Ah, Shrove Tuesday: the last day of gluttonous freedom before the start of Lent!
As I was on my way out of the College after evening prayer, a friend asked me if I’ve shriven of my sins yet. I suppose I knew that there was a point to Shrove Tuesday besides from eating soon-to-be-forbidden foods and general licentiousness, but I’ve never actually stopped to think what that point might be. Hm.
I guess it makes sense to repent of one’s sins before embarking on a season of penitence: why put off until tomorrow what you can do today, right? Plus, having prepared yourself makes it easier to start out Lent with confession, which of course is ideal. Unfortunately, I still don’t have a regular confessor, so that’s not a possibility for me at the moment. I confess, I do miss the anonymous boxes at St. Pat’s.
*sigh*
I don’t really know what it means to be shriven of one’s sins. I guess it means, like, acknowledging and regretting them, and having them erased. (the fact that I don’t know the definition of this word speaks volumes about my education in English Literature)
The concept of being shriven – shriving? – makes me think of what it means to be forgiven, generally.
What exactly is the sacrament of reconciliation? Obviously, it’s meant to impart grace, usually understood as strength to not commit the same sin again. But lots of sacramentals, like holy water, also impart grace…surely, what makes reconciliation a sacrament isn’t solely that it does so inerrantly. Right?
Reconciliation is supposed to have a real effect on the soul, repairing a rift between the soul and God caused by sin. Hence, Roman Catholic theology maintains that, strictly speaking, only mortal sins require confession; venial sins only incur a temporal penalty (i.e. Purgatory).
The problem of reconciliation, as I see it, is twofold. First, the division between mortal and venial sin seems a bit arbitrary, because it translates the idea of being a sinner from a categorical truth to a matter of degree. Secondly, it’s difficult to precisely locate the mechanism of the sacrament. Is it in the contrite attitude? The admission of guilt? Or the pronouncement of absolution? It’s the only sacrament that requires a specific disposition of the will in order to be effective. In a pinch, the special grace of the sacrament can be obtained by nothing more than a true act of contrition. So why do we need a priest, if it’s a matter between the soul and God alone? Why do we call it a sacrament?
I only have two answers for this, which I think can both be true (or, alternately, both wrong).
One is that it’s possible the soul’s true contrition is produced by the sacrament. Being separated from God, one needs help to return. Maybe you want to be truly, deeply sorry, and because of this genuine want, God imparts true contrition in the sacrament, bringing the soul back to Him in a way it never could achieve on its own.
Another is that, as the BAS tells me, reconciliation is actually corporate, because it affects not just the person but the Church. I guess it’s a bit like having a crazy person in the family: while there’s no doubt that the person is the crazy one, their craziness affects the whole family. Fixing the crazy person changes the whole family. Hence, reconciliation is literally a sacrament of the Church, acting through and on the individual to strengthen and repair the whole, changing the Church and not just one person or component in it.
As I write this, I realize that I may, in fact, be a heretic; I’d be eternally grateful if people could point that out.
I think I'll go back to my traditional Shrove Tuesday observances, rather than be confused by this question of reconciliation...with a special focus on WAFFLES!!!!!
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Friday, February 12, 2010
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)
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)
Friday, February 5, 2010
I Have To What??
So today one of my friends wrote my name on the sheet of people who have to do sermonizing-and-what-not on Fridays. I know that if I erase it, she'll just write it back again.
Curses!
In other news, I am still obsessed with exorcisms. Also, I learned a new card game, which I lost but had fun playing.
Tomorrow I'm going to have breakfast with my uncle and meet his new gf: I'm excited!
Also, I am noticing the fact that my ability to comprehend and synthesize complex ideas is still sub-par, thanks to a series of medical interventions. This will make my saying anything remotely worthwhile unlikely. That includes this blog, which also serves as excellent proof that the Internet allows anyone to publish anything. Thus, not particularly looking forward to Friday.
Curses.
Curses!
In other news, I am still obsessed with exorcisms. Also, I learned a new card game, which I lost but had fun playing.
Tomorrow I'm going to have breakfast with my uncle and meet his new gf: I'm excited!
Also, I am noticing the fact that my ability to comprehend and synthesize complex ideas is still sub-par, thanks to a series of medical interventions. This will make my saying anything remotely worthwhile unlikely. That includes this blog, which also serves as excellent proof that the Internet allows anyone to publish anything. Thus, not particularly looking forward to Friday.
Curses.
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