The Passion in Light of the Annunciation

 There is a moving scene in The Passion of the Christ when Mary, the mother of Jesus is walking in the Praetorium while her son is chained in prison below ground. At a certain point she pauses, almost with a kind of mother's sixth sense, and drops to her knees while resting her ear on the cold stone floor. The camera pans down, and we see Jesus chained to a pillar, raising his eyes sensing his mother directly above. If children are tied to their mothers, who bore them and gave them life, in a natural sense, how much more so would the Mother of our Lord have a supernatural bond with her son even when separated by physical time or space?  

As we begin to round the corner out of Lent and enter into Holy Week, I would like to propose a concurrent meditation--that of Christ's terrible Passion on Holy Thursday in the Garden of Gethsemane with his holy mother's Annunciation thirty-three years prior. For in both scenes, we see the fate of humanity hinging on two fiats--one human, one divine--but manifested uniquely in each historical setting.

Catholic tradition maintains that the Annunciation--the announcement by the angel Gabriel to Mary that she would conceive and bear the Christ--took place in Nazareth in Mary's home (it is interesting to note that the Eastern Orthodox tradition places Mary at the town well in Nazareth for this event, but for the purpose of this meditation we will maintain the Catholic tradition). For women, the home is the heart and sanctuary of a mother. We can see in Proverbs 7 that the tempestuous woman goes out from the house, "not bearing to be quiet, not able to abide still at home; Now abroad, now in the streets, now lying in wait near the corners (v. 11-12). When the angel Gabriel appears to Mary in the sanctuary of her home in Luke's gospel, he startles her with the proclamation, "Hail, favored one! The Lord is with you." And she was "greatly troubled" (Lk 1:29). The angel, in turn, assures her not to be afraid.

When women find out they are with child, there can be a mix of emotions--from overwhelming joy and hope to trepidation and fear. Now, we know Mary was conceived without Original Sin, but the general consensus among theologians is that as a human, she did not possess the Beatific Vision that her son had. The great and holy virtue of the Mother of God lies, I believe, in her unwavering faith and trust in God. But that faith and trust did not answer all of life's questions for her. In fact, after the angel makes the announcement and drops that bomb on her to which she offers up her fiat of faith and trust in that which she does not understand, he departs (Lk 1:38). 

In the garden of her home, and in the arena of her heart, I am inclined to believe that she wrestled with the implications of this divine assignment--what does this mean? What do I do now? How will this work? How is this even possible? She must have been cognizant of her low stature and standing, for in her canticle which follows her visit to her cousin Elizabeth, she proclaims in great faith her own lowliness (Lk 1:48), and that the mighty will be cast from their thrones and the likes of those lowly will be lifted on high (v. 52). Her trust in God, who reveals His plan to her not in advance but on account of her faith with only that which she needs to know at each moment, is the secret to her preservation from sin. God with us--Emmanuel--is her living reality, her nine month perpetual communion, in which the Messiah homes in the refuge of her womb until his appointed time. During that time, the Christ is nourished by her human body and Mary in turn feeds off the spiritual communion her son growing in her belly provides. There is not a moment in which she is separated from him--physically or spiritually--while pregnant.  For the alcoholic in recovery, he knows his only chance of sobriety can at times depend on seconds or minutes, not months or years. If he looks too much beyond those small steps, the temptation to wilt under the weight of the long road stretching before him becomes too much. I have to think that Mary, recognizing the great weight of her divine assignment while not fully understanding it, similarly takes these small steps in faith and trust the way a car on a dark road illuminated by headlights only sees the three feet at a time in front of it. It is in the present, not the future, that faith lives. Faith waits for instructions, faith assents, faith obeys and trusts. 

When we see the anxiety of Mary on the return to Jerusalem when Jesus is separated from the caravan. This is a natural, human emotion for a mother who has lost her son; but it would also lend credence to this idea that Mary is not a kind of omnipotent, all-knowing creature able to keep cool detachment in all circumstances. Just as she was "greatly troubled" at the annunciation and also experienced anxiety at losing her son, so too I think Mary wrestled in her home after the Annunciation against the natural factions of her mind--the "what ifs," the doubts, the questions, the not-knowing. She counters all of these 'demons' in a sense in the way her lowliness gains the highest stature in the divine economy: absolute, unwavering faith and trust in God. Her verbal fiat is her human "yes," though it was not as if the angel Gabriel led with a question "Do you assent to be the Mother of God?." Her ongoing fiat until she is taken up is that unwavering faith and trust in God that must re-assent each moment in the darkness--in the cloud of unknowing. 

Now let us turn our meditation to that of her son in the Garden of Gethsemane during his Passion on Holy Thursday. Jesus is confined in a semi-private space in the grove he enters into of his own accord "to pray" (Luke 22:41). Whereas his mother was greeted in her sanctuary with the words of Annunciation by an angel, and we can presume her monthly bleeding at that time stopped, Christ instead is subjected to the brutal test he tells his friends with him to pray to be spared from and his mental anguish is so intense that he sweats blood, a seemingly impossible scenario for a man. He is only comforted by an angel after the qualified fiat--"Not my will, but yours be done" is preceded by his heartbreaking admission of not wanting to go through what has been preordained for him before the beginning of time: to drink the chalice of redemptive torment. 

Whereas Mary has the comfort of kin in her cousin Elizabeth in their miraculous respective pregnancies, Christ's friends fail him at his hour of need. The women embrace and commune; the man Christ finds his company asleep from grief. He is alone with the Father who ordains the very weight that threatens to break his back: is the Father there? Does he provide the comfort Jesus seeks? For hours he seeps blood from his pores in a gripping fearfulness, an anxiety not of unknowing as when his mother sought him, but of KNOWING what awaits him. His Passion is not in the questioning of "what does this mean?" or "how can this be possible?" but of knowing EXACTLY what needs to be done to accomplish the divine will by nature of the beatific vision. 

We can almost imagine the hero Mashiach, in a moment of complete and gripping human fear, wanting to be back in the womb of his mother--with her and nourished by her and spared from such suffering. For he knows--by the Beatific Vision--his fate, which causes such agony. And so there is a kind of hypostatic union in his prayer to the Father: Take this cup from me; but Your will be done. For it is the great temptation of man--much different from the temptation of woman--to run from his destiny and seek refuge in the womb while armies go to war. The man goes out to meet death, while woman stays hidden to nurture life. 

In meditating on the Annunciation and the Agony in the Garden in this kind of parallel, we can then direct our thoughts to our own placement as human victims of sin and ransomed prisoners wholly dependent on grace. We are as helpless to save our selves as infants are dependent on their mothers. We do not have the benefit of an Immaculate Conception, and yet we are washed from the effects of Original Sin by baptism. Remember that Jesus' baptism in Matthew 3 was proceeded by his immediate 'going out' into the wilderness to be subjected to temptation. And we also do not have the benefit of the Beatific Vision, and so our spiritual sobriety rests on the faith and trust of Mary--moment by moment, step by step, nurtured by prayer without ceasing. When we fail to do so, or are distracted by sin and carelessness, we step off the path in the night without the lamp of grace and cry out in the dark for help. 

Men of faith cannot avoid going to war--against the world, the flesh, and the devil--and cannot avoid suffering in resisting the concupiscence which blinds us. Meanwhile St. Paul writes that "women, however, will be saved by childbearing" (1 Tim 2:15). What does the Apostle mean by this? In imitating our Holy Mother, whose fiat or "yes" saved us from darkness and death, so too does humanity depend on women not going out to the desert to wage war with the self as men do, but in bringing forth life from the sanctuary of the home like the Theotokos. 

While we may not have the beatific vision to know exactly how we are being used by God in the divine economy, that is by God's plan to keep us hidden. Faith is born in darkness and refined by fire and only after it has been tested can it bring forth light to others. This Holy Week, do not shy from that suffering in the dark, and resist the temptation to crawl back in the womb when you start to bleed. Cry out to your Mother from your personal cross that she might strengthen you with faith and trust to endure what you need to endure and not fail the test. If you are wracked by the "Why me?" of doubt or the seemingly merciless effects of tragedy in your personal passion, look to your Mother who rests her ear to the ground just above your prison cell, whose own heart was pierced by a sword and who knows more pain than you can ever imagine. Jesus, I trust in you. 

*This article was published on March 7, 2024 at Catholic Spiritual Direction (spiritualdirection.com)

The Power of Accompaniment, the Beauty of Faith: Tammy Peterson's Testimony of Grace and Healing

 My friend Chad sent me this video tonight that his friend Gabe produced, and I was very glad to receive it. Gabe had the privilege recently of flying to Canada and interviewing Tammy and Jordan Peterson on Tammy's experience praying the rosary for the first time and experiencing a miraculous healing from cancer while praying a novena to St. JoseMaria Escriva. 

I had flown out to visit Chad and his family in Texas a couple years ago, and got the chance to hang out with Gabe at Chad's house--he's the real deal, a man of deep prayer and faith who loves the Lord and his Mother. I'm glad to see that his channel--GabiAfterHours--is getting the recognition it deserves, for the glory of God and exposing people (especially young people) to the truth of the Catholic faith. He is a talented videographer as well, as you will see in the video

Tammy's testimony is so moving for three reasons:

-It highlights the power of accompaniment--true accompaniment--in her friend who visited her every day for five weeks in the hospital and who introduced her to the rosary in the most loving way. 

-It shows a deep humility and childlike beauty in Tammy, whose orientation towards the Divine Will is so pure and trusting. Of course many people know Jordan Peterson (who also appears in the interview and gives his perspective on her new found faith), but as the saying goes "behind every strong man is a stronger woman." 

-It gives a great witness to the beauty of the Catholic faith, the true power of miracles, the irresistible draw of Truth in the face of one's own mortality, and the love of God and especially Mother Mary; who knows what good may come of this to others, but it is truly inspiring and humbling to witness such high profile figures at the beginning stages of a life-changing journey towards faith.

Tammy is also currently in RCIA and, God willing, will be coming into the Church this year. Deo Gratias. Welcome home, Tammy.

I'm so glad Gabe was able to give glory to God by using his gifts and talents for the world to see, and for the Petersons for their willingness to give witness to this miracle that is not only inspiring, but beautiful. May it lead even more people to Christ, his Mother, and the Catholic faith. 

Enough from me. Enjoy the video which just dropped a few hours ago, and be sure to share with others. 

Three Days Grace: A Meditation On The Finding Of The Child Jesus In The Temple

 As anyone who undertakes the First Saturday devotion knows, Our Lady asks us to spend an additional fifteen minutes keeping her company while meditating (meditation being "prolonged reasoning with the understanding," according to St. Teresa) on the mysteries of the rosary. I have taken this to mean one can meditate on all five of the Joyful mysteries of that day, or focus on one in particular. I usually opt for the latter, and usually receive some insights by the Holy Spirit during that time that I may not have had otherwise. 

Yesterday (Saturday) I felt led to meditate on the fifth Joyful Mystery, the Finding of the Child Jesus in the Temple. I'm sure none of these insights are novel, as someone more learned than myself may have illuminated them already, but for me it was fruitful.

In Luke's gospel, we see the Holy Family returning home via caravan from Jerusalem after the Passover. They had already gone a day before they realized the twelve year old Jesus was not with them (Lk 2:44). Doubling back, they returned to Jerusalem where the scripture says they "found him after three days" (2:46). 

This in itself comprised the bulk of my meditation. As a parent of a soon-to-be twelve year old boy myself, I would be beside myself. Now twelve year old boys two thousand years ago were probably more self-sufficient than today, and parents probably didn't have as much of the helicopter-like and exhausting vigilance they do today, but I nevertheless tried to put myself in the mind of St. Joseph in particular. 

As protector and provider, what must have been going through his mind: He was the foster father of the Messiah--no pressure or anything! He was the strong, silent type, never saying a word in scripture. What was going through his head? It was probably hard enough feeling that Jesus was not related to him by blood, but adopted, per se. Yes, he was chosen by God to be the husband of the Mother of God, but he was also charged with this responsibility. Did Jesus (who was under his watch) disappearing undermine his own confidence in his ability to carry out this role? What if something happened to the boy? And who do you pray to when the son of God himself is missing? "Jesus, help me find...you?!" Poor St. Joseph!

And poor Mary. If St. Joseph was grieved, the twenty-six year old Mary, who bore the Savior and was closer to him than any person on earth, must have been even more troubled on a purely maternal level. But as my meditation went further into her heart, I witnessed what I felt was a precursor to twenty one years later, when she once again would be separated from her beloved son for an additional three days. Did she know he would rise from the dead, that this was not an end but a test of faith and patient endurance? What were those three days like--both when he was a boy separated from her, and then as a man separated from the land of the living?

As I kept our Lady company, I tried to console her with seemingly empty words I wasn't sure I believed myself "Don't worry my Lady, we'll find him" and "I'm sure he's okay." Like someone trying to comfort a grieving friend when you don't know what to possibly say. She took my hand in hers as if I was the one in need of faith and consoling, and squeezed it gently. I had a vision of Jesus, years later asleep in the stern on a pillow, quietly napping as his disciples thought they were perishing (Mk 4:38). He knew they would not meet their demise. 

But did Mary know Jesus would ever be found again? Was she walking in darkness, while the whereabout of her boy were unknown and also while he lay lifeless as a man in a tomb. When a woman is pregnant, she knows she cannot stay pregnant forever, that the baby will come and it is just a matter of days, weeks, or months. But for Mary in these instances, what if she wasn't sure he would ever be found, or live again? How great that darkness, that silence, that vast ocean black as night! But perhaps God is impregnating us with faith, hope, patience during this desolate incubation.

When we finally find the boy in the Temple sitting among the teachers of the Law, a wave of joy washes over me upon seeing my boy Lord. But also a rush of relief, that this Good Friday ordeal and unbearable tension is finally over. For the past three days, nothing has mattered except WE MUST FIND JESUS, the way nothing matters to a drowning man except air. I'm beside myself; what was lost is now found.

But when I look over at Our Lady, she has a kind of...tiredness. Not annoyance, but a kind of weighty perplexion. In fact, both her and St. Joseph were "astonished," as she says, "Child, why have you treated us like this? Your father and I have searching for you in great anxiety" (Lk 2:48). (In the Douay-Rheims translation, they had been searching for the boy "sorrowing." In the RSV, the NASB, the NIV, it was "anxiously" or "in great anxiety")

Now I love St. Francis de Sales and his pragmatic wisdom. But there is one saying of his that I've always struggled with, and I'm sure I'm not the only one. It is this:

"Anxiety is the greatest evil that can befall a soul, except sin. God commands you to pray, but He forbids you to worry." 

As someone who suffers from anxiety clinically, this is a heavy admonition to shoulder. I mean, I don't like it myself, and yet I fall into the worry-trap during stressful situations in which my anxiety gets away from me. To be accused of sin on top of it is even worse. 

But what is often left out when this quote is taken at face-value is in the preceding verse in Introduction To The Devout Life, where St. Francis says this:

"If any one strives to be delivered from his troubles out of love of God, he will strive patiently, gently, humbly and calmly, looking for deliverance rather to God’s Goodness and Providence than to his own industry or efforts; but if self-love is the prevailing object he will grow hot and eager in seeking relief, as though all depended more upon himself than upon God. I do not say that the person thinks so, but he acts eagerly as though he did think it. Then if he does not find what he wants at once, he becomes exceedingly impatient and troubled, which does not mend matters, but on the contrary makes them worse, and so he gets into an unreasonable state of anxiety and distress, till he begins to fancy that there is no cure for his trouble. Thus you see how a disturbance, which was right at the outset, begets anxiety, and anxiety goes on into an excessive distress, which is exceedingly dangerous" (XI).

Does Mary seem like the self-love type? The fretful type? One who rests on her own power and might of will? Not to me she doesn't. And so, her anxiety at not knowing where her son was was experienced as any human mother would experience it, yet buoyed by her supreme trust and confidence in God, not the kind of needless worry or anxiety St. Francis de Sales talks about. Were she not to have responded in the way she did--as if she was a Buddha from another planet, or unconcerned, it would not only undermine her humanity but our confidence in her as well as one we can turn to when we face similar trials. In the same way Christ, because he himself has suffered when tempted is able to help those who are being tempted (Heb 2:18). 

No, the "anxiety" of Mary was not the needless or useless kind that we in our imperfections subject ourselves to when we fall short in trust, faith, and confidence. The Greek term ὀδυνώμενοι used in Luke 2:48 can also be translated as to grieve, to be in agony.  

This is not your run of the mill anxiety, but the anguish of a mother being separated from her beloved son. But what if it was to prepare her for what was to come years later, not a mistake of human negligence but as a component of divine formula? Just as when he was in the tomb, she suffered the grief and agony of his death--not because it should not have happened, but because as someone so closely united to him she was resigned to it and entered full into the grieving and agony of that desolation of separation. She knew she had found her son once, three days after being separated from him; perhaps after his death, then, she knew in the silent, grieving astonishment of her heart that she would see him again.  

"If The Romans Hadn't Crucified Jesus, Mary Would Have Done It Herself"

Have you ever heard that saying before? I hadn't until this past weekend. 

But even with my savage googling skills, I cannot find a source for it. I don't know where it came from. I don't know if it is even theologically accurate. But I can't get it out of my head.

What does it mean, "If the Romans hadn't crucified Jesus, Mary would have done it herself." 

To think of Mary as the Sorrowful Mother (Our Lady of Dolours) is to meditate on her privleged place in salvation history as the Mother of the Redeemer, but also the sword that piereced her heart not just once or twice, but continually.

When I was struggling with a vice, I went to a woman I considered to be a kind of prophetess in our church. She promised to pray for me, and emplored me to pray the Seven Sorrows devotion, including in it prayer to the Infant of Prague. This was on Tuesday, July 26th. On July 27th, I undid the shackles and walked out of the cell of my bondage which I had occupied for over twenty five years. Powerful.    

What are the Seven Sorrows of Mary?

1. The Prophecy of Simeon (Luke 2:34-35)

2. The Flight into Egypt (Matthew 2:13-21)

3. The Loss of Jesus for Three Days (Luke 2:41-50)

4. The Carrying of the Cross (John 19:17)

5. The Crucifixion of Jesus (John 19:18-30)

6. Jesus Taken Down from the Cross (John 19:39-40)

7. Jesus Laid in the Tomb (John 19:39-42)

Our Lady grants seven graces to the souls who honor her daily by meditating (i.e. mental prayer) on her seven sorrows. The Hail Mary is prayed seven times, once after each meditation.   

Mary had to endure the foreknowledge of her suffering imparted to her from Simeon; being forteen, pregnant and pursued by a murderer while an exile in a foreign land; losing her son (and maybe her mind) in a crowd for days on end; watching him agonizingly forced to carry (and being crushed by) the instrument of his own torture; his wrihing in agony and dying; holding his lifeless body in her arms; and burying the fruit of her womb. 

And yet, if the Romans hadn't crucified her son,

Mary would have done it herself.

If true, meditation on that kind of obedience is almost akin to the Incarnation itself, and we say with the Psalmist "Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; It is too high, I cannot comprehend it." (Ps 139:6) As I was reflecting on it, were it to be true, it would not be without precedence.

In Genesis 22, God calls to Abraham, to which he replies, "Here I am!" (22:1). Like Abraham, Mary affirms her assent to the Incarnation, "Let it be done to me according to your word" (Lk 1:38). 

God says to Abraham, "because you have done this and have not withheld your son, your only son...through your offspring all nations on earth will be blessed, because you have obeyed me.” (Gen 22:18). Mary, likewise, "henceforth all genearations will call me blessed" (Lk 1:48)

But as Abraham did not seek to withhold Isaac because he put the absolute will of God first--even when in this case it seemed to contradict reason and the moral law--Mary did not seek to shelter Jesus from the world through motherly protection. She offers him to the Father in the Temple, and in doing so, offers him up to the world to be used for God's purposes. She endured the suffering which accompanied that obedience to the divine will--that the lamb be immolated in perfect sacrifice--a suffering so potent that only a mother could know what it means.

 Think about that suffering for a moment--of having to give birth only to see your son die. And not pass away peacefully, but in agony, and not before a grueling course of tortue and humiliation. Not only that, his death which only you knew as his mother was for the sake of the very people who were scourging and mocking, spitting and flogging him, choosing a common guity criminal to be released over your innocent son. 

And yet, as if your sorrow and suffering had not been magnified enough, were the crowd to choose to release your son to his mother, you would demand the hammer, and nail him to the tree with the same hands you held his infant body with in the manger. The headlines appear the next day: Mother Takes Matters Into Her Own Hands, Crucifies Son. What kind of father pulls a knife on his own son in the name of religion? What kind of mother would put the salvation of ungrateful men ahead of her own flesh and blood? What kind of sadism is this?

In the Divine Economy, this did not come to pass. Mary's fiat was in bringing the Light of life into the world--it was not God's will that she also be the one to end it. Maybe it would have been too much. I don't know. Such knowledge is too much for me.

We were saved through Christ's death, but also Mary's "Yes." God did not ask her to extend that yes to do the shameful job of the Romans. But her favor with God was in her holy obedience. She did not scoff like Zechariah, never flinched, never hesitated, even when she did not understand the message of the angel Gabriel. She assented to not only the Incarnation, but all the suffering that came with it as a mother. She loved her son as her own flesh, and in loving her son she loved God. But she did not love her son more than his Father, to whom he (and her) were subject. 

God did not ask her to do the shameful job of the Romans--but if God had asked her to, I would have to believe she would have set the nails to the hands of her son herself, and in an unimaginable act of agony, brought down the hammer on them. Bone of my bone! Flesh of my flesh! An incomprehensible act of sacrifice, beyond what any mother not highly favored by God could humanely bear. All for the sake of lukewarm, ungrateful, spite-filled men, that they might be saved and reconciled to God by this shameful death. 

No wonder the devil fears her so much. For Lucifer fell from Heaven because of his disobedience. The Mother of God, co-mediatrix of all grace, makes getting back there possible by her obedience. The power of the obedience of Mary knows no bounds, and with that obedience comes the floodgate of grace. Such knowledge is too wonderful for me, it is too high; I cannot comprehend it.

Sunshine In A Bottle

 When I first came into the Church, I had a tough time with Mary, the Mother of God. Not for any theological reasons, but simply in a relational sense. One often hears of struggles people have with God as Father because of their wounds with their own father. For me it was the opposite--my father exemplified the unconditional love shown by the father to the prodigal son in Luke 15. But with Mary, it was an issue of her being peripheral. 

I have a good relationship with my mother and love her dearly, but I realize in sitting down tonight I don't mention or write about her much. And that's how I viewed Mary, the Mother of God, for a long time--not sure how she fits into the picture of my newfound faith. I learned to pray the rosary during those first years as a Catholic, but it was hardly my favorite prayer. My recitation of it seemed to stay on the surface of things above the depths, which now in hindsight, would be a good description of my relationship with my mother. 

My mom may quite possibly be one of the nicest and most pleasant people you will ever meet. I have described her to people who haven't met her as "literally, sunshine in a bottle." My brothers and I joke about her "permagrin"--that is, the fact that she is always smiling. I don't think it's superficial, either. She is a genuinely happy person.

But part of that happiness and effervescence is perhaps why I had trouble relating to her growing up as a broody teenager who thought about things deeply and was discontent with the supericial and fleeting nature of existence, and even today as an adult. My mom is a smart, educated woman, but she doesn't necessarily "go there" when a conversation gets too deep. She prefers to stay on the surface rather than stare into the sun with the naked eye, and will sometimes change the subject to something more essentially palatable if the discussion vears too existential. Maybe this is how she is able to maintain her positive outlook on life, by not staring straight into the abyss on the daily the way I tend to sometimes. 

I've put her through the ringer growing up, and between dealing with me and my dad and our mental health issues, she is stronger than I give her credit for. She also has a natural deference to my father's authority in most matters, though my father also recognizes how much he relies on her to complement his own deficiencies. Their marriage has withstood a lot in large part to this model, and I give her credit for it.

But there is also a degree of frustration on my part in expecting my mom to be someone she is not from time to time. For one thing, as much as I would love for her to come into the Church as a Catholic, she remains outside of it. It is not a negative in our relationship, and there is no antagonism, but I have trouble understanding people who do not consider the four Last Things: Death, Judgement, Heaven, and Hell. The impetus is not there. I want her to know herself the joy that is our hope, not the happiness tied to the externals or pleasures of this temporary life. But ultimately, these decisions to pick up our cross and follow the Truth wherever it leads must come from the individuals themselves.

It's hard to reconcile sometimes. How will the good Lord judge my mom when she comes before Him? Am I effectively living with the cognitive dissonance of trying to reconcile a modernist concept of your religion not mattering, of being a "nice person" (which my mom most certainly is!) with the exclusive claims of the Church, the necessity of the sacraments? Maybe it's why I trend towards throwing myself on God's mercy and fearing His just judgement in the same breath. I fear the hellfire myself, but I also fear it for my family.

Ultimately, the Mother of God broke into my and my wife's life and flooded us with grace and afforded us her protection (by way of the Miraculous Medal). She is no longer peripheral. We pray the rosary regularly and are indebted to her for that grace.

I still hold out that that same grace might break through in my relationship with my mom. I want her so badly to be Catholic, and she's not, and I don't know what to do with that. I respect her enough not to force the topic, but maybe I'm not doing enough either to make the prospect hard to resist. And it becomes hard when you know that the popular sentiment of "good people go to Heaven" and "being kind is the most important thing" is false when you know the people you love fall into that category. "Lord, who can be saved?" As He tells us, "with men, it is impossible. But with God, all things are possible" (Mt 19:26). 

A Christian Response To Abortion Advocates

 

Because I work in a secular and largely left-leaning environment, I don't have the benefit of people often having a Christian worldview. They may have a respectful curiosity about religious practice (assuming they are people of good will), so it is good practice if conentious issues come up to have a response that is concise, accurate, and hopefully allays ignorance of pre-conceived notions about religion. If someone is antagonistic from that point it is on them, but at least you can stand on your convictions and be able to articulate them with charity. As St. Peter says, "But sanctify the Lord Christ in your hearts, being ready always to satisfy every one that asketh you a reason of that hope which is in you" (1 Peter 3:15)

Remember, though, you can make arguments against abortion apart from religion through the light of reason and the Natural Law. But were one to take a religious (Christian) approach, that argument can be made as well. Here is one such (imagined) response I formulated at the kitchen table in prayer this morning.

Interlocuter: "Why are you against abortion rights? Why do you consider yourself anti-abortion?"

Christian: "The God I worship, Jesus Christ, became man through the womb of a simple woman, Mary, a virgin. She was chosen by God to bear God in her womb. Her circumstances were not ideal; she was poor, away from her home, and ended up giving birth in a stable. But everything hinged on her assent, her "yes."

You know the story of Eve, the mother of humanity, who lost the grace and friendship of God through disobedience in eating the fruit in the garden. Humanity was lost, but Christians believe God wanted to redeem them, but could only do so by becoming one of us. He did that through Mary, who conceived by the Holy Spirit. 

Mary did not say no to God; she said "yes." Just as the Ark of the Covenant was the dwelling place of God in the Old Testament, Mary's womb became the new ark, God's dwelling place. The womb is a sacred place where life comes from.

The opposite of life is death, and spiritual death is what all humanity merited after the Fall in the garden. God entrusted Mary to bear the Christ in her womb, and gave women a share in this divine creativity by bringing forth life from their wombs. 

Abortion takes the ark of life in every woman and turns it into a place of destruction, violence, and sacrilege. It is the anti-thesis of Christian belief in the sanctity of life, the sacredness of the womb, and the goodness of creation. It results in physical death, spiritual death, and says "no" to the gift of life that the God who created everything invites us to participate in. It can never be justified or condoned by any believing Christian." 

Going To Bat

 Happy Feast of the Immaculate Conception. 

The Magnificat is a powerful proclamation of God's siding, of where and with whom He stands in time and space. Our Lady during the Visitation, filled with the Holy Spirt, gives testament to YHWH Sabaoth.  We can share in this proclamation, as it draws richly from the Old Testament and vaults it into God doing a "new thing" in Christ. Our Lady is integral to God's plan for that new thing.

What is Our Lady's canticle and how does it relate to God's "siding" with the unassuming elect? 

He has mercy on those who fear him in every generation. 

He has shows the strength of his arm, he has scattered the proud in their conceit. 

He has cast down the mighty from their thrones, and has lifted up the lowly. 

He has filled the hungry with good things, and the rich he has sent away empty.

He has come to the help of his servant Israel for he remembered his promise of mercy, the promise he made to our fathers, to Abraham and his children forever. (Lk 1:50-55)

Depending on where you are sitting, you should be either very grateful, or very afraid.

Herod makes claim to wanting to worship the new King, but really sees him as a threat to his power, and thus seeks to annihilate him as a man of the world does--with earthy power, and violence.

And yet, the Lord of Heaven and Earth has come for those who fear Him, for the lowly, the hungry, those who come to Him as children to lift them up. Whereas those who refuse to submit to His Lordship--the proud, the strong, the rich--will be leveled. 

Our Lord recounts how hard it is to be rich and enter the Kingdom of Heaven (Mt 19:24). He tells the story of Lazarus and the rich man as a warning (Lk 16:19-31). He says we must become like children (Mt 18:3)--those without standing and without power or clout. He goes to bat for them.

Our Lady, too, as Queen of Heaven and Earth is also our advocate. Would you ever approach the Queen of England, or the Queen of Ethiopia, or some other high matriarch as a commoner? And yet Our Lady, our Queen, invites us to do so: to ask for her intercession, to hide ourselves under her mantel. She goes to war with demons on our behalf and they can't hold a flame to her. 

One of the most important instances in our family's history was consecrating ourselves to the Immaculate Heart. Because we are so weak, so unable to fend for ourselves, it is a comfort to know we can place ourselves under her for protection. We did the consecration to St. Joseph a couple years later, and he too is a model of charity and we have been recipients of great graces because of this most chaste spouse of the Virgin. 

In essence, Mary and Joseph are the model disciples who show us those whom God has sided with. The Lord hears the cry of the poor (Ps 34:6). He didn't have to come for us. He could have forgotten about us. But his love compels Him to save in His great mercy. 

It's an awful feeling not having someone watching over you. Especially when one is put on trial, the powerless and those without advocates often get the short end of the stick of justice. In a fight, you want someone who has your back, that you can count on. The Lord is our sure deliverer, our mighty helper. He can be trusted. He saves. 

Lord, make us meek and humble of heart. To the degree what we have and own keep us from you, take it Lord, for nothing can compare to the riches of Heaven. The Holy Spirit rests on the humble, but pride puts Him to flight. Make us strong in You, with Mary as our Advocate, to plead for us against the terrible Judgement we are faced with. Lift us up, and redeem your people. Amen.