Walking Death Through a Valley of Dry Bones

I've always loved this passage from Ezekial 37. I'm sure a lot of people do, being such a powerful illustration of God's life-giving power over death. Wouldn't it be awesome to see the movie version?!

While Ezekial's vision was a metaphor for Israel's state of exile away from the Promised Land, we also personally experience times of exile when our faith feels as dry as those bones. I've been in such a valley for quite some time. In fact, at times I wonder if my Christian walk is merely a trail through one long valley. But there are moments that come to mind when I was overjoyed with God's love, even to the point of being pained during Adoration at not being able to see more of God than His revelation through faith in the Eucharist. That was probably my last "high point," when I managed to meander off this one long trail to a side trail that took me up a mountain... and what I beautiful sight!

Of course, instead of continuing along the ridge to a higher peak, I turned me right around and found that ol' familiar trail in the valley. Now I look back and I can still see that peak off in the distance and I wonder, how would life be different today if I had stayed up there?

It's difficult to imagine this is God's will for anyone to meander through a valley of dry bones for years on end. I don't think it is, but I am reassured by Ezekial's vision that until our fate is sealed forever when our mortal bodies die that our bones can never be too dry for God to bring us back to life.

There's a saying that insanity is doing the same thing over and over again while expecting different results. For years, I've been hoping and expecting that holiness would magically infuse itself into my soul or that I'd somehow -- between now and when I'm 80 -- magically become a saint while living the same life. I've only grown frustrated, depressed, and even apathetic. My co-workers even noted that I seemed like "walking death" several months ago (I hope they were exaggerating, just a little?).

There is no magic formula, but one stimulus that greatly encouraged me recently was reading this in Thomas A'Kempis' Imitation of Christ:

O my brother, lose not thy confidence of making progress towards the things of the Spirit; still thou hast time, the hour is not yet past. Why wilt thou defer thy good purpose from day to day? Arise and in this very instant begin, and say, Now is the time to be doing, now is the time to be fighting, now is the fit time to be amending myself.

Thus, I committed to bi-weekly Confession. Right now I'm nearly a week overdue, but I'm going this Saturday. Yeah, I'm becoming a crazy man, but otherwise I'd go crazy.

But the thought that's occurred to me just now is I also have something to look forward to in my future on this earth. It's a near-term goal, but in December I will fly off to Chile for five weeks to learn Spanish and Hispanic Catholic ministry. What I'll do after that, I'm not yet sure, but I'm learning that without a vision that drives our passion and desire to live, we have no reason to find a way out of the valley for long. Going up to the peaks seems pointless if it's only for ourselves. True Christianity imitates Christ on the Cross: oriented outward and giving completely to God and whoever He puts in our lives.

St. Francis' prayer is true: "It is in giving that we receive."

Three Months

It's been exactly three months since my last post. Life's been kinda busy lately, but at the same time I haven't had a lot of ideas for blogging lately. That might be partly due to going through a bit of a spiritual doldrum... just stuck in one of those ruts, which can be especially frustrating when accompanied by repetitive sins. That's why I look back and wonder how I ever made it without Confession and the Eucharist. This past weekend, while chaperoning at the Ignite Your Torch youth conference, I thought back to the many similar conferences I attended with InterVarsity Christian Fellowship while a student at University of Louisville. Wouldn't it be odd to attend a conference now -- having been Catholic for a little over a year -- and see no religious brothers and sisters, no priests, no opportunities for sacramental grace through Confession and Holy Communion, no holy water, no Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament, and of course, no exorcists! Heck, I'd even miss the Latin. :)

A few months ago, I attended a Protestant candlelight prayer meeting at Centre College, and while it's always great to listen to and reflect on Scripture in a sacred space, it just wasn't the same. I have a feeling going to an InterVarsity conference now would leave me with the same feeling, like eating three bites of a steak: very good, but I'm hungry for a lot more. The funny thing is, as a Protestant I used to hear Catholics say the same kinds of things I'm saying now, and I thought they were half nuts or had too much of the Kool-Aid. Well, I guess of that "Kool-Aid" is the Blood of Christ, count me in!

Of course, like just about every conference I've attended, Ignite was yet another "Transfiguration" experience. While I've grown past the need for strong emotional experiences at these gatherings, my relationship with God is feeling much stronger. Plus, while I took a lot of notes from different talks, one bit of advice that I know will prove useful is to offer up to God the sufferings of temptation, joining them with the sufferings of Christ on the cross. I'm also more firmly resolved to resume going to daily Mass at least once a week (which I did during Lent) and spend at least an hour a week at Adoration. There are other things I'd like to do, like start running regularly and going to bed earlier every night, but I pray those disciplines will be some of the fruit bore from more frequently receiving Communion and kneeling in Adoration.

Vine and Branches; Love and Eucharist

A few weeks ago I read through the Gospel of John, which I chose because of how John referred to himself as "the disciple whom Jesus loved" and, since I think part of the reason he might have done that is because all Christians are disciples loved by Jesus, I was curious how those passages might relate if I put myself in John's shoes. Naturally, as to be expected with reading the Bible, God showed me more and different things than I originally went looking for.

One passage that got I kept pondering was the "I am the vine; you are the branches" narrative. It is symbolic, is it as symbolic as I was taught during my Evangelical days? Branches are physically, organically connected to the vine, so that the same substance which makes the vine a vine and keeps it alive also makes a branch a branch and keeps it alive. The very name Christian suggest this because it comes from the Greek for "little Christ" -- not "like Christ" or "Christ follower" -- but distinct members of Christ Himself. And as members of Christ, just like the branch receives physical nourisment from the vine, we receive from our spiritual vine the physical nourishment of the Eucharist. Of course, it's no magic potion, but when we receive the sacrament of Reconiliation regularly with contrite hearts, we become more open to Him as He nourishes us through Holy Communion. Then we will bear much fruit and anything we ask will be given unto us. And as "little Christs," the only thing our hearts will ultimately desire (above all else) is to bear more fruit for our Father, storing up riches in Heaven.

Furthermore, it sounds cliche, but it wasn't too cliche to become the title of Pope Benedict XVI's first encyclical: God is Love. That's Love with a capital L, the source of all love. Love is a unifying and creative force: just look at the universe, created out of God's Trinitiarian Love, and how the constant laws of physics bind it all together. And since Jesus is God made flesh, then Jesus is, in fact, Love made flesh. What an awesome gift that this abstract idea or principle we simply call "love" was made tangible before our own eyes! How much we struggle to describe what love is, how many wrong places we search for it, and how many poor examples of it we see in the world and in pop culture, while Jesus patiently waits for us to discover that He is Love! Going one more step with this line of logic, God is Love and Jesus is Love made flesh, so that means the Eucharist, being the very substance of Christ's Body and Blood, is also Love made flesh! Just think, every Sunday at Mass we receive a physical remembrance of Love. It may not manifest itself in the lives of the people we see at Mass, but Divine Love does not withdraw itself just because it is rejected. God loves us like a a young couple experiencing a mutual first love: He doesn't hold back His affection for fear of rejection.

Going beyond all the theology and apologetics behind why we Catholics believe in Transubstantiation, I find the reason to be quite simple. Look at how couples separated by war or a job requiring lots of travelling long to be physically together. If this love is merely a reflection of Divine Love, how much more so much God long to be physically united with His beloved? He couldn't stand to give us mere symbols of His Body and Blood; He loves us too much for that!

Taking this train on down the line to the next stop, what is the the parallel to marriage? For one, God designed men and women to a love that reflects the Love of the Trinity. Marital love, in its pure essence, is a powerfully creative and unifying force. There is no room for selfishness where one spouse completely gives themselves to the other, just as there is no room for sin when we completely give ourselves to God. And just as Love is made flesh in Christ, so the love between husband and wife is made flesh in children. And that love is given a name, just like God named our earthly father, Adam, and our spiritual Father, Jesus, the Christ, the Anointed One. When we are seeking a sign of Love, we can look to the Holy Eucharist just like a married couples looks to their children.

All of creation is a reflection of Love, a reflection of its Creator. Adam and Eve were made as the highest order of creation, the ultimate manifestation of Love. This same Love, shared among Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, is reflect by each and every human being. In that sense, though we are a fallen and broken race, we are all Love made flesh. Perhaps this is what struck St. Francis when he lept from his horse to embrace that leper. Christ had truly embraced the spiritual ugliness that had crippled him; in return, St. Francis embraced the physical ugliness brought into this world by the same Fall which leaves many physically crippled. That is Love manifest through action and it is why we are given the Eucharist, Love made flesh.

Luminous Mysteries

One of the ways St. Francis challenges me is the way he literally and passionately followed Christ. Before his conversion, he once had a vision that he was the lord of a court filled with shields and trophies gained through military victories. A few years later, when he heard Jesus' command, "Go, rebuild my church, which you can see has fallen into ruins," Francis literally starting rebuilding the chapel of San Damiano, brick-by-brick. While he eventually learned that God was calling him to win spiritual victories and rebuild the faith of apathetic Christians, there was one calling that St. Francis took literally right from the beginning and from which he never wavered:

"And preach as you go, saying, 'The kingdom of God is at hand.' Heal the sick, raise the dead, cleanse lepers, cast out demons. You received without pay, give without pay. Take no gold, nor silver, nor copper in your belts, no bag for your journey, nor two tunics, nor sandals, nor a staff; for the laborer deserves his food."

-Matthew 10:7-10

Hearing Christ's command, Francis shed the last of his few belongings, put on the rough brown tunic that has become the Franciscan habit, and began cleansing lepers and preaching repentance to anyone (or any animal) that would listen. This Gospel formed the simple beginnings of the Franciscan order. Even as they grew in numbers, he demanded that his friars remain faithful to Lady Poverty, committing not even a hint of adultery.

I was reminded of St. Francis' passionate obedience to Jesus' instructions while praying the Luminous Mysteries of the Rosary a few days ago because each of the mysteries focuses on words that leave no room for metaphorical interpretation.

First Luminous Mystery - Baptism of Jesus: The Holy Spirit descends upon Christ like a dove while a voice from Heaven says, "This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased."

Second Luminous Mystery - Wedding at Cana: After Jesus tells his mother that his time has not yet come, Mary instructs the servants, "Do whatever He tells you."

Third Luminous Mystery - Proclaiming the Kingdom: Wouldn't you know, this happens to be same passage I already quoted above that inspired St. Francis to cast away all belongings, cleanse lepers, and preach repentance.

Fourth Luminous Mystery - Transfiguration: This one relates to the first two mysteries; once again there is a voice from Heaven announcing, "This is my Son," and we are instructed like Mary told the wedding servants, "Listen to Him!"

Fifth Luminous Mystery - Institution of the Eucharist: "This is My body, which is given for you. ... This cup which is poured out for you is the new covenant in My blood."

Most of our Protestant brothers and sisters would dispute the literal interpretation of that last one. Sadly, in our disputing over theology, we probably disregard our duty to proclaim the Kingdom of God. And while it's easy for Christians to cast aside theology as academic stuff that gets in the way of spreading the Gospel, I can't help but think that the gift of Christ's flesh and blood in the Eucharist is what enabled the most radical proclaimers of the Kingdom, like St. Francis and Mother Theresa, to serve the way they did.

St. Francis knew that Christ was present in the Eucharist and it wasn't just academic knowledge; he drew strength and love from the Eucharist. If you read much about Mother Theresa outside of Time magazine, you'll learn very quickly that she considered Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament central to the lives of nuns in her order.

After procrastinating for some time, I am personally excited about finally scheduling an hour every Thursday morning to pray before Christ at a local Adoration chapel on my way into work. I'm sure a lot of people think that praying in the presence of a Communion wafer is clearly a waste of time. I could be out there sharing Christ's love with my friends, serving the needy, and other good works that bear fruit in our lives through faith.

Yet all these good works are nothing without making God our first priority. I'm not going to the Adoration chapel in hopes of becoming a holier person. I already have Christ and the hope of eternal life, so what do I have to gain? Rather, I'm doing it because I know that God will use that one hour a week to sanctify the rest of my week, make me a more faithful servant, and draw the people I know closer to Christ. Whatever good comes from it will not be my own doing, but merely through my submission to God.

Miracles

Just finished C.S. Lewis' Miracles. I got this book for Christmas a couple years ago and it sat on the shelf for a while before I finally got around to starting it about six months ago... and I"m finally finished. Takes me a long time to read a book since I tend to put it down for weeks at a time, pick it up and read a few chapters, then put it down again. This one is pretty "intellectual," but seemed much easier to read than Mere Christianity. I gave up on that one, but I should try and tackle that one again. Hey, no sense in giving up.

I really liked how this book ended:

"Miracles and martydoms tend to bunch about the same areas of history--areas we have naturally no wish to frequent. Do not, I earnestly advise you, demand an ocular proof unless you are already perfectly certain that it is not forthcoming."

In other words, careful what you wish for. :) Speaking of miracles... the other night I saw Pulp Fiction on the big screen. Here you've got Jules "God came down from heaven and stopped these motherfuckin' bullets" Winnfield and Vincent Vega, the skeptic (no, I didn't forget to bleep that... this is my blog and I ain't bleepin' sh**). Both witnessed exactly what happened, but came to opposite conclusions about whether a miracle saved Jules' life. Their conversations mostly revolve around this argument, at least when they aren't preoccupied with cleaning up brain matter from the back seat of a car.

Miracles revolve around faith; to prove a miracle would cause it to cease being a miracle, stripping it of it's power and purpose. And who really wants to emasculate a miracle? You emasculate a miracle, you emasculate God... and I'd have to ask... What does God look like? Does He look like a-- just kidding. (And if you haven't seen the movie, I'm sure I lost you there, which probably for the better. :)

It all boils down to what Jules' says here near the end: "Whether or not what we experienced was an 'According to Hoyle' miracle is insignificant. What is significant is that I felt the touch of God. God got involved."

(By the way, after a little 'net searchin', I figured out that "according to Hoyle" basically means referring to the rule book, as in the Hoyle rule book of card games. Don't act like you already knew that... I was curious, so I looked it up and, hey, I learned something.)

Going back to the C.S. Lewis quote, I would hesitate to say that miracles are so rare. I believe Lewis was referring more to the "According to Hoyle" miracles, like the splitting of the Red Sea and the healings performed in the wake of Peter's shadow in the Book of Acts.

However, I can think of at least two specific times I've been healed of colds which I've chosen to attribute to God, if for no other reason that knowing that all good things come from God. The first time was following a charismatic conference where my throat had grown scratchier and hoarser throug the weekend. After seeing all this charismatic stuff, but not experiencing anything personally, I was hoping for some small "touch of God." So I prayed for my cold symptoms to be healed and even made a little sign of the cross on my throat as a form of blessing. Next morning, the cold was gone for good. The other time, I was already pretty sick and a friend of mine prayed over me. Again, the next day I felt fine.

Of course, cold symptoms can come and go like that on their own sometimes, especially with a good night's sleep. But God could have chosen to keep you sick if He wanted, so I figure it's best to stay on His good side and give Him the credit. :) Besides, the proof of miracles is not in the mind, but in the heart.

And when it comes to the Eucharist (and all the sacraments), those are miracles occuring literally millions of times every day around the world. I know ordinary bread changes to Christ's flesh and blood, but not because it tastes any different or some tingly spiritual feeling. And when it comes to martyrdom, this is something we strive to do every day in the spiritual sense. All Christians are martyrs because the old life--which as no life at all--is dead.

Hmm... I'd try to bring this to a neat closing, but I've rambled on long enough and I'm tired... so this blog entry is ended; go in peace.

Our Father

The other day I got to thinking, and since that doesn't happen too often, I knew something of true genius was afoot. No, seriously, I noticed that that at least two of the sacraments are clearly represented in the words of the Our Father. "Give us this day our daily bread" is commonly interpreted as a reference to the Eucharist and "forgive us our sins as we forgive those who sin against us" is clearly about Reconciliation. So last night I happened to be at Sojourn, but my mind just can't focus on a 40-minute sermon (especially when, seriously, not much more is really being said than what you'd hear in a 10-minute homily... humility is not hard to understand; it's just damn near impossible to do. That would be my sermon :) . Anyway, moving on... during the sermon I figured if I'm going to be distracted, at least try to think about something related to Jesus, so I tried to see if all seven sacraments are somehow represented in the Our Father. Here's what I came up with... at first I thought some of them would be a difficult stretch, but after writing this out I think it makes sense, but I suppose you can be the judge of that :)

Our Father, who art in heaven... -- Baptism, because through the waters of Baptism and the power of faith we are cleansed of all sin and become adopted children of God. We rightfully refer to our Creator and Redeemer as "Father."

...hallowed by thy name... -- Confirmation, when we choose to publicly profess the Catholic faith, declaring that God and His Church are holy and true.

...thy kingdom come, thy will be done... -- Ordination, when God invests in regular, sinful men the power to celebrate the sacraments, pastor the Church, and see God's kingdom grow in our world.

...on earth as it is in heaven... -- Marriage, because in marriage man and woman "on earth" are joined sacramentally with God "in heaven" in a beautiful symbol of the marriage supper of the Lamb and the relationship between Christ and His bride, the Church.

...give us this day our daily bread... -- Holy Communion, which Catholics and Orthodox can truly receive on a daily basis, if we desire (and why wouldn't you? :).

...and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us... -- Reconciliation, in which we are forced to sacrifice our pride, confessing our sins to God and praying for His mercy. When we come face-to-face with our own sin in our stark contrast to Christ's perfection, we know that nobody (even Hitler) is capable of sinning against us as terribly as we have already sinned against God.

...and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. -- Anointing of the Sick, when we receive tangible reassurance that no evil, temptation, illness, or even death can conquer those whose faith is in Christ.

I look at the sacraments not as a mechanical approach to Christianity that manipulates God's grace and assuring salvation to the recipient regardless of their relationship with God. Rather, I thank God for these gifts because having been human in Christ and walking among us, He knows how desperately we need something tangible to help us grow and remain strong in our faith. That's exactly what the sacraments are: tangible signs of God's free grace.

So is God not capable of forgiving the sins of a repentant sinner, regardless of whether they were physically baptized? Of course! The criminal on the cross offers biblical proof, straight from Jesus. Clearly, the sacrament of Baptism is not for God's benefit because he is not tied to these sacraments. Rather, Baptism is for our benefit because we need to know that, "Yes, I have been washed clean," not because my parents had me dunked as an infant or I chose to be baptized as an adult, but simply because God gives us the gift of faith to believe like a child. The best thing my parents ever did for me was have me baptized when I was too young to make the choice for myself. The temptation of pride doesn't even exist because I can truly say I did nothing to earn this gift. Likewise, through the other sacraments we are reminded that nobody is worthy and just how feeble-minded we are that we need the sacraments at all, and in response all we can do is praise God and open ourselves to being a sacramental instrument for God to reach unbelievers.