SPECIAL SPACES

[Note: this mini-essay will also be on the upcoming parish bulletin front.]

A book I am currently reading is Encountering the Mystery by His All-Holiness Ecumenical Patriarch Bartholomew (seen left). It has a lengthy introduction by Bishop Kallistos of Diokleia (a former tutor of mine at Oxford). But beyond that, it is a delightful introduction to the theology and (far more importantly) the spirituality of the Orthodox East. This is a book that I could easily recommend to others for their Lenten journey. But I want to focus on one brief excerpt from the book:

Each evening, as I shut the door to my office, I do not leave behind the people and the issues I have faced during that day. I bring them with me and within my heart to the small Patriarchal Chapel, where they are all offered in prayer during the Compline service that closes the day. The chapel is a small refuge from the daily deluge of problems, a splendid occasion to meditate on the wonders of God, who loves us as we are. What more could I ever ask for? What more could I ever do?

I am only personally acquainted with the residences of two bishops (here in Mobile, and one in England), but they both have private chapels where prayer can be offered and Eucharist celebrated. I expect virtually all episcopal residences also have these chapels. Most of us do not have such 24/7 access, but we can make a special space in our own homes for this kind of daily “mini-retreat” to encounter the Lord and bring to Him all the issues of our day just past, and the expectations & anxieties of the day to come.


For myself, of course I am blessed with having the key to the church, and getting up early enough to spend some quality time in front of the Blessed Sacrament before the day gets to chaotic. But I also have a “prayer-spot” in the rectory where I can also lift up daily worries, concerns, failures, joys, needs—mine, and those of parishioners I have encountered during this day. This is the goal for my Lenten prayer—to spend more time in this space with the Lord and with those whose paths have intersected with mine during the day—by phone, by e-mail, by appointment, by ‘chance’ encounter (though really, there is no such thing).

I encourage you all, I challenge us all, to use your/our special space (or create one, at least for Lent) to do the same: to encounter the Lord and lift up those whom we love and who have asked for our prayers—perhaps even, for those we do not love and who have not asked for our spiritual help…


Lent is our special season of increased and intensified prayer, fasting and almsgiving; it is a joyous opportunity to step aside and focus on the journey within, to meet the One who waits within to embrace us. What are we waiting for? He is waiting for us; He loves us; He is calling us. But He will never force us—otherwise, love would not be love.


St Paul once wrote that he longed to “know fully even as I am known” (I Cor 13:12). This Lent, let’s long to want to love, even as we are loved.

GOD AND HATE

[Based on the homily of this past Thursday, 3-3]

Two radically different approaches to law were in evidence this past week:  Shahbaz Bhatti, a Pakistani leader and a Catholic, was murdered for his openness to reform of that country's blasphemy laws, in which pretty well anyone can be convicted and given a death sentence (especially a Christian) on "evidence" the quality of which would have been laughed out of court at the Salem witch trials. 

On the other hand, the US Supreme Court voted (8-1) to uphold the rights of a Christian sect in Topeka, KS to go around the country protesting at the funerals of American soldiers killed in Iraq, on the ground that they see this as a guarantee of freedom of speech from the First Amendment.  Of course, to protest is one thing:  to be vulgar and offensive is another.  But our High Court said that even in such cases, the right is the right. 

My concern here is not so much for the structure of the two countries that either through vigilante action destroy freedom of speech/thought, or through legal precedents protect offensive freedom of speech/thought.  My concern is primarily for the depth of hatred and anger that fuels both the Topeka sect on the one hand and the extremist Islamists on the other.  What leads these groups to believe that it is acceptable either to kill another, or to celebrate another's death, in the name of God/Allah?  What hope is there for reconciliation, tolerance, and mutual co-existence in a world marked by such hatred?

More to the point:  what is the depth of anger and hated in my own heart that might (if pushed far enough) turn me into that kind of person?  Lent is just the time for examining what St Paul knew about his own heart (Rom 7:13-25).  I pray that we might all take these next weeks to make the journey within, to examine and name the Beast, and bring it to heel.

APPROACHING GOD

[This thought is based on this morning's daily Mass homily.]

The readings for Mass this morning offer a challenge to our mode of approaching God (or even acknowledging our need for the Lord), as Sirach reminds us not to try to bribe God.  Most of us would probably think, "I never do that!"  But I think too often we do.

We may not come to the Temple to offer sacrifices of lambs and oxen, but we do come with promises in our hands, and the words are often a version of Do ut des ("I give so that you might give"), or perhaps Da et dabo ("Give, and I will give"). 

We sometimes pray, "Lord, I'm offering all this to you; now, please give me what I want."  Or our words might instead be, "Lord, I'm offering all this to you; now, please don't give me what I deserve!"  Our focus is ultimately on ourselves:  either rewards we long for or punishments we want to avoid.  The sad part of this is that in such a focus we are operating on what the moral theologian Louis Monden, SJ called the "Instinctive" or lowest level of ethical behavior--in which the guiding principle is fear of punishment. 

But the Sacred Author today encourages us to live lives that are full:  obedient to God's law, eager to do justice for others, cheerful in giving, engaging in worship as relationship rather than as beggary--what Monden called the "Christian-religious" or highest level of ethical behavior, based on love relationships.  Would such a way of living (with God and with others) not actually make us much happier than anything else?

"We have given up everything and followed you," Peter protests to Jesus in the Gospel.  We 21st century folk have surely not left "all," but as we approach Lent we might well consider how much we could profitably leave behind--so much baggage (or garbage?) we carry that needs to be dropped.  With St Paul, let's forget what is behind and run forward to what is ahead (Phil 3:7-14).

DEATH COMES FOR US ALL…

Though these words were given by Robert Bolt to Thomas More in the trial scene and final scene of A Man For All Seasons, referring to More’s own execution, they can have wider implications for many of us.

I’ve been on a ‘death-watch’ for the last 10 days—a man suffering from a complex of conditions that had him in ICU for a week; he’s now been in a Hospice wing room for a week. It seems that, close as he is to dying, he and God are not ready for his final breath just yet. I stood at the bedside with the family for over an hour Saturday—we were sure his passing was minutes away. As I write this, however, it’s been over 18 hours more…

I have had spiritual counseling sessions with several others who have lost their jobs, often in circumstances that seem grossly unfair. There is a kind of death involved here, too: a death of self-respect and dignity. New jobs can go a long way toward restoring a person’s sense of worth, but it typically is not a resurrection that happens after only three days.


After checking on Facebook this morning, I found that one of my “friends” there (a young woman whom I first got to know in 1997 when she was in 4th grade) has changed her status to “single.” She was married; she has a child. What happened to cause the death of that relationship? I have no idea, but a death surely occurred there.


We are approaching Ash Wednesday (which of course here in Mobile means the day marking the end of two weeks’ worth of Mardi Gras parades, balls and general partying). And here I take a cue from St Augustine, who loved to make theological points based on the etymology of words (no matter how wrong his etymology actually was!). Mine will be wrong, too—but I am doing this deliberately.

Lent (our penitential season of preparation for Easter and the celebration of the sacraments of Christian Initiation) is a word that actually comes from the Old English lencten, meaning “spring.” But I want to associate the word instead with the Italian lento, meaning “slow.” Lent’s emphasis is also on dying—to self-centeredness, to sin. How good for us would it be to slow down, take serious stock, and see where we need to shed our selfishness and expand our sense of connection with God and others through the traditional practices of fasting, almsgiving and prayer?

The Church Fathers always linked these three practices together, insisting that in this way we become more like the children of God we were meant to be (“the best version of ourselves,” as Matthew Kelly would put it). Would it not be special to realize, after the “slowing-down” period of Lent, that Easter saw in us a real resurrection of graced life after dying to what is unnecessary or sinful in us?

“Death comes for us all, my lords.” And sometimes that can be a good thing.  I hope it will be, for us, this Lent.


UPDATE:  Mike Walsh (1st paragraph above) died this morning at about 10:10 am.  Please pray for the Walsh family.

THE TRADITION OF MARTYRDOM IN THE CHURCH

The very early Church had its share of martyrs, and for a number of reasons. The first Christians tended to come from strata of society that were looked down upon, including slaves, women and the poor (recall Paul’s words to the Corinthians—I Cor 1:26ff.). Beyond that, Christians showed themselves unpatriotic by refusing to sacrifice to the genius of the Emperor, suggesting they were not interested in contributing to the security and order of the social fabric. Finally, once their separation from Judaism was complete, they were a “non-protected cult” and as such opposed for introducing “new gods” that were alien to, or in opposition to, the Roman pantheon.


There were sporadic outbreaks against the early Christians, including famously that of Nero after the fire of 64 CE. In his Annals, the Roman historian Tacitus describes this scene, giving a glimpse into both the horrors of Nero’s actions and the general dislike for Christians felt by “decent” Romans (Annals XV, 44). The Church celebrates these witnesses for Christ on 30 June (the day after the great Solemnity of Ss Peter and Paul, the two Roman martyrs par excellence).


Where the Church would have gone devotionally if this were all there is to tell, I am not sure. But in the 2nd century CE two other martyrs came to the fore, and they set the standard for witnessing that inspired thousands of others in the next centuries before Constantine. They were St Ignatius of Antioch (whose memorial is 17 October) and St Polycarp (whose memorial is this Wednesday, 23 Feb). What made them so important?


In the case of Ignatius, it was in part the circumstances of his martyrdom: arrested for his faith, he was taken to Rome around 107 CE to be thrown to the lions in the Coliseum (known then as the Flavian Amphitheatre). The legend of such a fate for the Christians is strong (and most of the time false); this time it was spot-on. More to the point, though, are the letters Ignatius wrote to various churches while on his way to his death. They are filled with beauty and dignity, humility and courage. They enjoin the recipients to remain united and faithful. And in the letter written to the Roman church in advance of his arrival, he touches poetic heights in his longing for Christ: Earthly longings have been crucified; in me there is left no spark of desire for mundane things, but only a murmur of living water that whispers within me, ‘Come to the Father.’ And this leads to this Wednesday’s memorial.


For one of the letters Ignatius wrote, besides to the church at Smyrna in general, was to its bishop, Polycarp. And Polycarp himself would follow the path of witness to death for Christ in the year 155 CE. But: while we have Ignatius’ own words to describe his longing to be with Christ, we have what seems to be an eye-witness account of the martyrdom of Polycarp—the first such written account in Christian history. It is filled with wonderful dramatic literary touches: Polycarp’s confession of faith even as an old man; his insisting he would stand firm in the pyre; the fire’s inability to burn him; his being stabbed to death at the end. The author writes: …he was like a noble ram taken out of some great flock for sacrifice: a goodly burnt-offering all ready for God. …The fire…formed a wall round about the martyr’s figure; and there was he in the centre of it, not like a human being in flames but like a loaf baking in the oven, or like a gold or silver ingot being refined in the furnace. And we became aware of a delicious fragrance, like the odour of incense…


Quickly this description circulated throughout the Church and became an inspiration. From this moment, martyrdom was seen not only as something that happened but something to be embraced.


Another pivotal event that really sealed the celebratory view of witness to death was the description of the martyrdoms of two young women in north Africa—Perpetua and Felicity (commemorated on 7 March). But that is another story for another time.

THE POWER OF FORGIVENESS AND RECONCILIATION

Perhaps this is a bit premature, but the joy of seeing the report of Muslims and Christians together in Egypt, helping one another pray on their respective holy days, during the protests was more than heart-warming.


It is a reminder of several things—first and foremost, it reminds us that not all Muslims are fanatical, violent terrorists willing to bomb Christian churches in an abuse of the name of Allah.


It is a reminder, too, that the regime of Hosni Mubarak, was regularly accustomed to turning a legal “blind eye” to attacks on religious minorities, especially women. In a truly democratic Egypt, minority individuals and groups may be able to enjoy a larger degree of equal protection under the law. We can pray that this is the case.

Finally, it is a reminder of the book penned some years ago by Archbishop Desmond Tutu, one of the main architects in the ending of apartheid in South Africa without a resulting bloodbath. His book, No Future Without Forgiveness, is a description of the role of the “Truth and Reconciliation Commissions” that were active during the time of Nelson Mandela (who himself had every reason to be angry and bitter after 27 years imprisonment by the former government for his anti-apartheid stands).


People can move forward, if they can not only forgive (after all, this is a “one-way street”) but truly reconcile (this is the “two-way street” that is crucial, allowing for healing). From a Christian perspective, this is the message of Jesus—to preach repentance and forgiveness of sins in His Name (Lk 24:47).


These Sundays the Gospel readings are all from the Sermon on the Mount—over and over they are challenges to us to do more (magis, as St Ignatius Loyola would refer to it in Latin). In the realm of forgiveness it is often very hard to do anything beyond the minimum. But Jesus was not a minimalist. We cannot afford to be, either.

'TIL DEATH US DO PART...

Is Sandra Hocutt competent to stand trial?  Why was she competent to marry??