Opening the Door For Strangers

My wife loooves quality time. It is her love language; she feels loved when I spend time with her. And not just time while I'm on my phone or working on something, but undivided attention. If she doesn't get her quality time, she doesn't feel loved. And when she doesn't feel loved, she isn't happy. And when wifey isn't happy, nobody's happy. And so I have come to realize that spending quality time with my wife needs to be a top priority in my marriage.

But sometimes things creep in...projects, work, leisure, distractions that steal time away from her. Sometimes these things legitimately need to be attended to, but sometimes I place them higher in the queue than where they should be at the expense of time with my wife and family. And my marriage and relationship with my wife suffers as a result. I can always tell when things are off between us, and it usually goes back to not loving her as I should.

Our relationship with God is like this. Scripture repeatedly and analogously relies on marriage to paint the picture of God's covenant with His people. (Hos 1-2; Eph 5:22-32; Song of Songs; etc). It is an intimate relationship that is one of covenant and communion--God binding himself and communing with his people. He is involved in their everyday affairs, not as a far-off impersonal deity, but as a loving Father. He is not fickle, but committed for life. He loves with a deep love, a well of love that never runs dry, never gets tired, is unconditional.

Let's not over complicate things: Prayer is nothing other then time spent with God. It is speaking and listening. Prayer is necessary to have a relationship with God, because it is in prayer that we get to know Him--His nature, His plans for us, what pleases Him and what offends Him. You cannot get to Heaven without prayer.

The Devil loves nothing better than to lead us away from that intimate communion with God. He often does this on a gradient. That is, someone fervent in prayer and devoted to God does not one day wake up and say, "I think I will sin against my Creator today." No, our separation from God is typically a gradual drifting away--a slight cooling of ardent desire, a gently compromise on commitments, a willingness to replace time spent with God on something else--so subtle that we do not realize it is happening, for if we did we would immediately get back to the path. But rather it is like waking up after falling asleep while tubing on a river or at the beach, realizing you have drifted a long way from shore.

I have come to appreciate the character of people I know who are uncompromising in their commitments to live holy lives and in prayer, because they innately know that "a little leaven leavens the whole loaf" (Gal 5:9). Those who recognize that "desire after it is conceived gives birth to sin, and sin when it is fully grown brings forth death." (James 1:15) know that if you give the Devil an inch he will take a yard, and that not spending time in the Word daily and in prayer daily weakens one's armor in the fight against darkness.

I will give you one example. A righteous man of prayer I know was speaking on the topic of music. While he qualified it by saying this was simply his experience and may not hold for everyone, he did add that he finds he prays less when he finds himself listening to secular music.

I can appreciate Christian music, but I generally don't listen to it regularly. I wish I was more of a fan, since by default when I am driving I am end up bouncing through the radio stations--Q 102, 96.5, etc. and the songs have a way of seeping into your subconscious. One hip-hop song in particular I came across recently is unbelievably catchy, and I found myself listening to it over and over again. I can just about recite the lyrics by heart. And what lyrics: it is about fornication, drug use, drunkenness, idolatry, greed, envy, lust, covetousness, licentiousness, pride, and just about every other sin you can imagine. It's no wonder I have been drifting away from regular prayer recently. It has seeped in, making a home and crowding out the good, and I have realized it too late. Like being asleep in a raft.

How can we recognize God's voice in such a midst? It is hard, and it throws us off. It is like the enemy who sowed tares among the wheat (Mt 13:24-30) We are like watchmen asleep when the enemy comes (Is 56:10). It is where I find myself presently, struggling to get back to base. But I unlocked the door with my own key, let the enemy in myself when he knocked quietly. I have been drifting for weeks, and am just starting to realize how far from shore I am, how I have replaced time with God in prayer with "something else." "Be alert and of sober mind. For your enemy the devil prowls around like a lion, seeking someone to devour." (1 Peter 5:8)

Thankfully God is always there to welcome us home; all we have to do is turn away from sin in repentance (metanonia), and back to the Lord. The Greek term for sin has been translated as 'missing the mark'--it shortchanges us from the ultimate good and hands us a partial good instead; trades us the fullness of Truth for half-truths. Leaves us somewhat temporally full, but never really satisfied.

Spend time with the Lord. Make it a priority. Don't over-complicate it, just give him the time, for there is no substitute for time. Say, "Lord, I give you the next ten, fifteen, twenty minutes for you to do what you wish with." And give it to him. Take time for silence, but also for spending time with God in work, in interactions with others, when preparing a meal. There is no time that God can not be a part of, except when you are sinning. Put aside the things that make you drift and miss the mark, lest you wake up right before your death and realize how far you are from shore.

I know my wife because I spend time with her under the same roof. I know her inflections and what they mean, I know her tone and her facial gestures. Sometimes the time spent together is intentional, like date nights, sometimes it is just doing stuff together. But there is really no substitute for it. You can't have a Skype marriage, you have to be there for it. And not spending time with your spouse cracks the door to temptation to spend time with other things that may not be good for your body or soul. You may fall asleep in the raft, and wake up adrift.

Make time. Because when you are pleasing the Lord, everyone is happy.

The Better Part

In Luke's gospel, there is a scene of Jesus visiting two sisters--Martha and Mary. Martha welcomes Jesus into her home and is running around making preparations and getting anxious. Her sister Mary, meanwhile, plops down at Jesus' feet to be with him. Martha gets upset and tries to get Jesus to take her side to get her sister to help her with the preparing. But instead he sides with Mary, saying that by sitting and being present, forgoing all activity, she has chosen 'the better part.' (10:38-42)

We know people like Martha and Mary, yes?  One is a do-er; one is a be-er.  Personally, I've got a little Martha in me, and a little Mary. Since we were hosting Christmas Eve dinner for both of our families and friends, and I do 95% of the cooking in our marriage, the marathon job of getting food prepped and served fell to me, along with a hundred other little details. Every now and then I catch my wife in a Mary moment just kind of 'being' and my inner Martha rages. 

And yet, getting anxious over details, as necessary as they might seem to be, does not actually please the Lord. Being present does. Which is how I actually prefer to worship and serve, when I have the choice and am not forced into being 'busy and anxious about many things.'

In the end, the busy details of life are temporal. At the end of the night, nobody really cares whether you used red or white candles, or how many forks were put out at each place setting. Time eats those  things and digests them into the past. 

What people remember is the timeless--the feeling of belonging, or being welcomed and listened to, of knowing they are loved and not a burden or a nuisance. The eternal things--being present before Presence; prayer that doesn't seek to accomplish or check things of a list but rather simply rests in the arms of Love; letting things go that upset our spiritual equilibrium. 

As we await the birth of the child savior, let's not forget to lay aside our activities and cares and "fall on our knees" as in the Christmas hymn, and simple marvel in awe at the God of the Universe humbling himself by taking on flesh in the guise of a little baby. This was a once-in-history event that lives on in eternity, since God came to save not only those who lived in the Middle East 2,000 years ago, but extended his hand through the blanket of time and space to save US here in the present day, our children, and our children's children, from sin and death. 

It is too much for the mind to behold in the temporal; such knowledge is too wonderful for me(Ps 139:6). So, it must reside in the eternal, in timelessness. After 18 hours of being in Martha mode today, I'm ready to simply sit at the feet of the baby Lord, and rest.

Observations From The Confessional Line

I don't know how he did it, but our pastor managed to pull in 24 priests and an auxiliary bishop from the Archdiocese to hear confessions for our parish penance service tonight. He had been making the announcement the past few Sundays during Advent, encouraging people to go to the Sacrament of Reconciliation and jokingly assuring them that the "lines will be short" since there were so many priests available to hear confessions. When Deb and I pulled up separately, the parking lot was already packed. I waited in her car with the kids while she went in, and then we switched off and she headed home.

When I entered the candlelit sanctuary, there were stations spread in all corners of the church with two chairs: one for the priest, wearing his purple stole, and one for the penitent. It was encouraging to see the church packed with so many people, young and old and people my age, waiting in line to confess their sins.

I was asked to volunteer to manage the lines inside the church, since there were so many people. My job was simple: make sure people don't get too close within earshot, and move the line along. But it was a good opportunity to stand for an hour and a half and witness God's grace at work in this very particularly Catholic practice of confessing one's sins to a priest. Here's what I observed during that time:


-It Is All Jesus

When people were lining up, a few here and there wanted to go to a particular priest, but for most it didn't matter because of the unique recognition that the priest who hears confessions is acting in persona Christi ("in the person of Christ"), so that the penitent is not confessing to Fr. So-and-so, but to God himself in the person of Christ. This is hard to understand without faith,  and is of course a particular Catholic theological understanding of the nature of "binding and loosing," but suffice it to say God alone forgives sins, but can and does do so through the priest holding the legitimate apostolic power to do so. There is not a 'cult of personality' in the Church, since it is not about the pastor or the preaching, but about the actual sacramental embodiment of Christ truly present--in the celebration of the Eucharist, in the reading of the the Word, in Holy Orders and Matrimony, and in the confessional as well.


-There Is An Air of Latent Joy

People had an air of expectation and eagerness waiting in line. They wanted to be there. They wanted to confess their sins and receive forgiveness. It wasn't awkward or morose: God was inviting his children to come to Him, to be made new again, to have their garments made white as snow. Despite stereotypes to the contrary, I have never in twenty years encountered a priest in the confessional who berated me, or was perverted, or laid heavy guilt trips or burdens down. Mostly tonight, there was such a joyful sense of relief in the air of being restored the God's friendship, and a gratefulness for having the opportunity and invitation to do so.


-Formulaic Is Not Necessarily Bad

Because of the volume of people that particular night, and also in general that priests may have been hearing confessions and assigning penances for twenty, thirsty, forty, sixty years, there is always that tendency to get formulaic. But the power of God's forgiveness does not lie in the dynamism of the priest, but the nature of the sacrament "ex opere operato" ("by the work worked"). The confessional is not a therapy session, and priests do not always have the opportunity or desire (though some do) to spend inordinate amounts of time getting to the root of things (that is a process more reserved for spiritual direction). No matter how many times one goes, no matter how many different sins one commits, in the sacrament of penance one will always here the same words, "Through the ministry of the Church may God grant you pardon and peace. And I absolve you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit."


-Confession Is Both a Private and Public Affair

The evening began with a public service, and ended with individual confessions. Sin is never isolated; it effects our relationships vertically (with God) and horizontally (with our neighbors). The purpose of penance is to reconcile and make amends for those wrongs committed. We are One corporal Body, the Church, though many members, and what one member does affects the rest of the Body.


-The Authority to Bind, To Loose

I am so grateful for our priests, for Christ Himself has given them the authority to forgive sins, the power to bind and loose (Jn 20:21-23). Catholics distinguish between venial and mortal sins, for all wrongdoing is sin, but there is a sin which is not deadly (1 John 5:16-18), and recognize that grave (mortal) sins require the power of the sacrament of Reconciliation to be restored to God's friendship, and that unrepentant mortal sins put one in danger of enteral damnation.


-Confess With The Tongue

Though Jesus can absolutely forgive outside the confessional, there is something deeply human about confessing our sins out loud to someone else. It is like when you write something down or make a list, it is no longer an abstraction. I always try to make my confessions more detailed than vague, for my own benefit, since there is always some shame in seeing our faults for what they are--failures to love--and naming them. And after shame comes forgiveness, and with forgiveness, healing.


-The Seal

Catholic priests have an absolute duty--under pain of excommunication--to never reveal anything anyone ever confesses, for any circumstance, to any person, ever. Priests in the past have rather died than betrayed that vow when forced to do so by authorities. It is a duty, yes, but admiral in my mind nonetheless, to live by such non-negotiable principals to safeguard something as serious as the trust between a penitent and his confessor.


-Priests Are Truly Servants

St. John Vianney (1786-1859) would hear confessions 13-17 hours a day some days. Our own priests are not in it for the power and the glory, but they are truly servants (Mt 20:26). What they offer is a free gift of themselves, of God's grace (also free)--there is no charge to go to Mass, no charge for confessions, for funerals or baptisms, no one is forced to put in the collection basket, they often go above and beyond to serve the needs of their congregations. So indispensable are priests to our Catholic faith, and so often taken for granted, that I literally could not imagine my faith without them. To witness so many priests together tonight, serving the flock, doing God's work, so many coming back home to God...Satan truly hates it.


-Young and Old

I loved seeing some of my 5th graders sitting down with the priest to confess their sins, followed by an 80 year old woman, followed by a young father in his thirties. Confession isn't just for old church ladies--we are ALL in need of God's grace and forgiveness to live our lives effectively in the Spirit.


-Start Anew during Advent

Advent is a time of expectation, of awaiting the birth of the Messiah, and preparing our hearts for His coming. Is there any better way to a lay a foundation for His birth than preparing our hearts, "clearing the stable" to make room for him?


As I left the Church that night, after making my own confession after everyone else had gone before, I was so grateful...grateful for our God, who sent His only Son into the world to save us from our sins; grateful to our priests, who serve the Lord by serving His people; grateful for having an active, faithful, orthodox parish to go to; and grateful to be alive, forgiven, and washed clean in the blood of the lamb. God is so good, and it is true that there is more rejoicing in Heaven over one sinner who repents than over 99 righteous in no need of repentance (Lk 15:7). Much to rejoice about.

A Day Set Apart

As my wife can attest, I'm not a 'sit down and do nothing' type (we are very different in that respect, ha!). I like to work, and like to keep busy with projects. Sundays used to be my 'overflow' day; anything I didn't get done during the week or on Saturday would spill into Sunday and I would use it to play catch-up. Without a break in the week, though, it was like Groundhog Day--every day the same as the one before, like being on a treadmill.

Recently I've been trying to be more intentional about the 2nd Commandment, that calls us to keep the Sabbath day holy and reserved for worship and rest. That may mean doing more on Saturday and letting things that don't get done go on Sunday. It also means forcing myself to rest and 'set aside' the day for the Lord. After all, God Himself created the world in six days and rested on the seventh (Gen 2:2). He expects us to rest as well.

On the flip side of working and 'doing' all the time seven days a week is continuous rest. I tried my hand at a trial 'early retirement' a few years ago when I quit my job and took a month or so before looking for another one. I got up whenever I felt like it, worked on my novel a little bit, walked to the bakery on Germantown Avenue for coffee and donuts, read, napped, volunteered a little. But it was too much rest and not enough work. The balance was off. I didn't appreciate rest because I wasn't working enough to do so.

And so, once again, God's plan for balance in our lives is right, his ways is perfect, and the word of the Lord proves true. (2 Sam 22:31) Work six days. Rest and worship on the Sabbath. Repeat.

I have to force myself to 'do nothing' on Sundays a lot of times, and resist the temptation to do projects and overwork, using the holy day simply as an add on extension of the week. We go to Mass to worship communally, spend time together, as a family, read a little, and just have white space. And the funny thing is, when Monday comes around, I'm ready to go again. I feel recharged and rejuvenated.

This is the way God intended us to live, by his design. Worship is what we were created for, it is the right orientation of our souls. Leisure is a gift from God, and so is work, but each belong in their respective spheres and ratios.

If you haven't set Sundays apart as a day of rest, try it. It takes a little getting used to at first, the reorientation of your week...but it may just change your life!

The Golden Triangle of Freedom

There is a house down the street from us with a homemade plywood sign mounted in the front yard. It reads:

FREEDOM

+

RESPONSIBILITY

=

LIBERTY

Whenever I drive down that windy road and pass the ramshackle house, the sign has given me pause. Is this a local Concord Township tea-party PSA? Just what does 'Freedom' mean anyway? And why is the idea of liberty so important to a person that would motivate them to erect a semi-permanent fixture in their front yard reminding people like me about it every time they drive by?

I don't know anything about the owner of the house. I am also relatively ignorant about our country's founding, our system of government, and our roots as a nation. I mostly write about faith and theology because it's where I live, what I know. Concepts like 'freedom,' 'responsibility,' and 'liberty' are lofty terms with a transcendent quality; they can jump the fence and play with the theological, but they also posses a unique conjuring that is rooted and lives in American political theory.

Poli-sci is not my schtick. I vote, but that's about about as involved as I get in exercising my citizenship. That being said, I am in a ripe position to learn more about things I have for the most part just taken for granted as Joe American--an American in name only.  Which is why I am finding Eric Metaxas' If You Can Keep It: The Forgotten Promise of American Liberty such an enlightening read.

As a catechist, I see first hand the consequences of failing to hand on the faith--a faith that has been passed down and transmitted from generation to generation since the time of Jesus. Catholics who identify as such, but can't name any of the Apostles, don't believe in the True Presence in the Eucharist, and are ignorant of the moral precepts of the Church, not to mention the actual daily practice of prayer and immersion in scripture. What you don't preserve, you risk losing. And so there is a real threat there with eternal consequences (eternal damnation) when we fail to take seriously our responsibility to pass the faith down to our children.

What I like about the way Metaxas approaches the topic is that he does not divorce the "experiment in liberty" of the Founding Fathers from its roots in the lofty ideal of religious virtue; what strikes me in fact is that the very existence of the Republic, a nation like no other, so precariously depends on it. "Our Constitution," as John Adams wrote, "was made only for a moral and religious people. It is wholly inadequate to the government of any other."

Alexis de Tocqueville, the French political thinker and historian, traveled to America in 1831 on behalf of the French government to examine the penal system and report back on what he learned. Tocqueville marveled at the flourishing American democracy at that time, recognizing that the uniqueness of such a system depended on a liberty "which cannot be established without morality, nor without faith."

Metaxas cites Benjamin Franklin who said, "Only a virtuous people are capable of freedom" and describes a concept referred to as the "Golden Triangle of Freedom" which is a basic but profound kind of 'closed-loop' on which freedom depends. It goes like this:

Freedom requires virtue;

Virtue requires faith;

Faith requires freedom.

These are lofty concepts, but then again our country was founded on lofty ideals, an "experiment in liberty" that was completely unique--of all men created equal, the unalienable right to "life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness," and the concept of self-governance. 

* * *

I think what struck me throughout this election cycle was just how far we have drifted from being a nation rooted in virtue. And if the Republic depends on virtue to maintain its very existence, what does that mean for the future of our country? 

My vague but driving motivation during this cycle was the issue of religious freedom. While it was important to me on a personal level, I felt it went deeper than just my own personal self-interest, though I couldn't put my finger on why it was important. It wasn't til reading Metaxas' analysis of the importance of religious liberty in maintaining the unique identity and existence of the Republic that I realized that it wasn't some ancillary topic isolated and pursued for its own sake, at odds with the so-called "separation of church-and-state"  so often argued today, nor was it simply the mis-quoted "freedom of worship"  by political leaders wishing to relegate religious expression to an hour a week within the confines of a church, safely out of the public square. 

No, religious expression is tatamount to our very identity as a nation. Virtue depends on it, and on virtue depends our freedom.  "As nations become more corrupt and vicious," Benjamin Franklin noted, "they have more need of masters."  I think I understand a little better the push-back from ordinary, everyday Americans that felt that something "just ain't right," even if it is just a vague sense that our freedom as citizens were under siege, the Federal Government was overstepping its bounds, and that the idea of self-governance was being undermined as a result. 

What is often forgotten, though, is that responsibility is an integral part of the plywood liberty-formula. Self-governance doesn't just happen; we don't just 'do our duty' as citizens at the voting booth and leave the rest to our elected officials. No, the cultivation of virtue is central to our identity as American citizens, and we have an civic obligation to engage in such practice. Not only that, but it must be passed down through generations, and the conduit for such a transmission is none other than the family itself. Healthy societies depend on healthy families, healthy families are formed in the cultivation of virtue, and virtue finds its roots in religious expression. Threats to the family are threats to the potential for self-governance itself, and so liberty is in fact not restricted only to the political, but extends to the realm of faith and religious practice, which help to form strong healthy families. 

Or, as Bernard Jaffe (Dustin Hoffman) said in I Heart Huckabees, "It's all connected."

I Will Go To You

We have two happy and healthy kids, David and Monica. People have occasionally asked us if we are "done" to which we would often reply "I would lose my mind if we had another," or, "yeah, we're not trying." After all, Deb will be 42 next month, and it feels like we have our hands full.

The implications of having or not having children is personal and feels high-stakes, and it's only natural to want to take the wheel. It is hard to trust God with one's fertility. We shared this sentiment early in our marriage; our kids for the most part were planned, we didn't have any problems getting pregnant, and they were born healthy. 

We became convicted of the Church's teaching on the Theology of the Body later in our married life together, and began to move away from artificial contraception to the practice of Natural Family Planning as a way of delaying pregnancy. Though we were conservative in practice, it was a complete paradigm shift of (the illusion of) control, a new way of looking at life not as burden or inconvenience, but as gift and blessing. Though not looking to expand our family, loosening the white-knuckle grip on our fertility came with its own graces--our consciences were at rest, our relations were more intimate, and not closing the door completely on the possibility of conception breathed a new kind of dynamic and life into our relationship that seemed fruitful and healthy.

We had found a miraculous medal (read about the story here) shortly before Deb's mom died in September, and started wearing it around our necks, not really thinking about the graces promised to those who wear it. We began to grow closer to God in trust. Deb loved her mom so much. We began to pray the rosary together every night and read scripture. 

Some unexplainable things started happening too. The evening after we returned home from the funeral, Deb and I were sitting in the living room talking to friends who had come over to visit. At the top of the stairs Deb saw a flash of white and a child running across the upstairs hallway, which she took to be Monica (so much so that she called out 'Monica!'). But when she went to the top of the stairs, Monica was in her room playing. A few weeks later, as Deb was leaving the chapel at St. Ann's where she was praying, she heard a voice in her head say, "you will name her Catherine."

Not long after that, we found out we were pregnant. 

We couldn't believe it. We always knew it was a possibility, but looking at the test we kept saying to each other "I. Can't. Even." Not expected, not planned. As the weeks went on and we adjusted to the idea of our family expanding, though, we started to get more excited, looking forward to welcoming a new life into our home. God was working on our hearts. I went out and bought some cloth diapers and a Bjorn (which we had used before but sold when we got rid of all our baby stuff), just figuring this pregnancy would be like the other two.

It wasn't though. Our baby made it to about twelve weeks in the womb and then went home to be with the Lord. 

There are a hundred little deaths that come with this event, including the death of the life you imagined for yourself (which is, ironically, the life that we never imagined prior to getting pregnant). You build a future world for yourself and make plans, go minivan shopping, etc. maybe foolishly so early on, but it is hard to contain. Then all of a sudden, it is no more. 

We do not understand, but trust in God's ways which are so much higher above our ways (Is 55:9). If I can glean anything from this experience, though, it is that opening yourself up to God's plan for your life, rather than your own, opens up a world of possibility--which does not preclude suffering and pain. But there is no doubt in my mind that it is a thousand times better than the alternative of nudging Him out and living for ourselves alone, trusting in our own limited designs and ideas for our lives. He does not waste opportunities. His way is perfect (Ps 18:30). 

It has been a hard year, but God is so so good. Thank you for those who have prayed for us. We know that an immortal soul was formed, and that God can bring good out of all things, for "though He slay me, I will trust in Him still" (Job 13:15). As tomorrow is St. Catherine Laboure's feast day, we pray our little Catherine Rose is with the saints in Heaven as we share in King David's words, "I will go to the child one day, but the child will not return to me" (2 Sam 12:23). 

The Stranger

A man came in our office seeking help with logging into his email. He was elderly, rolling a suitcase behind him, and smelled homeless. The smell...it was overpowering and noxious, it seeped into your clothes. His presence was an awkward inconvenience at an inopportune time. I wanted to ignore him, but he insisted on waiting for someone, as his ride wasn't coming to pick him up for a couple hours. I remembered the words of Jesus to offer water to the thirsty, so I offered him a bottle of water, but it was more out of guilt and concession. He didn't want water.

I think he really just wanted to be seen and heard. And I refused to see or hear him. When we think we are some righteous people in our personal theoretical universe, we really need to check ourselves in the nitty gritty smelly business of everyday life. Because if you can't prove it there, the rest doesn't really matter.

I've proved myself in my heart as a Pharisee of Pharisees. If you're anything like me, you want to go home justified at the end of the day, be assured that you did your Christian duty, whatever that was. Maybe it's dropping off a can of green beans in the food collection box, or a dollar to a homeless person. But sometimes Jesus visits in ways that cut us to the heart and expose us for who we really are--impatient, judgemental, proud, self-congratulatory, disgusted. And you don't go justified. You go home uneasy and convicted.

Jesus comes in the distressing guise of the poor, in the words of Mother Teresa. How often do we turn him away in our hearts and in person? It's easy to share an inspirational meme on social media. It is uncomfortable and challenging to sit with the actual, flesh and blood poor. We are called as Christians not to tolerate or endure the poor, but to wash their feet, strip off their rags and cloth them in the finest raiment, for they are Jesus, our Lord. Not in a theoretical, theologically lofty way. In a very stinky, very inconvenient, very embarrassing, very REAL way.

Make no mistake. Jesus visited me today. I turned my back on him, no time for you, not unlike the rich man who ignored Lazarus. I didn't want to soil my hands giving him the time of day. It was a heart issue. It may not have taken much for me to see and hear him, but the sin is damnable, to read about beatitudes than to live them, to study works of mercy than to practice them. We have both Pharisee and Publican within us. And we know which one went home justified...the one who beat his breast, lowered his eyes, all he could say being, "God, be merciful to me a sinner."

A Quantum Leap

In the good old school days of physics, waves were waves, and particles were particles. Classical physics was deterministic in nature--given the exact positions and velocities of all particles at a given time, one could calculate the future (and past) positions and velocities of all particles at any other times. It operated based on certain assumptions about reality...assumptions that would prove to be off base when classical physics began to be applied to the atomic level in the late 1800's. Models of atomic vibrations were supposed to look a certain way based on classical theory, but weren't, and no one knew why. When Max Planck discovered that a multiplier of a base frequency (h) could be applied to atomic vibrations in whole number multiples (but not fractional, as was previously thought), it opened the door to what would later be known as quantum theory.

Unlike classical physics, quantum physics is not deterministic, but probabilistic.  It accepts a certain amount of uncertainty. Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principal pointed out the shortcomings of classical determinism at the sub-atomic level. You can measure an electron's position, but in doing so you destroy the possibility of measuring its momentum, and vice-versa. You have to accept that the combination of position and momentum is uncertain and cannot be measured simultaneously. This 'quantum indeterminacy' (QI) is the necessary incompleteness in the description of a physical system.

The quantum understanding of light, then, accepts a contradictory proposition--that light is both a particle (which has mass) and a wave (which has none).  How can light be both a wave and a particle? The American theoretical physicist Richard Feynman called it "the only real mystery" in science.


What does this mumbo-jumbo have to do with anything, you might ask? The funny thing is, it has to do with EVERYTHING. The implications bleed out into disciplines outside the realm of physics--epistemology, philosophy, theology--challenging the brash and simplistic assumptions we hold about the nature of objective reality and material existence. As Feynman stated with regards to the proposition of light as both a particle and a wave, "While we can tell how it works, we cannot make the mystery go away by 'explaining' how it works."

I think this kind of scientific humility of making room for mystery, of codifying a principal of uncertainty and, to a degree, paradox, finds itself at home in biblical theology. 2,000 years ago believers were interpreting the natural world in light of Revelation. They had no means to study the sub-atomic, but viewing the natural world through the eyes of faith was like wearing a kind of 'quantum glasses.' That which existed beyond the material realm of existence, could be both simultaneously known (in the light of Revelation) and had to be accepted as mystery. It was quantum by nature. Jesus affirmed the place of paradox--a kind of spiritual 'quantum indeterminancy' in Christian belief--weaving it through stories and parables, and manifesting itself most clearly in the mystery of the Incarnation.

The metaphysical reality of an eternal God taking on flesh, crashing through time and space to live among us as a man at a finite point in history, makes room for that which cannot be rationally reconciled. Classical Judaic determinism of adherence to the law as the predictable trajectory of salvation was disrupted by Christ crucified, a "stumbling block to the Jews" (1 Cor 1:23), as the means of salvation for those who believed.

God's own trinitarian nature in a communion of persons, as well, challenges even classical notions of monotheism at the time.  The hashing out of the nature of the Godhead in ecumenical councils (and among heresies) in the early Church was not unlike the the crisis in the world of 18th century physics.  Just how do you explain a mystery? How do you affirm it, codify it? There must be a place for it, a kind of epistemological constant in the life of faith. And yet, in doing so by creed, in attempting to nail down mystery, does one encounter the quantum problem of measuring position and momentum simultaneously?

Nature, Reality, Existence, cannot be simply explained away by scientific method, or reason alone, or atheistic humanism. We are in an age in which such a haughty and overly-confident secular determinism that makes no room for faith is presumed, but leaves in its wake holes and questions yet to be answered. Those who seek truth, those to whom happiness, joy, and fulfillment in this life proves to be frustratingly elusive under the classical secular paradigm, those who see holes in the fabric of reality and encounter paradox in their day to day, who wonder why they are here and what they have to live for, who hear the sound of the wind and know not where it comes from or where it goes (Jn 3:8) and wonder...it is to these that recognize that the world's theory of existence is incomplete, lacking; that expectations of fulfillment do not manifest according to the prescribed deterministic formula. It is only in the quantum leap to faith that one enters into a new reality beyond the material, beyond the immediate, beyond the sub-atomic, beyond time and space...a new creation, born again.

Family Dinner

I have a pretty diverse Facebook feed. I may be reading a complaint about people taking Communion in the hand at one point, followed by someone sharing an Occupy Democrats meme, followed by an event invite for a Consciousness Awakening party in Taos next week, followed by a video of cats being scared by cucumbers.

Not living in a bubble and being immersed in such diversity, however, has its downsides. It often makes it feel like I have no real ground to stand on. It feels good to belong to something, to be around people of like-mind, to have an identity. I've never been good at that, though. I often wonder, should I throw myself behind a party-line? Should I unfriend people who are a scandal to my beliefs? Should I be a quiet observer? An outspoken polemicist? A rational devil's advocate? Such diversity. Such tension.

I think it's interesting, then, that this kind of contentious religious-political environment we find ourselves in is not historically unique. There was no truly rosy 'early Church' in which people were all of one mind in all things, getting along all the time, despite Luke's account in Acts. Jewish society in days of the early church was not unified, anymore than we are unified. Four distinct religious-political factions (as described by the historian Josephus) for example, were the Zealots, the Essenes, the Pharisees, and the Sadducees.

-Zealots believed in the overthrow of the Roman Empire. They would not tolerate pagan idols and practices in their land. God would bring about the Kingdom with their help.

-Essenes believed in withdrawing from the corrupt Temple system and the Empire. They would live holy lives in an alternative world until God brought about the Kingdom without their help.

-Pharisees believed in radical personal holiness. They believed in internalizing their religious law, and that God would give punishment and reward in the afterlife.

-Sadducees believed in the establishment. They made peace with Rome and focused on religious ritual. They believed divine punishment and reward happen in this life.

I think to my own religious tradition of Catholicism today, we have, respectively:

 -Liberation theology and by extension the (pejorative) 'SJW' Catholics; 
-Monastic and lay "Benedict-option" Catholics circling the wagons;
-Rad-trad Latin Mass Catholics committed to liturgical and doctrinal purity;
 -Cultural Catholics, content with the status quo and minimizing disruption.

And everything in between. Yet we are all Catholics. I'm sure Protestants have their own respective factions, as do Muslims, Jews, Buddhists, etc.  This is not kumbaya hand-holding. This is family, warts, fists, and all.

In Jn 4:22, Jesus reminds the Samaritan woman at the well that "salvation is from the Jews," while at the same time foretelling that a time was coming when true worshippers will worship the Father in spirit and truth, apart from geographic or ethnic locale; "for such people the Father seeks to be his worshippers." Likewise when Jesus is before Pilate, he reaffirms his kingship, that he has come into the world to testify to the truth, for "everyone who is of the truth hears My voice." (Jn 18:37).

Pilate can only ask, like the post-modern world, "what is truth?" I don't believe in syncretism, the amalgamation of beliefs into a unified system, that all beliefs are equal. I believe Christ is "the Way, the Truth, and the Life," as he himself attests, and that no one comes to the Father but though Him. (Jn 14:6). Why would I believe in something I did not believe was true? Likewise I believe in the authority of the apostles and their successors, and that the Holy Spirit is guiding the Church in all Truth. But apart from that, there is great diversity within our church. There is no one 'right way' to go about worship, the application of faith, service, structural change, the realization of the Kingdom, prayer, stewardship, etc. There is one body but many parts.

In trying to imitate Jesus in my own life, I also realize that part in parcel of that is that "foxes have dens and birds have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head." Jesus was, in many ways, an outsider. He belonged to no political party, no faction that tried to claim him as their own. He was at the same time a reformer (Mk 2:23) and an adherent to tradition (Mt 5:18). He could trace his lineage in the human family as a man, yet he was also present before history began outside of time and space. He affirmed the need for bread (Mt 14:13-21) while recognizing that one does not live on bread alone (Mt 4:4). He was a king, but not of this world.  I am a far cry from being like Jesus, but in many ways throughout the course of that imitation I have felt an affinity for his lack of belonging, his loneliness, his moving among many different people but having even his friends fall asleep during his hour of need in Gethsemane.

I will say there is one place where I think a true sense of unity can be accomplished, albeit briefly, and that is sitting down to share a meal together. Breaking bread and eating with people of different races, cultures, religions, and backgrounds, is a way to affirm our shared humanity while not undermining what makes us different. We all have to eat, we all have to live on the same earth...why not take an opportunity to do it together every now and then? There is a place for the sacramental sharing of the Eucharistic bread reserved for believers within their own community. But there is also a place for sitting down with those outside our community--Republicans with Democrats, Muslims with Christians, blacks with whites--and sharing a meal and conversation.  We have a big dining room table in our house. It is big enough for many people. In fact, just last week I wanted to have friends over for dinner. I asked friend after friend, but everyone already had plans.  I was tempted to put it out on Facebook to see if any 'friends', random or otherwise, would want to come over to share a meal and some fellowship, a la Mt 22:9. I opted not to in the end this time, but hope maybe sometime in the future to have the opportunity again.

As we get ready to elect our new President and government officials on Tuesday, it is a good reminder that we are One Nation, UNDER God; that we are ultimately pilgrims in this land; and to recognize the eschatological tension of a kingdom "already, but not yet" here. Yet I hope that after the contentions and political ideology--whether on lawn signs, social media, or in person--takes a break from it's full tilt ad nasueum, we will be able to at some point in the future sit down and share a meal together as a (human) family.

Super Star Car Wash

The other week I cleaned out my car. It was starting to look like a garbage dump on the inside. I blame my kids: toys, daycare papers, clothes, socks, shoes, lollipops, books, jackets, apple cores, you name it. It gets to the point sometimes when you are just so far gone that to clean up just seems futile--why bother when its just going to get dirty again? It's too much.

Nevertheless, I did devote a morning to tackle the mess and attempt to "make all things new." I brought a big garbage bag out with me, and started to move the trash and junk out of the car, one by one. Eventually I could see the floor and the seats. Then, I moved on to detailing. I got the vacuum out and sucked up the crumbs in the crevices, the cupholder, on the floor. I took the mats out and scrubbed them. I put all my spare change in the change holder, and cleaned out the console.

Suddenly, I had a new car. It was amazing. It smelled good and looked good and even seems to drive better (though that was probably just my imagination). It made me want to keep it that way forever, so I became more vigilant about cleaning up a little bit at a time and not letting things accumulate. We'll see how long that practice lasts, but I feel better when I'm not sitting on a trash heap.


God is inclined towards order. He created the world out of disorder and chaos (Gen 1:2), setting everything in its place. We were made in the image and likeness of God, but because of the Fall, our propensity is towards disorder, like a leaf that naturally flows downstream when dropped in a creek.

Sin is the trash we fill our souls with. It clouds things up, darkening our spiritual intellect. It robs us of the joy of innocence. It is real, and it is serious, but it is not always apparent the extent to which we are living in it.

After Deb's mom died, we both went to Confession. She told me, "I feel closer to mom after the stain of sin is wiped away...like, I'm more pure and able to hear God better and be open to Him."  Sometimes our burdens are heavy due to one or more grave sins, the ones that lead to death (1 Jn 5:17), and sometimes the weight comes from the accumulation of "little sins" that settle like soot on our souls. It's harder to hear God's voice, it gets tuned out. To confess one's sins and to be forgiven--is truly freeing.  It brings everything back into focus, into order.

I try to do an examination conscience and go to Confession once a month or so.  I know I am due when I start to feel like one of those PCs that gets bogged down and takes a long time to boot up; when I become negligent in prayer and slothful; when I am quick to anger and hungry for material comfort. When unchecked little sins lead to bigger ones, and the voice of the Lord becomes faint, replaced with the calling of the world.

The longer I go without confessing my sins with my lips, the more it starts to feel like my trash-heap of a car...why bother cleaning when I'm in it so thick? But when I do confess...I can't explain it. I just feel lighter, my spirit buoyed. I feel like my relationship with God is put back in order, things are in their rightful place, a friendship restored. There is suddenly room for grace, a grace that overflows. I can see the floor of my soul again. I've been given a new lease on life. Should I meet the Lord that instant, I would be ready.

God is so good, so merciful. He waits with open arms, so quick to forgive. He does not hold anything over our heads, does not remember our sins (Is 43:25). Nothing is too heavy for him (Mt 11:30), nothing new under the sun (Ecc 1:9). He leaves the pack for the one lost (Mt 18:12). He runs towards us, forgetting his dignity (Lk 15:20), throws a feast to celebrate.

Confessing our sins costs us nothing. It is available to all, anytime. It restores order in the universe, in our souls, bringing things into right alignment. It renews our friendship with God, washes us clean, restores us to grace. It gives us eyes to see the world anew. If you haven't turned to God by confessing your sins, if there is something heavy on your heart, I would encourage you to take a moment to open yourself to the working of grace and bring it before the Lord. Lay it at his feet. If you crack the door an inch, the Lord will throw it open the rest of the way, and invite you in to the banquet feast, washed and clothed in white.