ditch my trend-hating trend in favor of the boots. And besides, they’re eccentric enough to work for me. And although I might pay 5$ for a dress, I’ll spend ‘ridiculous’ amounts of money on shoes: I AM a shoe whore.

They didn’t exactly have my size, which is to be expected, so I didn’t get them. They did have another different-ish kind in this dark purple-blue color that are pretty awesome, but those are pressing my price limit close enough that I’d never think of getting them without active moral support and a second opinion.

While I was there, I decided to walk around to all the shoe stores in the vicinity to check out their boots. They were not super awesome…no purple anywhere *frowny face*. But what struck me the most was the complete lack of customer service anywhere except Browns. Did they think I couldn’t afford their shoes or something? And anyway, shouldn’t you try? I knew that I was willing to drop up to maybe 300$ on sufficiently amazing boots if they were made well and durable, and had a good balance (crucial: bad shoes are not made to naturally fall to the 'center' thereby taking some of the stress off your spine). I can justify the ridiculous price by being able to wear them for the rest of my life. I also knew there’s no way I’d buy anything at a store with crappy service.

It got me thinking: why were they so comfortable ignoring me, ignoring anyone? Is it that they think consumers are so indoctrinated that they’ll be desperate enough to buy their shoes without any convincing at all? What does it mean to turn the business of selling us stuff that we don’t need into a service so important that we have to go to it, rather than the other way around? It’s scary to think we’re a society that will gorge itself so much on consumption that anyone thinks it's okay to purchase something from just anyone – anyone with no investment in you or even in what they’re selling. We buy stuff all the time without ever being aware of why we want it, or where it comes from, or who it’s exploiting. They expect us to have no reflection…enough lack of concerted awareness that we’ll even be interested in things they don’t even bother to try and sell us. If we build it, they will come.

What does all of this mean theologically? It’s fairly self-evident to say that a perverse love for things and acquisition has replaced a love and desire for God in many people’s lives. But what about Christians? What does it say about us? The most dangerous thing about consumer culture is its insidiousness, its infiltration of every aspect of our lives. It runs alongside us, weaving through our lives, an unconscious incorporation of our things into our identities. We might not look at it or think about it, we might believe that things are utterly unimportant, but the truth is we’re all surrounded by this overwhelming cultural desire, we all live our lives in it, and we can’t escape our place in it just by telling ourselves that we’re different or that we’ve escaped it. Because even if we buy the 5$ dress that we think falls outside the clawing grasp of couture, that dress got there after a process in which high fashion gets transmuted down through ready-to-wear designers and retail stores into a variety of pieces incorporating ideas or patterns or materials from some designer’s collection…your original non-fashion dress that you thought nothing about when buying is actually just another element in a giant web of production that ultimately begins with some person telling us what it is they think we should want.

I don’t pretend to have a solution. I just think that we need to be aware that we play a part in a larger consumer reality and that, as Christians, and even as people who may reject the idea of things altogether, we do not stand outside this circle. If we want to see more clearly and perhaps attempt to refocus our society there needs to be some critical thinking about the ideas we live in. Because, frankly, no one group of people can change a social construct by merely shifting their behavior, because that rebellion already implicitly buys into the ideology it rejects; it is that reality that determines what constitutes rebellion. Just like how getting tattoos used to be a way of ‘rebelling’ against the dominant culture actually relied on the ideas of that culture in order to be meaningful, uncritical rejection that isn’t supported by a more sophisticated system of thought can never hope to survive or thrive or be meaningful outside the paradigm it pretends to be escape. Because it's only a juxtaposition, and not a re-thinking.

Having said that, I also found some really great colorful shoes in my long journey…maybe if I can’t find sufficiently amazing boots, I’ll consider those instead.

Beauty Is Truth, Etc.

This week I ended up talking about beauty in religious worship, which is actually something I’ve never put any thought at all into before *sarcasm*. No, but seriously, it was interesting to listen to what people from different backgrounds talk about it, as well as trying to articulate what I think in a rational fashion devoid of facial expression and hand gestures – you know, using words.

I guess the main point of what I was trying to say is that the experience of beauty really depends on synergy more than anything else, a synchronicity between your ideas and beliefs and the aesthetics you encounter. I mean, if you’re in a Calvinist church or something and you think that images are idolatrous, a stained glass window of the Nativity at your local parish isn’t going to strike you as beautiful. If you find it in a Roman Catholic church, where representation of religious iconography through didactic art is highly prized, then you will think it’s beautiful, because it matches your idea of beauty in religious worship. It has to do with expectation, what you think you’re in for: if I went to my local Anglican parish and the priest chanted the Mass in Latin, used incense and wore embroidered vestments from the 17th century, I wouldn’t exactly be overcome with a sense of beauty so much as I would be intensely confused…on the whole, it would be more distracting than affecting. So yeah, I guess I think beauty lives in the connection between a person and their expectations, in the collision of the two within an experience.

I keep thinking about the concept of the Sublime that the Romantic poets used – the idea that there is an overwhelming experience of beauty, for them connected to nature, within which a person encounters the Divine. One feels awed, terrified, exhilarated, faced with one’s own smallness in the presence of something so much greater and stronger than oneself. It’s the feeling of standing in front of a large waterfall, beauty and terror mingled together in the experiential realization that what you are encountering is so much greater than yourself, that this place has been touched by the hand of God, that there is something so heartbreakingly beautiful that it cannot be comprehended.

For me, that feeling of awe is what I think beauty is in religious experience. Because there are a lot of things that are pretty or quaint, cute or impressive; what I’m searching for is to be opened up, faced with terrifying exhilaration in a moment of feeling that there is something so Awesome, so Beautiful, that I cannot help but be both small and overjoyed at the same time.

During the Reformation, while the Reformers were out arguing for the truth of their theology using the Bible, the Roman Catholic Church composed music (as well as of course maintaining her other sweeping artistic accomplishments) in the belief that the music would convince people of the truth of her own theology. Because something so beautiful must be true, because the experience of its beauty could leave no doubt, because – in religious expression – beauty and truth are the same.

Infallibility, Inerrancy And Truth

I went to my old Roman Catholic parish yesterday to witness the Confirmation of three children I know. (secretly, I also went to check out the new bishop. I think he’ll work out quite nicely) A lot of people will know that I love going to Confirmation; but that’s neither here nor there.

After the service, I ended up talking with the deacon, who was glad to see me and said the congregation misses me, and that I should come back more often. I mentioned that I was finding the separation from the Roman church quite difficult, partially because the liturgical structure at the church I have been attending is so alien. Then, of course, there are also the reasons of pure human weakness: loss of community, difficulty sorting out doctrine and belief in a systematic way, not being in communion formally with any church at all. I didn’t mention any of these latter reasons, largely because I know that I am willing and able to persevere while I am learning. Now, if I could just find a patient, magically coherent, passionate and open teacher who has the remarkable quality of actually wanting to teach me…wow: it sounds like I’m looking for a Mary Poppins!

Anyway, the deacon – who was Anglican and is now Roman Catholic – was telling me that one of the reasons he chose to be welcomed into the Roman church was because of its oneness and unity, which he felt he could not maintain in the Anglican church. Personally, I rather like aspects of the ‘looseness,’ but that’s neither here nor there. I, of course, have difficulty with the form this ‘unity’ takes in the Roman church for perhaps the same reasons the deacon admires it. By which I mean the doctrine of papal infallibility, which I reject as, at best, an unfortunate and incorrect phrasing of ‘first among equals,’ and, at worst, actual heresy insofar as this mis-expression is held to be literally true. In what may perhaps seem like an ironic twist, I do in fact accept the idea that the Pontiff is first among equals in relation to the bishops of the other four apostolic sees and the episcopate in general.

This requires some explanation. Or anyway, it probably does. Well then: how to begin? I believe in the one holy catholic and apostolic Church. Let’s start with oneness. If Holy Mother the Church is one – which she is – then we must all be still in communion with one another somehow, and that includes Rome. Misleadingly, Rome tends to define being in communion with it rather narrowly. However, what is obviously true is that all Christians everywhere accept the Creeds ratified by the (genuinely) ecumenical councils. Hence, though it visibly and superficially seems like we’re not all in communion with one another, at the deepest and most profound level we are, and that absolutely. If I didn’t believe this were true, I would never have done what I have done.

Okay: Holy. What does that even mean? Presumably the Church is holy because she is united to Jesus as the body of Christ. However, this does not mean that individual members of the Church are holy merely by extension. The Church is, after all, still in pilgrimage and full of sin. I think what it means is that the Church is an instrument of grace. I could be wrong: I also, for example, believe that the ‘keys’ given to Peter (and his Church) refer to the responsibility with which the Church is charged – leading people to salvation. So I’m definitely open to suggestion as to my definitions.

Next: Catholic. Strictly speaking, catholic means universal. There is no possible way the Church could be universal under her own power. Rather, I believe it is the sacraments themselves that make the Church catholic, most especially Holy Communion. In the celebration of the Eucharist given by Christ to the Church as a free gift, Christ in His sacrifice and priesthood is present. Christ is truly universal, truly everywhere; by the sacraments, this universality is manifested in the Church and becomes a characteristic of her being. It is not by seeing the Church that we find the sacraments, but by the presence of the sacraments that we see and find the Church. Maybe this is why there have been so many fights about the Blessed Sacrament?

Fourthly: Apostolic. This can mean any number of things. It means for one thing having and preserving the faith of the Apostles. Since this deposit of the faith was entrusted to the Church as steward and was ratified in the ecumenical councils, it stands to reason that every body of Christians confessing the Creed displays genuine apostolic succession. Um. And now I have a confession. Taking back nothing I just said, I really do believe that the episcopacy is the truest expression of that succession, partly because it is embodied. In valid Episcopal succession that extends unbroken and in which core formulas of ordination remain intact and in which the laying on of hands takes place as part of the rite of Holy Orders, I find the truest visible manifestation of apostolic succession that is also clearly tied in to the sacramentality of the Church.

I think this is one of the reasons I’m drawn to the Anglican Communion: I recognize true apostolic succession in its episcopacy. This helps me see and vibrantly maintain my understanding of Church. I also believe that the structure of the Anglican Communion more closely manifests the kind of oneness and catholicity that inheres in the Church. It is looser in its allowance of different liturgical expressions, it recognizes that catholicity is not uniformity, and it allows congregations to work out non-core doctrines in the context of tier own community’s needs, as opposed to regulating everything centrally.

Which brings me back to papal infallibility, which I reject. But I think the longness of this post means that I should save that discussion for next time.

p.s. please someone point out if I am a heretic so I can either prepare my defense or write my recantation speech. They have fancy champagne and flowers and awards at recantations, right? Or is that recitals…

Divine Mercy Sunday

I really do like Divine Mercy Sunday, though I’ve never been to an actual church service which observed it in the way it is designed to be celebrated. Celebration of the Divine Mercy begins on Good Friday and continues for nine days: this is a novena in the name of the Divine Mercy dedicated to nine different groups of people in need of mercy for one reason or another. It concludes with those who are ‘lukewarm’ who, in the revelation from whence this devotion comes, are described as those who caused Jesus the most pain during his Passion. (Interestingly, St Josemaria Escriva – Opus Dei guy – also thinks lukewarmness is terrible)

Devotion to the Divine Mercy is meant to help us realize that Jesus’ forgiveness and mercy are total, that he forgives even the worst sins. Part of the devotion – what I think of as the crucial part – is the giving of yourself over in complete trust to Jesus, believing firmly and absolutely that his mercy will indeed save you, covering over all your sins. Another crucial aspect of this devotion is that the person who observes it commits herself to actually being merciful, to living the mercy for others that Jesus has graciously given to her.

There are several parts to this devotion beyond the novena. The chaplet of the Divine Mercy is traditionally prayed on the feast of the Divine Mercy (today); the best case scenario is that it is prayed corporately, or at least in the presence of the Blessed Sacrament. The chaplet makes use of ordinary rosary beads: it begins with the Lord’s Prayer, the Hail Mary, and the Apostles Creed. On the beads where the Our Father is normally recited, one says “Eternal Father, I offer You the Body and Blood, soul and divinity, of Your dearly beloved Son Our Lord Jesus Christ, in atonement for our sins and those of the whole world.” On the Hail Mary beads, one says “For the sake of His sorrowful Passion, have mercy on us and on the whole world.” At the end of the chaplet, one repeats three times “Holy God, Holy Mighty One, Holy Immortal One, have mercy on us and on the whole world.” It is not inappropriate to complete the chaplet, as I do, by saying “Lord Jesus, I trust in You.”

The image itself is meant to be publically venerated during the celebration. I have never been to a church that does this. The image was shown to St Faustina and Jesus directed her to have it painted and reveal it to the world. Jesus looks lovingly at the faithful, one hand beckoning and the other over his heart. From his heart emerge two rays of light, one red and one a kind of whitish-blue. The red represents the blood that flowed from his pierced side, as well as the life of the soul; the blueish-white represents the water, and the righteousifying of the soul. I believe Jesus promised her that the soul who recited this chaplet in genuine devotion and venerated the image would never die. Under the image are the words “Jesus, I trust in You.”

You might wonder why I’m going on and on about this devotion, even though I’ve only ever managed to celebrate it privately. Well, mostly it’s because I’d love to see this devotion spread. I would be happier if it was at least celebrated properly in all Roman Catholic churches, especially given its status (which I’ll explain later). In my perfect little dream world full of rainbows and fluffy clouds, other churches will observe this feast, too. After all, it was given to the world entire. The fact that the Roman Church has essentially declared this vision infallibly genuine is not a moment to be taken lightly; this is the highest degree of recognition possible for a private revelation, and it doesn’t happen often. So yes, I wish that I could be some sort of effective evangelist for the Divine Mercy feast and joyously spread it everywhere. Since this little un-noteworthy blog is the only quasi-forum I have, I am shamelessly hawking the feast here: ha!!

The ‘status’ of this feast I said I’d explain. In 2000, at St Faustina’s canonization, John Paul II instituted the second Sunday after Easter as the feast of the Divine Mercy, to be observed throughout the world. It was also granted by the Holy Father that a plenary indulgence is obtained by all those who observe the feast in the proper fashion.

In order to receive a plenary indulgence, a person must fulfill the normal requirements for indulgences (partial fulfillment of the requirements commutes the plenary indulgence to a partial).

WARNING: I HAVE REARRANGED THE REQUIREMENTS AND AM PARAPHRASING

The first of these is receiving the sacrament of Reconciliation. This must occur within twenty days in either direction of the granting of the indulgence (this is under the relaxed rules instituted for the Jubilee Year). I haven’t done this. I’m thinking I’m going to have to find an Anglican confessional ‘box’ somewhere within the next two weeks.

The second requirement is receiving Eucharist: it is fitting but not absolutely necessary that this be done on the day of the indulgence itself. I didn’t do this part either, because my local parish had morning prayer. Hopefully, I’ll manage tomorrow.

The third requirement is that one must desire, at least generally, to receive the indulgence. Done and done.

The fourth is that one must pray for the intentions of the Pope. Also done (and really quite simple and easy).

The fifth is that the devotion must be done devoutly and with sincerity. Yay: I think I did that.

The sixth requirement is that one be in good standing with the church. Not excommunicated. Um. How exactly are we defining ‘Church?’ I’m thinking that I haven’t pulled this one off exactly. Oops. But technically, technically, this condition applies not to the person performing the devotion for which an indulgence is granted but to the person who is the recipient of the indulgence. All indulgences (or anyway almost all) are transferrable to souls in Purgatory, though not to anyone else who’s currently alive. I haven’t gained an indulgence for myself in quite some time – I’m banking on Viaticum. Here’s hoping I don’t die suddenly! So, presumably, some pious and devout soul in Purgatory who most needed it just got my indulgence, or anyway will when I finally fulfill my missing requirements.

Victory!!

Now: does anyone know of any parish or individual with potential interest in observing this feast in the future? Because I’m all for promoting it!

Come
and eat from the Tree of Life,
for He is the Bread that’s given;
lifted up on high branches
to glory.

See
how the Cross in the springtime flowers,
bringing new life upon the earth,
and transforming the gloomy morning
forever.
See
how we kneel at the foot of the Cross,
giving worship to our true Lord,
Who has saved us from all our sorrow
Forever.

Come
and eat from the Tree of Life,
for He is the Bread that’s given;
lifted up on high branches
to glory.

“I
am the Way and the Truth and the Life,
he who comes to Me shall not hunger,
he who believes in Me shall not die,
but live forever.”

Come
and eat from the Tree of Life,
for He is the Bread that’s given;
lifted up on high branches
to glory.

See
how our God, once hung on a tree,
once laid in a final tomb,
has rolled away death’s sting
forever.
See
how the marks in His hands remind us
of His Divine Mercy for us,
Lord Jesus I trust in You
Forever.

Come
and eat from the Tree of Life,
for He is the Bread that’s given;
lifted up on high branches
to glory.

--A little song written for this day (and I do realize that I’ve posted this up elsewhere).

And They'll Know We Are Christians

Our seminar discussion today somehow ended up veering toward the question of whether or not a person can be a Christian without belonging / going to a church. I think we got onto the discussion through the idea that Kant and Mill were really successful at their project of getting people to think about themselves primarily as individuals, weaning them off the idea of turning first to group identity.

(This whole point is somewhat problematic since what we call ‘individuality’ is essentially an aggregate of claimed group identities, some of which are chosen and others not, and none of which are actually constructed by the person in question, being rather social-discursive entities. But I digress)

Anyway, so this is a question I’ve actually thought a lot about over the years, especially recently – given my loss of church-identity, as it were. I confess that it’s been pretty traumatic no longer having an identity to cling to, or point at, as the need arises. Now how do I explain all the random doctrinal biases I encounter in my own thoughts? Are they my thoughts? More to the point: how do I define myself as a Christian when I don’t belong to a church?

By virtue of the sacrament of baptism, all those baptized into the Christian faith find themselves incorporated into the Church universal – the body of Christ. This Church is, for all intents and purposes, invisible. It is how we are all united. De facto, everyone who is baptized belongs to the Church whether they like it or not.

However, the division between the ‘visible’ and ‘invisible’ Church is somewhat glib, and close to Manichaeism in that it posits a duality (or dualism) that doesn’t exist. There is no ghost-like, disembodied invisible church floating around in the world, somehow there and not there, independent of visible reality. Rather, the invisible Church inheres in the visible churches. Of course, this renders churchless-Christianity problematic.

How to be Christian without participating in a church: is it possible? I guess it depends on how you define Christian identity. If Christianity is a static and permanent state of being induced, as it were, by being plunged into or sprinkled with water in some sort of initiation ritual invoking the Triune God, then actual church membership and participation is unnecessary for the living of Christian identity.

But I like to think of Christianity as a verb: it is something we do, something we live; it is our movement in the world and, yes, our interaction with the Church and her members. Insofar as the visible world still exists, and is our only access point to the invisible reality inhering in it, actual churches are important. So important, in fact, that without them we cannot be who we are, though we can of course pretend quite successfully.

So bring on the church(es)!!! Please excuse me while I go have a panic attack about my non-belongingness.

Discipline and Punish

I had an interesting conversation today that made me think about some of the more extreme Lenten practices that are out there, and what they actually mean, both symbolically and on an individual level. In the ‘literature,’ such practices are often called ‘mortifications.’ Most commonly, these are associated with the body; however, it’s important to note that non-bodily mortifications can actually be more challenging since they require constant inner scrutiny.

What obviously springs to mind is fasting. You can fast from certain food items or certain pleasures that you enjoy. You can fast from certain states of mind: for example, fast from anger or frustration or jealousy. Which of these do you think is actually harder? Fasting can also include a moderate – or drastic – limitation of the amount of food you consume, either over an extended period of time or within a strictly limited timeframe. The definition of fasting I grew up with is that of consuming less than two normal-sized meals a day, customarily eating one normal meal and two other snacks that don’t add up to a meal. This is actually what the Roman Catholic Church defines as fasting. Many people find this a little mild. You can make up other rules instead, some of which work better than others if you intend to practice them for an extended period. You could decide to not eat snacks in between meals; you could decide to only eat bread and water; you could decide to eat once a day; you could decide to eat nothing at all. If you’re Saint Catherine of Sienna, you could decide to live off of nothing but Eucharist – though it should be noted this is a distinct form of grace (and that she died at the age of 33). Many Catholic Saints have engaged in such practices, which are sometimes grouped together under the title of holy anorexia, itself connected with mysticism.

The question is, when is this fasting okay? Certainly, anything taken too far, especially when it concerns the body, should be regarded as an indulgence, a kind of pride. A practical rule to follow might be that if people notice you’re fasting, you’re not doing it right. If you’ve lost so much weight that it can’t be hidden, or if people notice they suddenly never see you eating anything, then your fasting is no longer private. I think that, at that point, it ceases to be an effective mortification. Of course, there are always tricks: I suppose you could wear baggy sweaters. Of course, if no one ever sees you eat anyway, you’ll be able to get away with a hell of a lot more because your behavior won’t seem at all aberrant. Just try not to pass out.

Some other forms of mortification have been ‘popularized’ by Dan Brown’s DaVinci Code. One of these is the discipline: that is, the tool of self-flagellation. It should be noted that the extremes to which Silas goes are actually quite discouraged – the penance is supposed to be essentially symbolic. With a little pain, of course. As a general rule, you’re not supposed to draw blood. Since what you’re doing will also be obvious if anyone sees your back covered with lash marks, you should probably make sure they don’t. Again, the public display of your devotional practices pretty much defeats the purpose. The modern discipline also looks nothing like Silas’.

Also captured in this memorable film is the use of the cilice. Originally, this meant hair-shirt, but now people apply it to anything that functions the same way. The hair-shirt has the advantage of being concealable under clothing: the amount of time you spend wearing it will also determine whether or not you’re experiencing discomfort or prolonged agony. Moderation, as always, is key. The cilice shown in the movie is what Silas straps around his thigh. This is also not what a modern cilice looks like. It is usually a two or three-ringed metal chain with little spikes, and is worn spikes-down around the upper thigh / groin. It, too, is not supposed to draw blood, and it is not meant to be worn continuously. However, the caveat here is that it does draw blood because it leaves little prick marks, and that these marks are pretty much permanent if you use the thing on a regular basis.

Purchasing a cilice or discipline may arouse suspicion if anyone has a tendency to go through your mail (or if they let you use their credit card and then get an itemized bill). You can get basically the same effect for free using household objects, which I won’t get into because it may or may not be disturbing. The advantage of this, of course, is that you can find things that are uncomfortable or hurt and that don’t have spikes on them, and that a little creativity will enable you to pass your penance off as something else, since the objects are not in themselves obviously penitential.

More moderate versions of corporeal mortification can include sleeping on the floor, taking cold showers, immediately jumping out of bed in the morning. More extreme versions will co-opt other types of behavior. For example, cutting has sometimes been suggested, though in my experience this happens rarely. This is supposed to be useful both because it is extremely controlled and highly effective; also, no one will assume that you’re doing penance if they do notice. They will think you’re a little crazy, but that’s about as far as the speculation goes.

NONE of these activities, with the exception of moderate fasting, should EVER be undertaken without the close supervision of a confessor or director. Deciding to do this on your own is an invitation to disaster since, let’s face it, the people who do this voluntarily are the same people who are prone to going overboard in the first place. Anyone who is doing these things, even under direction, should be aware that a small subgroup of the population will react by developing a sort of pleasurable relationship to the pain – that is, the behavior will have a tendency to escalate as they seek to get the same ‘high’ they got the first time. It’s essentially an addiction to endorphins specifically tied into the experience of intense sensation, in this case, pain. Since increasing your penance should not be done without explicit permission, it is crucial to find a confessor who is experienced enough to be able to pick these people out and say NO. It is also crucial, if you decide to follow this path, that you have the capacity to obey your confessor if she or he tells you to stop the practice altogether.

There are non-corporeal mortifications as well: the possibilities for these are essentially endless, and easily concealed. All in all, this makes them a far better option.

What is the point of all this supposed to be, anyway? The rational behind corporeal mortification has several components. First, it exerts control over the body and is intended to instill discipline. Secondly, consciously subverting bodily desires – to avoid pain or not be hungry, for example – is meant to curb all bodily lusts, even those that seem unrelated. For people who don’t belong to a certain religious club which shall remain nameless, these penances are usually suggested because they are suffering from incurable and unwanted desires. Or to avoid having them. Most contentiously, these practices are sometimes suggested to victims of rape, the basis for which is a flawed reading of Augustine: the idea is that any sexual activity, even involuntary, awakens desires in the body that it is impossible to turn off, because the flesh itself is irrevocably changed regardless of what the will has been doing. In an effort to prevent these desires from arising, or to dampen their potential as-yet-unseen effects, some (stupid) advisors will suggest mortification as a ‘cure.’ Thirdly, it is a form of suffering with Christ.

The person I was talking to today made the excellent point that self-harm isn’t really a valid form of devotion, since it is already a kind of indulgence. To a certain degree, I concur. However, I think that motivation and extent are important factors.

Discipline I would define as a practice geared toward reorienting your relationship with God by curbing excessive desires through fasting, by chastising the body as a form of control. The intent should never be the experience of pain itself, though the difficulty and sacrifice is designed to remind you constantly of what Jesus went through for you. If your focus is on self-control and desire to serve God in the consciousness of Jesus’ own suffering, and assuming that you are not going to extremes, I think that all of these practices are fine.

Punishment. If your motivation is self-hatred, loathing, a desire to punish your own sin, then none of these, no matter how mild, is a good idea. In the first place, it devalues your worth as a human being created in the image of God: self-love is an important aspect of one’s relationship with Jesus. In the second place, it assumes that there is something you can and should do to atone for your sin in such a way that it’s actually extirpated by your efforts, which undermines your ability to grasp Christ’s sacrifice as a free and unmerited gift. If what God actually wants is for you to suffer for your transgressions as a form of debt-repayment, I’m sure you’ll find out about it eventually. So why start now?

Forty days in the desert…how bad could it be?