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Seven Prayers for Seven Gifts
Excerpted from a Novena to the Holy Spirit

Wisdom: Come and fill me, O Spirit of Wisdom, and reveal to my soul the mysteries of heavenly things, in their exceeding greatness, power and beauty. Teach me to love them above and beyond all the passing joys and satisfactions of earth and to prefer your wisdom over the so-called wisdom of this world. Help me to grow in your wisdom, especially during temptations, trials, and all the daily challenges that I face. Amen.

Understanding: Come and fill me, O Spirit of Understanding, and enlighten my mind that I may accept and believe the mysteries of salvation and the truths of your kingdom in order to stay on the path to heaven and serve your kingdom in my daily life. Help me to discern what is evil, and enlighten me so that I may be holy here on earth and live forever in the light of your glory with a clear vision of you and the Father and the Son. Amen.

Counsel: Come and fill me, O Spirit of Counsel. Help me and guide me in all my ways, that I may always do your holy will. Incline my heart to prefer only what is good; turn it away from all that is evil, and direct me by the straight path of your commandments to that goal of eternal life for which I long. Amen.

Fortitude: Come and fill me, O Blessed Spirit of Fortitude. Protect my soul in times of trouble and adversity. Sustain my efforts in holiness, strengthen me in my weakness, and give me courage against all the assaults and temptations of my enemies, that I may not be overcome and separated from You, my God and greatest Good. Amen.

Knowledge: Come and fill me, O Blessed Spirit of Knowledge, and grant that I may perceive the will of the Father in all things, in every moment of every day. Give me an awareness of the pointlessness of earthly things and the ugliness of unholy desires, that I may stay pure in all my decisions and use the things of this world only if they bring you glory. Tell me what I need to know for my salvation and for the service of others. Amen.

Piety: Come and fill me, O Blessed Spirit of Piety. Possess my heart. Purify me. Humble me. Enkindle in me such a love for God that I may be satisfied only in his service and lovingly submit to all legitimate authority for the sake of your kingdom. Make me increasingly uncomfortable with everything that is evil, so that I turn away from it and live only in you. Amen.

Fear of the Lord: Come and fill me, O blessed Spirit of Holy Fear. Penetrate my inmost heart so that I may honor, obey and prefer you and my Lord Jesus and my Father God above all else. Help me to despise all things that offend you, and make me worthy to appear before the pure eyes of your Divine Majesty in heaven, where you live and reign forever in the unity of the ever Blessed Trinity. Amen.

Hey y’all, Rosy here, as you can see I’m being rightly shamed into blogging- the benefits of a prolific teammate!  We’re probably going to be switching off days, so the slow days are mine.

—

I think it’s pretty natural to wonder – Why would God create a whole garden and say, “Eat fruit from any tree but that one.”  The tree has the rather intriguing name of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil.  And really, it’s hard to say that knowing about good and evil is a bad thing.  But I’ve realised lately, from both reflection and a fantastic video from Father Barron I’ll link at the bottom, that it’s not about the knowing.

It’s about trying to be a god.  Who alone knows all, understands all, encompasses all?  Who alone defines what is right and what is not?  God alone.  And when we reject God, and try to do this for ourselves, we are not rejecting the idea of divinity, but styling ourselves as a god.  It is fundamentally a failure of humility and the triumph of arrogance, that we all do in every single sin, to claim as our own the divine right to determine for ourselves right and wrong.

The vast majority of people will identify some basic things as wrong and some as right and will be correct.  But contrary to the atheistic claims of liberation, it is the most limiting experience, because when we are the only filter we recognise, we are inherently fettered to ourselves – a small, small view in a large, large world.

Chesterton has a brilliant piece in his book Orthodoxy on madmen.  As with anything of his, it’s eminently worth reading (and free on Gutenberg.org), but in particular I was struck by his hypothetical discussion with a madman who thinks he’s God.  As he explains it, it may well be that the worldview of a madman, or, to be truthful, any man, can explain the world quite well, but it can only explain it in a small way, as we ourselves are small.

Or it might be the third case, of the madman who called himself Christ.  If we said what we felt, we should say, “So you are the Creator and Redeemer of the world:  but what a small world it must be!  What a little heaven you must inhabit, with angels no bigger than butterflies!  How sad it must be to be God;  and an inadequate God!  Is there really no life fuller and no love more marvellous than yours; and is it really in your small and painful pity that all flesh must put its faith?  How much happier you would be, how much more of you there would be, if the hammer of a higher God could smash your small cosmos, scattering the stars like spangles, and leave you in the open, free like other men to look up as well as down!”

This is not an error restricted to madmen or unbelievers.  It is the constant struggle of all of us against the ego.  The difference between the Christian and the atheist isn’t that one is successful and one isn’t;  it’s that one knows what he’s struggling against, and the other celebrates his own defeat by calling it a victory over superstition.  But contrary to his claims, he has not made the world larger – he has only tried to squeeze it into the small confines of his own head.

Atheist Stephen Roberts has been overquoted now in his saying, “I contend that we are both atheists. I just believe in one fewer god than you do. When you understand why you dismiss all the other possible gods, you will understand why I dismiss yours.”  The answer to it is really quite straightforward.

I contend that we are both theists.  I just believe in a god bigger than myself.  When you understand how inadequate I am as my own god, you will understand why I need a bigger one- and maybe even why you need one, too.  If I am a sufficient standard of good and right in this world, then it is no great world at all.  But if there is a god bigger than my constant failings, then he can make even those serve some good;  then he is truly a great God of a great world.  If my view alone is the vista, I will soon exhaust it.  But if my view is only one part of a great vista, then there is so much more.  And even if there isn’t, it’s a bigger world with my imaginary God than with myself alone.

(Yes, the great philosopher Puddleglum is also worth a reread!)

Thanks for reading.  Comments and criticisms welcome.

-theRosyGardener

c.f. Father Barron has a fantastic video about sin in a series of YouTube vids taken at some conference or other.  I heartily recommend them all, but “Father Barron comments on the Fall” was one that really got me thinking – and he even has another great GKC quote.

Taken from the Anaphora of St. James, Brother of the Lord according to the Maronite-Syriac tradition:

You are truly holy, O King of all time and source of all holiness. Holy is your only Son, our Lord and God, Jesus Christ. Holy is your Spirit who reaches the depths of all things, even the depths of your own Being. You are God and Father, holy, almighty, all-powerful, awesome, and good, compassionate toward the sufferings of your creation. You formed us from the earth and conferred on us the joy of paradise. When we transgressed your command and sinned, you neither neglected nor rejected us, but rather, as a merciful Father, you sought us. By the law you called us back; by the prophets you guided us; and, at last, you sent your only Son, our Lord and God Jesus Christ, into the world, that he might renew your image in us. He came down from heaven, and, being conceived of the Holy Spirit and taking flesh from the ever-virgin Mary, Mother of God, he dwelt among us and accomplished everything for the salvation of our race.

This is my first attempt at writing my conversion story. It’s horribly truncated and although I tried to include everything, everything somehow got left out. What can I say?  I gave it my best shot, and I’ll be guaranteed to shoot at it many more times before all is said and done. Also, dear reader, please forgive me if I’m blunt to the point of offense in some places. People tell me I’m a fairly honest guy, but regrettably, my honesty is not nearly as graceful as it is sincere.

Growing up, I attended in Bethel Baptist Church, where a dinosaur-themed Vacation Bible School first lured me into the sanctuary at the age of four.  I remember a small, brown Apatosaurus on display—one of the prizes for memory verses—and I resolved to win it.  So I did.

Throughout the years that followed, I became familiar with the central tenets of Christianity and adopted them, opting to get baptized at the age of eight.  Always too precocious for my own good, I studied the Scriptures and often got in trouble for arguing with Sunday school teachers over the proper interpretation of certain passages.  However, toward the end of middle school I became bored with the Baptist Church, whose teachings seemed only to skim the surface.  I began examining my faith and asking the “big questions,” like is the faith tradition I have received trustworthy; why does God allow suffering in the world; is there only one way to heaven; and is there even a heaven at all?

But my religious instructors never engaged my inquiries in these areas. So I was left to explore them alone.

During high school, I took up a serious study of church history and theology as a hobby. That was when I discovered the writings of the early Christians, both orthodox and heterodox. Despite their differences, the religion (or religions) they described appealed to me both intellectually and spiritually. Ultimately, I sided with the orthodox authors, mainly because I found their arguments more balanced and persuasive. By the time of my junior year in high school, I had worked my way up to the medieval mystics.

In the middle of my senior year, it became evident to me that I couldn’t honestly continue to attend my Baptist Church, since I didn’t agree with their manner of worship or their teachings. I also admit to a personal grudge, because the congregation would never make much effort to accommodate me in church activities. For example, they would always ask my family to donate to the annual youth beach trip fund, but they would never reserve wheelchair accessible places (I’m disabled).

I was torn between whether to convert to Eastern Orthodoxy—the artistic, mystical, and liturgical tradition of which held a special appeal for me—or Roman Catholicism, which offered a more thorough and logical explanation of doctrine.  Eventually, with a little prodding from a Catholic girlfriend, my inner Vulcan won out and I went with reason over mystery.

But I remained restless.

College caught me right at the beginning of this spiritual exodus. My classes and time on campus afforded me the opportunity to conveniently investigate different ways of thinking. Above all, my course with Dr. Hawkins allowed me free reign to dive into the holy texts and traditions of non-Abrahamic religions, something I had not yet gotten around to doing. Such experiences broadened my cultural horizons, encouraging me to adopt a more free and philosophical interpretation of the Bible as well as a more advanced and articulate theory of its inspiration that does not discount the work of God in other religions. For example, I realized many of the ideas related by the Upunishads are comparable to those of Christian mystics. I also decided to adopt some concepts from the Tao Te Ching—the basic text of Taoism—into my own worldview, which is otherwise predominantly Thomistic.

Exploring the social scene of campus life also fueled my ongoing spiritual journey. After joining a Roman Catholic fraternity on campus, it became clear to me that man does not live by logic and doctrine alone—mystery is required. I just did not click with the culture of contemporary Christianity, be it Catholic or Protestant. When I first acknowledged this truth, it was very difficult to face because at the end of the day, the modern American churchgoing scene with all its glorious Cartesian ordering, rationalizing, and simplifying was the only world I knew.

Deep down, I wanted all the “smells and bells,” something which I think the ordinary form of the Roman rite has moved away from in recent years. I did explore the traditional Latin Mass, but it just couldn’t compete with the eastern liturgies I had witnessed while visiting Orthodox Churches prior to my conversion. Then I found Our Lady’s Maronite Catholic Church. Not only was it close to my house, it was an eastern Christian community in communion with the Catholic Church. The way I saw it, I could have the best of both worlds. But I had little idea what I was getting into.

From the instant I walked through the door into a narthex jammed with people shouting and laughing in a foreign language over the pungent smell of unknown foods, I felt immersed in some weird knock-off of My Big Fat Greek Wedding. Within moments I was kissed and greeted by everyone within a ten-foot radius and ushered into the main sanctuary. Fortunately, the service was almost entirely in English and had exactly the air of mystery I was looking for.

Soon, I was discussing becoming a parishioner with Msgr. Donald Sawyer, the priest there, who is best described as a Lebanese-Texan redneck. During one of my first confessions at the Church, he pulled out a foot-long hunting knife and began casually cleaning his nails! The utter informality and familiarity present in the community was shocking at first. Everybody knew everything about everyone. No one was in a hurry to go anywhere, and it was common for folks to just hang around for hours after services.  I was practically assaulted by invitations to meals and special events!

Though it took some getting used to, I began to feel comfortable inside this laid-back Mediterranean culture. It helped me slow down and taught me to value real people over the endless items on my hectic schedule. I came for mysticism, but I stayed because of the bright smiles and warm hearts. After awhile, I even got used to my fellow parishioners, men included, kissing me on the lips to greet me. Which was mighty strange at first, I must say!

Oh yes, as an addendum, I ended up getting re-baptized and confirmed in the Maronite Church. While studying the Church Fathers in preparation for being a Catechist, I discovered proper intention is necessary for a baptism to be valid. My old Baptist Church was independent and not a member of the Southern Baptist Convention, so baptisms performed by them were not automatically recognized. Moreover, at the time of my baptism, it was made clear that it was not a sacrament but just a public profession of faith. Thus, after speaking briefly with a canon lawyer, he recommended the move for re-baptism, or as its officially called, “conditional baptism.” So, I had the odd privilege of entering the Catholic Church two years after I entered her, and this time in a rite which suited me best.

I suppose all things work out for the greater glory of God and those who love him.

As Catholics we firmly believe that the Bible is the inspired Word of God written in the language of men, or in other words, that it was penned by the Lord’s hand through mortal hands without any loss of human freedom or divine truth. This understanding of the Sacred Scriptures has been passed down to us by the apostles themselves and is eloquently and thoroughly explained by the Church Fathers and in papal documents such as Providentissimus Deus, Spiritus Paraclitus, Divino Afflante Spiritu, and more recently, Dei Verbum.

Of course, in an ideal world, everyone would read these documents in their entirety, and that would be that–end of discussion. But since we live in reality, the constraints of daily routines make this practically impossible for most people, so I will summarize the perennial teaching of the Church in the following manner: the Bible is objectively and absolutely inerrant in matters of faith, morality, religion, and those foundational facts–namely historical realities such as the fall of man, exodus of Israel, and resurrection of Christ–upon which these necessarily rest.

There is a lot of meat here, so let us flesh this out.

The meaning of inerrancy when it pertains to the Bible depends on what aspect of Scripture is under scrutiny. Thus, when we say the Bible is inerrant in matters of faith, we mean it teaches, without error, the honest truth about God and his dealings in both the spiritual and the material realms; when we say the Bible is inerrant in matters of morality, we mean it teaches, without error, the honest truth about man’s duties to God and neighbor; when we say the Bible is inerrant in matters of religion, we mean it teaches, without error, the honest truth about how man ought to express his faith in God through the carefully codified acts of worship it recommends, whether they be communal or solitary; and when we say the Bible is inerrant in matters of foundational facts, we mean it teaches, without error, the honest truth about the events and people upon which its other teachings necessarily rest (for example, if there were no real fall of man, or if Christ did not rise from the dead in actual history, it would be absurd to claim the resurrection of Christ saves us from sin).

In closing, dear reader, I pray God’s grace may guide your ongoing exploration of his Word. With all the angels and saints, let us ask in one voice, “Come, Holy Spirit, fill the hearts of thy faithful and enkindle in them the fire of thy love. Send forth thy Spirit and they shall be created. And thou shalt renew the face of the earth. Amen.”

I’ve seen, as have I’m sure many other Christians, a dissatisfaction with the vast difference many people perceive between the God of the Old Testament and the God of the New Testament.  And, since it’s extremely early and I can’t sleep and Lent has just begun, what better time to take a look at it, yes?

Glad you agree.

Here’s the basic problem:  God in the OT seems mean– we’ve got plagues, floods wiping out earth, destruction, wandering in deserts, wars, etc., and of course, the biggie, the expulsion from Eden.  And then in the NT, in walks Jesus, who’s all about love and kindness and challenging other people’s lifestyles, and who, in many an idyllic view, never seemed to raise his voice or what have you.  The people who see these as highly incompatible have a good point– these don’t really fit.  But they then face the logical problem of this:  if God is truly God as we describe him, his nature ought to be constant.  That is, we say God is Love, God is Truth, etc., and these things don’t change.  Why, then, does God?

And if he does change, why is he worth our worship?  Can’t we pick the one we like better?

I think at the heart of this, though, is a misunderstanding of our predicament as sinners.  I’m like most people, I think, in that I think of most people as basically good people.  I like to think of myself as basically a good person.  And I think (and hope!) there are merits in these opinions.  But we have to understand divine-human relations as, well, a relationship– with the same principle behind it as any relationship:  namely, that it can be broken.

At my university, as at several, and particularly at military colleges, there is an honor code or honor system as you prefer.  Some schools with an honor system have varying punishments, but the strongest honor system schools only have one:  you’re out.  Why?  Because they understand that at the heart of every relationship is trust, and to break trust is to break the relationship.  All that remains is to sever formal ties;  it’s merely a formality.

This is where we stand as human beings.  We’ve broken the relationship between us and God– thousands of times, each of us.  And God is Love, Truth, and Life– so when we leave him, we get Death, Lies, and Destruction.  That’s not a vengeful God of the OT;  that’s justice, as painful as it is to admit it.  Those punishments are what we all deserve.

So why the “difference” between OT and NT?  Well, Jesus.  Because throughout human history, the one God of testaments Old and New had a plan to restore us to him, to bridge the chasm our sin creates between us, with a bloodied cross as our passage.  It’s not that God’s supposed vengence goes away;  it’s that Christ takes upon himself a punishment that is, justly, ours.  As Paul says, the “wages of sin is death.”  That means that the eternal separation and death we deserve gets redirected at Christ, the innocent but willing victim.

The “problem” between OT and NT exists only as a problem of perspective.  Mostly, we like to think of ourselves as the good guys– I know I’d like to idealise myself as right there with John and Mary at the foot of the cross.  But the problem is, we’re really like the thieves hanging right beside Christ.  For those of us who know it, we know we are there justly, not at the whim of a cruel god, but nailed there by our own sins.  The only “difference” between the New Testament and the Old Testament God is that from the Crucifixion onward, there is the opportunity to be like the Good Thief.  That is, to know that our punishment is just, and yet claim Christ’s sacrifice on our behalf:

Remember me, when you come into your kingdom.

–Rosy

Dawn noted on my last post that I’d basically upped the ante for God- and I think that’s an accurate way to put it.  But I guess it’s good to keep in mind that in a poker game, you keep betting until everyone’s even.  Ironically enough, I even found mention of a “poker priest” who’ll be on a televised competition, trying to win money for his parish.

I have to say, I really enjoy watching Texas Hold’em, which is a rare game where it’s definitely more about the betting– much more about the betting than the cards.  You don’t play the cards in Hold’em:  you play the people.  So I’ve watched and gotten all the catch phrases down- “Pocket deuces” and “he flopped trips!”  and calling Kings “cowboys” and such.  And in case you haven’t watched Celebrity Poker Showdown (the one you actually learn the most from) or the World Series of Poker, here’s a quick primer on how it goes.

There are some obligatory bets in Hold’em – a bigger one and a smaller one (half the bigger one)- called “blinds.”  Then those who haven’t put in the largest amount in have three options: “fold” and be out of the round, spending nothing;  ”call” and put in enough to match the big blind;  ”raise” by putting in more money.  The trick of the raise is that after that, everyone has to put in enough to match it or else fold.  And players can “re-raise.”

And that’s exactly what I think has been happening with me, Ten Prayers, and God.

Today I dawdled and delayed a bit by reading more in Orthodoxy (GKC) and Ten Prayers (DeStefano) before realising that, yes, I did actually have to shower and get dressed (I was in fact in my pajamas quite late- I like them and had nowhere to go yet) and go to Mass.  I hit chapter 8 today, well started it- at 1:40 I finally came to my senses (English Mass is at 3- well there’s one at 9 but I’d have to leave at about 8:10 to get there and that’s not going to happen right now).

I had to pull myself out of Ten Prayers in Chapter 8:  ”Sometimes Being Smart Just Isn’t Enough; God, Give Me Wisdom.”  DeStefano was just telling me about asking God to help with decisions.  This is an area in which I can use a lot of encouragement.

I think it comes down to being afraid of what God will say.  What if he wants me to be a “holy beggar” or something?  What if he wants me to do something completely different from what I thought?  What if he tells me and I don’t know how to listen?  Actually, the last one is a biggie for me, because the thing I miss most from my childhood is the closeness I felt with him, where I was sure I heard his voice.  I don’t regret growing up, but I do regret growing foolish and unable to hear him.  How will I know what he wants?  And will I be able to give it?  I know logically and through faith God won’t give more than I can handle, but that hasn’t stopped the fear.  I guess that’s why any time he has a big announcement, it starts with, “Don’t be afraid.”  In one sense, I trust God quite a lot– because of my closeness as a child, I have been blessed with certainty of his existence.  In the senses that matter more in everyday life… I’m a real skeptic.

But I’ve been smart enough, I think, to be skeptical about my own plans as well.  I just don’t know that they’re what he wants, so I don’t have complete peace with them.  So I figured I ought to pray that prayer.  I almost “dashed it off” quickly as I read and then hopped in the shower.  I figured I’d already gone in on the whole charitable giving thing, and that if I really missed that closeness, prayer was the only way to get it back.  So I said it.

And God saw my bet, and re-raised me.

As I mentioned in a Quick Take a couple weeks back, I was asked to lector at Mass the second Sunday I attended, after which I also said, I’ll be here til July, so you’ll see me around.  Well, every Sunday I’ve been since then I’ve been asked to lector.  Not only have I been asked to lector, but I’ve been given the biggest portion- first reading plus the psalm response.  Today I only got there with about 5-8 minutes to spare, and figured they’d have already gotten someone.  But I guess they were hoping I’d show because I sat down and immediately was handed the lectionary.  The fellow who is basically the acolyte and does things like assign readings and get Communion counts told me they love it when I read.  I’m one of the few English speakers there from a country where it’s the sole dominant language so it’s easier for me to be expressive I think, plus I figured if I’m reading it I should read it with expression.  As long as no one else is getting shafted, I’m happy to help, even though a bit nervous when I step up there.

Given that I’m eight hours ahead of EST, it’s entirely possible that some folks haven’t gone to Mass or service if you’re in a Protestant church that follows the calendar of readings, so here’s a little liturgical “spoiler alert.”

I looked down at the book, and I almost had tears running down my cheeks– my eyes were suffused with them, and are again now even thinking about it.  Here is the first reading:

I prayed, and prudence was given me,

I pleaded, and the spirit of wisdom came to me.

I preferred her to scepter and throne,

and deemed riches nothing in comparison with her,

nor did I liken any precious gem to her;

because all gold, in view of her, is a little sand,

and before her, silver is to be accounted mire.

Beyond health and comeliness I loved her,

and I chose to have her rather than the light,

because the splendor of her never yields to sleep.

Yet all good things together came to me in her company,

and countless riches at her hands.

– Wisdom (!) 7:7-11

Okay, okay, I get it.  That’s a dose of wisdom, a “trust me” and an implied “be not afraid” all in one, right when I asked for wisdom.  I don’t get amazed by “coincidences” — I am constantly amazed by how detailed God is, and how, if you’re looking, he’s really hitting you over the head (lovingly, of course) all the time– he just knows everything so well that he stands behind you encouraging you, and is the ground beneath you so you have a good path, and is the star before you to follow, and when you finally do listen, he’s already in the place he’s been leading you to, ready to welcome you in.  It’s mind blowing, because it’s so incredible- and so incredibly loving.

I’ve been shuffling my way along on this wisdom thing for a long time.  I think God even helped the priest out with the homily today just for me, the one about the rich man who doesn’t want to give up all his stuff.  He said something like, ‘It’s not enough to stay out of trouble;  you have to go beyond that.’  Giving God something to outdo, and now asking him for wisdom– and it seems like that line is just for me.

You know what I didn’t mention about betting in poker?  At any point in the game, any player who’s still got his hand can go “all in” — and anyone who wants to remain in the game has to go all in, too.  I think the reason I was folding so many hands was because I’ve been afraid of going all in.  I hope that the prayers I’ve been praying, “God, outdo me in generosity,” “God, give me courage,” “God, give me wisdom,” and “Jesus Christ, son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner,” will prepare me to go all in.

I sure hope so– because I’m finally starting to want it again.

-theRosyGardener

Updated only to add categories and correct a typo in which I accidentally claimed I’d been asked to lecture at church– thankfully for both my pride and the very lives of anyone potentially subjected to a lecture by me, I was asked to lector.  And all my family will commence laughing now….

I can’t recall if I mentioned but I am a native Bay Stater.  In fact, Ted Kennedy has been my senator for my whole life– in fact, he has been a senator almost as long as my parents have been alive.  I have had severe philosophical differences with the senator both on issues of governance (I’m a liberal in the classical sense, not in the big government sense) and moral ones (yes, red flag to a bull, the abortion issue).  I also have hated the mystical near-worship of the Kennedy clan in this area– I don’t believe fantasy of that kind is good for anyone, especially not the person (or group) being lionised.

The Catholic blogosphere, which generally crosses the political spectrum, has been ablaze with the subject of Ted Kennedy’s death.  What I have encountered has been just- neither sugarcoating his sins nor claiming to know the status of his soul.  I’ve had a lot of disparate thoughts about this subject, but I wanted to add my two cents in my own little corner of the internet.

From a Catholic perspective, there are a few things to be said about the senator.  There are rumors (many substantiated) of infidelity and alcoholism.  There is the sad story of Mary Jo Kopechne whose life was imperiled by Kennedy and whose death was caused by his failure to procure help.  And the clincher for most devout Catholics- the one thing that they really can’t get past- is his support for abortion.

And by all rights, abortion is something we should never “get past.”  There is no getting over so grave an evil.

But stories have started to trickle out that have made me look Ted Kennedy in a different light.  I don’t do well at personal malice (atleast of people I don’t know, excluding Andrew Jackson whom I despise– no room for explanation), so I never disliked Teddy K– in fact, he’s someone I imagine I would really like on a personal level.  He and his family also have my sympathy for having suffered so many tragedies.  It cannot have been easy to have been the last brother out of four when the other three all died young and tragically.

The stories have to do with prayer.  I heard someone say that the Eucharist was the center of his life.  I don’t know if that was true.  But I do know of two different people, both of whom disagreed with him politically, that they saw him praying.

The first is from Kathryn Lopez, who writes for the National Review, saw him at daily Masses in DC when she dropped in from an internship at the Heritage Foundation (a conservative thinktank).  And not just once or twice.  As she said, “[H]e probably led some people astray by his example. But our faith also teaches that we are all sinners and that there is redemption.”

The second is from a man, I don’t remember his name, who lives in the area of the basilica of Our Lady of Perpetual Help, covered in the Boston Herald.  He described himself as a ‘small goverment guy,’ and also as someone who dropped into the basilica having been taught by nuns to visit our Mother daily.  He too saw Senator Kennedy there, in the pew, deep in prayer.  This gentleman, who serves as an acolyte at noon dailies, had hoped he’d be allowed to serve, political differences aside.  Most important to me, however, is that these stories were not told while the senator lived– his prayers were not for show.

There is no escaping the fact that Kennedy’s flaws and particularly his public political support for abortion have given scandal and also have harmed the Church through tacit encouragement of the view that one can be a Catholic in good standing and support morally objectionable causes that have been expressly prohibited by the Vatican.  But there is also no escaping God, whose standard shows all of us that our “good standing” leaves quite a lot to be desired.

I will make no excuses for Senator Kennedy’s actions;  they are grave ones indeed.  But reading all these little tidbits, listening to the eulogies at the wake and the funeral (Teddy Jr.’s was especially good), I felt little tugs on my memory.  Wisps of the story wafted around my brain until I could finally grasp just whom this Ted Kennedy I was just starting to know reminded me of:  the tax collector in the temple.

Remember that parable?  Two men go to the temple to pray.  The first is a pharisee who thanks God that he follows all the laws and is better than lots of other people, including the second man.

The second man, a public sinner by virtue of being a tax collector, doesn’t even approach the front, doesn’t even look heavenward.  Instead, so conscious is he of his sin that he only stands, pleading with God, “Have mercy on me, a sinner!”

I don’t have any special knowledge of anything, let alone Ted Kennedy’s soul.  But, for all his faults, though they were grave and in some cases persistent, I just have this inkling that he clung to prayer like that second man.  The good father at the Byzantine Rite church we go to occasionally said today, in that Tradition, we say that we are the first of sinners in the Liturgy– a Liturgy which is suffused with petitions for God to be merciful.  Perhaps that is the lesson of Senator Kennedy’s life to those of us who remain- a reminder that we are all wholly dependent on the mercy of God.

And just because it’s a beautiful prayer that bears repeating, here is the prayer Byzantine Rite Catholics (in various Churchs- e.g. Ukrainian Catholic Church), say before receiving the Eucharist:

I believe, O Lord, and confess that You are indeed the Christ, the Son of the living God, Who came into the world to save sinners, of whom I am the first.

Of Your mystical supper, make me a partaker this day, O Son of God, for I will not speak of Your mysteries to Your enemies, nor like Judas will I give You a kiss, but like the good thief will I confess to You.

Remember me, O Lord, when You shall come into Your kingdom.

Remember me, O Master, when You shall come into Your kingdom.

Remember me, O Holy One, when You shall come into Your kingdom.

Not for judgment, nor for condemnation be for me the partaking of these Your Holy Mysteries O Lord, but for the healing of my body and soul.

O God be merciful to me a sinner. God, cleanse my sins and have mercy on me. Innumerably have I sinned, forgive me, O Lord.

Two posts in one week– amazing!  Thanks so much for bearing with me.  This one has been floating around in the forefront of my mind for about a week I think (and longer in the background) and I’m waiting for my company’s tech guy to call me back so I figured this was a good use of a bit of downtime.

There is a concept articulated very clearly in Catholic teaching that goes something like this: “Love the sinner, abhor the sin.”  There may well be other traditions that have this idea, but it seems to get discarded really quickly these days, by Christians of all stripes, including Catholics.  And it usually comes from misguided understanding of love.

Let me make a collectivised version of the argument:

God’s love is unconditional.  Therefore, we Christians are called to love unconditionally.  Unconditional love doesn’t stop because we don’t like something about the person.  In fact, people who make a big deal about other people’s choices in the name of Jesus often act in unloving ways.  So, when people single out things they think are wrong about people (individually or as groups), they’re not really loving them as they are.  So you can’t just separate sin and sinner and call that Christian charity.

The above argument is not without merit.  True enough, some people pound on sins, usually a few favorite vices, in a way that is basically devoid of any charity.  But the argument above has some serious issues.  One is that it misunderstands the entire point of abhoring sin and loving sinners, and the other is that it ends up destroying the very caritas or agape love it thinks it’s promoting.  And here’s why:

I have witnessed the effect of the anti-sin-abhorrence crowd in them, and any who follow it to its end invariably come to the same point:  they lose any sense of what makes a sin, and why it matters.  It is a very feel-good, teddy-bear faith to have a wishy-washy sense of “sin.”  Why?  Because when we reduce sin in this way, the only things that get called sins are either fairly obvious (like, say, murder) or very vague (“imposing on others,” for instance, or “hurting other people”), and everything else, including some very serious sins, become matters of opinion or, even worse, “personal preferences.”  No honesty discussion of morality happens when everything is prefaced by, “Well, this is what’s right for me.” But more importantly, there can be no true love without a strong concept of sin.

That may seem a little weird or backwards, but I am convinced that it’s true.  Why?  Because love doesn’t mean not seeing the flaws, even if a lovey-dovey couple goes through that phase.  When the honeymoon’s over, even the most rose-colored-glasses-wearing pair is going to realise that there are some things that seriously tick them off about each other.  A marriage doesn’t last because they decide that those aren’t really flaws– a marriage lasts because they decide that they love each other beyond those flaws, in spite of them, even.

If we go into Christian love blind to any flaws, we aren’t capable of actual Christian love.  I remember going to confession during Lent at my Catholic high school.  A girl in my math class had decided to pick on me a bit, and I’d finally had enough and started scoring her on her insults in a little scoreboard I made in a notebook called the “Bitch Olympics.”  It wasn’t particularly nasty, but it was somewhat effective, especially as the girl and her friends seemed to find it amusing.  Irony of ironies, we ended up on the same pew waiting for confession, and she said teasing me was on her confession list and I had to admit that the Bitch Olympics were on mine.

I got into the confessional, a nice dark one, with the kneeler and the screen, and even better, a priest I didn’t know at all.  He sounded old, with a withered strength to his voice.  I went through the usual- being mean to siblings, talking back to parents, and then I got to the Bitch Olympics, which certainly ranks among my most inventive sins.  Naturally, I detailed how she teased me, and how I knew it was wrong but did I mention she was teasing me?  And that I just didn’t like her?  The response I got was something like this:

Love isn’t a commandment because it’s easy.  It’s a commandment because it’s hard but it’s the right thing.  And Jesus commanded us to do it.  It doesn’t matter that you don’t like this girl, or that she’s mean to you.  You have to love her anyway.

I think when we take away the idea of sin, we are really robbing ourselves of the true virtue and commandment of love.  If we just accept the sins, downgrading them and acting like they don’t matter, we’re doing everyone involved a massive disservice.  It may seem like it’s no biggie, but think about two options a parent has when his child does something wrong– what about parents of kids who get involved in drugs or become promiscuous?  Who loves the child more, the “anything goes” parent, or the one who still loves his child despite these terrible deeds, and takes all the suffering that comes with it?

And while we’re talking about wayward children, if there isn’t any real sin beyond biggies or vague non-harm principles, why would Jesus bother to die for us?  I know it’s not what’s intended when people say you can’t separate sin and sinner, but the end result is that we actually denigrate the love of God for us.  Dying on a cross for perfect people isn’t nearly as heroic as dying for people who are pretty darn awful.  ”Blind love” that just ignores the things we don’t like doesn’t seem like real love at all.  I could keep going on and on trying to articulate it, but once again GK does it better:

Love means loving the unlovable, or it is no virtue at all. - GKC

Have a great week!

-Rosy

(A brief note that this is in no way a criticism of actual vegetarians.)

I’ve been mulling over this idea for a while but it was only in a conversation with Plush Appendix over the weekend that I put a name to it. I call it vegetarianism of faith not because of an abstenance borne of good will. Rather, this is the choice to avoid the “meatier” elements of faith, because they are disagreeable to the person.

That is, rather than go for the real core of faith, we stay at a comfortable surface level, where differences are matters of opinion rather than truth and honest discernment. This mentality leads to a tricky kind of idolatry, one which tends to replace God with a shifting notion of “social good” and, as Chesterton put it, “not merely by setting up false gods, but also by setting up false devils; by making men afraid of war or alcohol, or economic law, when they should be afraid of spiritual corruption and cowardice.”

The common good is certainly a Christian idea, but the mistake is in mistaking that for the whole of faith. These are the sort of people who point to Mother Teresa and Dorothy Day as examples of their kind of Catholocism or Christianity, and then proceed to make all sorts of unjustified assumptions that will aid in their avoidance of the center of their faith. They are very results focused- Mother Teresa is a hero because of all the help she gave the poor. But easily overlooked is why she did those things.

Mother Teresa didn’t do these things because she believed in a social good- she did those things because she loves Jesus. It wasn’t an ideology of common good, or a high ideal, even though those can be parts of it. But mistaking the effects of a deep love for Jesus as the equal of that love is an easy way out of the more difficult parts of faith. The moral requirements, the challenges to the ego, the reliance on God, and perhaps most importantly the awareness of one’s flaws– all these are easily set aside when faith is reduced to “being a good person,” which is an effect, not the source.

And yet practicioners of this meatless faith will claim that those who go beyond the broth are polemical because, having had the better portion, they will not surrender it or compromise its potency.

At the risk of adding even more to my various food metaphors, I will offer one last though, which is a challenge to everyone, myself included. As much as I wish it were otherwise, I’m often a vegetarian when it comes to faith. But I have found a useful reminder in the wedding feast at Cana: a lot of times we settle for the cheap wine. But if we will wait, and plead for help, and follow Mary’s injunction to “do whatever he tells you,” we will get the better wine. Our task then is to discern what are the hearty things we leave in the bowl, what is the cheap wine we’re settling for.

Thanks for bearing with my long absence and any lack of cohesion due to writing this on the small screen of an iTouch.

Best,
-Rosy