Fasting is not just for Lent

I’ve been thinking a lot about the practice of fasting. I’m terrible about it. I’ve been terrible about it for many years now. Yes, I keep the mandatory fasts set by the Church during Lent (Ash Wednesday and Good Friday, and abstinence from meat on Fridays of Lent). I also give things us for Lent as most Catholics do, though it is pretty lame compared to the fasts of Catholics of old, or the Orthodox and Eastern Catholic churches. Another reason is because I think I’m beginning to understand the deeper spiritual meaning of fasting. I also have some good friends who have made fasting a regular part of their spiritual life. I’ve witnessed the great good it does for them.

People fast for all kinds of reasons. For example, intermittent fasting for health reasons seems to be enjoying more and more attention. That’s fine as far as that goes, but what about fasting as a Christian? At least in the developed West, fasting has been reduced to a minimum and confined to Lent. Following the Second Vatican Council many of the rules for fasting were relaxed. I always wondered why this was. Recently, I stumbled up a statement from the US Bishops on Fasting from 1966 (the link is at the end of this article). It is an interesting statement coming out of the reforms of Vatican II. While the regular practice of fasting took a deep decline in practice after the Council, that was not the intent. The relaxing of the rules was an attempt to move from simply following the rules to embracing the true meaning of fasting. One could follow all the rules of fasting and completely miss the point and thus miss the spiritual fruits of fasting. And so, the hard and fast rules were relaxed with the hope that Christians would take on the discipline of fasting freely and more appropriately according to their life circumstances. Instead, people just stopped fasting altogether or only did the bare minimum. And I wonder if even that small amount is done for the right reasons.

However, fasting looms large in both the Scriptures and the Tradition of the Church. It’s a spiritual discipline considered to be a regular part of the Christian life. Notice the emphasis on regular. Fasting appears throughout the Old Testament. The prophets fasted for the sins of their people. Whole cities were called to repent in sackcloth and ashes, eating and drinking nothing (see the Book of Jonah). In the Gospels, we see that Jesus himself fasted and prayer in the desert for forty days. When Jesus was rebuked because his disciples did not observe the laws of fasting, Jesus replied that they do not fast now because the Bridegroom (Jesus himself) is with them, but the time will come when they will fast. In the Church, the penitential observance of Lent has always been the most intense. Though Advent also has a penitential flair to it and has been a time of prayer, fasting, and almsgiving. Special fast days throughout the year known as Ember Days were observed on a set Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday once in each of the four seasons of the year. Throughout history other longer periods of fasting were observed such as the Fast of St. Martin (from St. Martin’s feast day on November 11 until Christmas) or the St. Michael’s Lent popularized by St. Francis of Assisi (from the Solemnity of the Assumption on August 15 until the Feast of the Archangels on September 29). While the particulars of length and severity of fasting have shifted according to time, place, and one’s state in life (monastic orders being the most intense, usually), the essential truth that fasting is a regular part of the Christian life is the same.

But why should we fast? Fasting as a spiritual discipline is not for weight loss. Better bodily health may result, and that’s great! But that is not the central purpose. Fasting is also not for bragging rights to self or others. I’m all for doing hard things to push yourself. But fasting is not about proving you can do something difficult. It is not there to stoke the fires of your ego. The goal of fasting is love of God and neighbor as Isaiah the Prophet says:

Is this not, rather, the fast that I choose:

releasing those bound unjustly,

untying the thongs of the yoke;

Setting free the oppressed,

breaking off every yoke?

Is it not sharing your bread with the hungry,

bringing the afflicted and the homeless into your house;

Clothing the naked when you see them,

and not turning your back on your own flesh? (Isaiah 58:6-7)

How does fasting move us to love God and neighbor? In particular, fasting helps us grow in temperance. I won’t go into detail about the Virtue of Temperance right now. Suffice it to say, it is about self-mastery. We have desires for all kinds of things. Not all desires are good. We can desire pleasure, power, and wealth in ways that are contrary to what is good and true (aka, sin). Some desires are good but can become disordered or lack the right measure. For example, the desire for food is good and necessary for life. Purposely overindulging on ice cream for the pleasure of it is a good desire gone wrong. Pleasure/desire can rule us and make us self-absorbed, always trying to satisfy every little desire that arises. Hungry? Eat now. New sale on Amazon? Buy it now and it will arrive by the end of the day. Bored? Open TikTok now and scroll until you are numb. I think we have all felt the compulsion to one degree or another for all kinds of things. It turns into a rat race of always trying to fill some hole in our hearts, but it never satisfies. Basically, without the self-mastery of temperance we are not free. We are trapped by the incessant urge to fulfill some desire within us. But if we are not free, then we cannot fully love God and neighbor.

Fasting is an antidote to that mess. It takes our unhealthy level of attention off ourselves and onto that which really matters namely love of God and neighbor. True fasting moves us to live not just for ourselves. Fasting should be accompanied by prayer. Through fasting we can make time and space for God. See your hunger pains as a physical reminder of your deeper spiritual hunger for God. As Saint Augustine famously said, “Our hearts are restless, O God, until they rest in you.” Instead of having lunch or that snack, go to the Lord in prayer and read the Scriptures. Remember that all the good things of this world cannot fulfill the deepest longing of your heart. Only God can fill that. Fasting turns our attention to this important truth.

By turning the heart and mind back to God through humility and repentance we are necessarily turned towards love of neighbor. As Jesus himself says, the first and greatest commandment is to love the Lord your God with all your heart, mind, and soul. The second commandment is to love your neighbor as yourself. These commandments are always together and always in that order. Fasting helps us turn to focus more on God. Those who love God will love those whom He loves. Fasting should thus lead to “releasing those bound unjustly, untying the thongs of the yoke…” Fasting helps free us from always pursuing our own desires and instead looking to the needs of others. That meal you skipped or that Amazon sale you decided to not buy, take that money you saved and give to the poor. The hunger you feel can be a reminder of the hunger of many starving people in this world, pray for them. Are you fasting from social media? Then take that time and spend it with a friend or call a family member.

There is much more to fasting that I didn’t cover here. There are some interesting questions about how often one should fast and what kind of fasting (food, media, etc.). I’m still thinking it through, so I’ll stop here for now. Yes, fasting can be hard. I think this is especially true in our western developed and rather wealthy culture in which we are long accustomed to having every little desire met almost instantly. But I think fasting rightly with a view towards love of God and neighbor will be the antidote to many of our spiritual ills. Fasting done rightly can make us less selfish. It can prepare the ground for humility and virtue and holiness. It can pave the way to real freedom, a freedom to love God and neighbor.

Letter on Fasting from the United States Conference of Catholic Bishops

https://www.usccb.org/prayer-and-worship/liturgical-year-and-calendar/lent/us-bishops-pastoral-statement-on-penance-and-abstinence

Image

Christ in the Wilderness by Ivan Kramskoi

https://fineartamerica.com/featured/christ-in-the-wilderness-ivan-kramskoi.html

Faith in Christ is not lived on your own.

Recently, Bishop Solis came to celebrate the Sacrament of Confirmation for our parish. Almost fifty of our of young men and women were sealed with the Gift of the Holy Spirit, including one young man I am happy and blessed to call my godson. Over the last few weeks as we were preparing for this day, I was thinking about my role as a sponsor/godfather. It hit me how often in the celebration of the sacraments one does not go alone. One does not present himself without the support of another. It underlines the nature of the Christian Church. Faith in Christ is not lived on your own.

In Baptism, a child is presented to the Church by his or her parents and godparents. This is the most obvious example since the child cannot present himself on his own. He literally must be carried in by his parents. The parents make a promise to raise the child in the faith and the godparents promise to assist them. Then they profess the Catholic faith in the name of the child to be baptized. The whole thing happens quickly. While the words are brief the weight is immense. One day, the child will be old enough to profess the faith for himself. In the meantime, it is the solemn and blessed responsibility of the parents and godparents to impart the faith to the child by word and example. The child does not come to faith on his own. He does so in the context of a community of the Church.

In Confirmation, the sponsor does not say anything, but I think the actions speak loudly. As my godson went up to the Bishop to be confirmed I stood behind him with my hand on his shoulder. In part, it was my silent testimony that this young man is ready to receive this Gift of the Holy Spirit. At the same time, it is my solemn promise to him that I will stand by him as his support in living the Christian life. He made the profession of faith on his own and went to receive Confirmation of his own accord, but he did not go alone. Even though he is not a child anymore, he still does not live his faith on his own.

In the Rite of Ordination, there is a short bit at the beginning when the candidate is presented to the Bishop. The man’s name is called, he stands, and calls out “Present.” Then an interesting dialogue ensues:

Director of Vocations: Most Reverend Father, holy mother Church asks you to ordain this man, our brother, to the responsibility of the Priesthood.

Bishop: Do you know him to be worthy?

Director of Vocations: After inquiry among the Christian people and upon the recommendation of those concerned with his formation, I testify that he has been found worthy.

Bishop: Relying on the help of the Lord God and of our Savior Jesus Christ, we choose this our brother, for the Order of the Priesthood.

Note that the candidate for ordination does not speak for himself. As he stands before the Bishop he is presented for ordination by another. While the man has freely put in the time, effort, and sacrifice to respond to this call, he did not call himself to the priesthood. He was called by God and that call is expressed through the Church. This brief moment in the ordination rite has enormous weight. It is the moment of confirmation of the call. As with Baptism and Confirmation, one does not come to this sacrament alone. It is received and then lived out in the Church.

All of these examples have their roots in the actions of Christ himself. As he taught, healed the sick, drove out demons, and raised the dead, he called disciples to follow him. He formed a community. He formed the Church, his body united in Holy Baptism. Jesus commanded the disciples to go out and baptize all nations, thereby continuing the growth of the Church so that all may know and love the living and true God. We are not individual units that, for example, just happen to be in the same room when we come to Mass for worship. We are intimately united. We grow in faith, hope, and charity as a people of God. We support each other through prayer and example. We support each other through encouragement and sometimes challenge or correction. While our faith is deeply personal, it is not private. You do not live your faith in Christ on your own.

Image from: https://en.wahooart.com/@@/8xzq6k-lorenzo-veneziano-christ-rescuing-peter-from-drowning-(2)

Christ Rescuing Peter from Drowning - by Lorenzo Veneziano

Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.

Lent is upon us. Ever since becoming Catholic I have found Lent to be a fascinating and mysterious season. The Liturgy is pared down (no Gloria, no alleluia), decorations become sparse, and of course the strong penitential aspect forces us to take a hard and honest look at our lives. Moreover, we begin Lent with this strange practice of smearing ashes on our heads.

The Masses for Ash Wednesday always get a large crowd. Those who rarely go to Mass, who won’t go even to Christmas or Easter Masses, will go for Ash Wednesday. There’s even a subset of people who won’t go to Mass but will stop by the Church looking for ashes to take home. I’m hoping that one day I will have the chance to ask some of them why this is so important to them. For now, I can only speculate. The ashes are a sign of repentance and humility. Perhaps even those who for the rest of the year have little interest in religion still recognize something deeply and critically important about this sign of penance and of our mortality.

Speaking of dust and mortality, the second chapter of Genesis tells the story of the creation of man:

 “then the Lord God formed the man out of the dust of the ground and blew into his nostrils the breath of life, and the man became a living being.” (Genesis 2:7)

The man is Adam which is Hebrew for “man, human being”. The word is a riff on the word for earth (adama). It’s interesting how the very name for humanity is rooted in the earth. For all our accomplishments, our advances in technology and knowledge, our spreading over the whole world and even out into space, we are still dust of the earth. The ashes of Ash Wednesday remind us of this reality and therefore of our mortality and the fact that we are not God. We are of the earth and to earth we will return. Ashes remind us of the need for humility.

And yet, there is something special about this dust of the earth. God created the world and all in it by speaking a word. He created Adam by forming him from the earth by His own hands. Yes, we are of the dust of the earth and to dust we shall return. But we are also more than just dust. God breathed into this dust and we became something more. We are made in the image and likeness of God. We are made lovingly and purposefully by His hand.

Before the distribution of ashes, the Roman Missal gives two options for the blessing of ashes. Here is one of them:

 O God, who are moved by acts of humility

and respond with forgiveness to works of penance,

lend your merciful ear to our prayers

and in your kindness pour out the grace of your ⁜ blessing

on your servants who are marked with these ashes,

that, as they follow the Lenten observances,

they may be worthy to come with minds made pure

to celebrate the Paschal Mystery of your Son.

Through Christ our Lord.

God is “moved by acts of humility” or the Latin “humilitatióne flécteris”. God bends or inclines (flécteris) down to us. Think of a mother or father bending down to listen to his or her child or getting down on one knee to come closer to the child’s level. Such is God’s humility. God bends down to us His children by becoming man. Christ humbled himself to share in our humanity as St. Paul says. God comes to us, those whom He formed lovingly from the dust. In coming to us in Christ he bends down to us so as to bring us up to Himself, like the parent then picking the child up. God comes down to us to lift us up by recreating us and filling us with life and grace.  

God bends down (flécteris) in response to our acts of humility (humilitatióne). Only the humble are open to receive from the Lord. Only the humble will embrace the Father who comes down to us in love. Those ashes on our foreheads should reflect a deeper interior disposition. Ashes by themselves will not do anything. They are not magic. Let them reflect the reality of your heart and mind. You are dust. You are mortal and fragile. You are in need of salvation. Acknowledge that, but then turn to your God who bends down to you in response to lift you up.

Image: Personal photo taken during a youth group activity. We bundled up blessed palms from last year’s Palm Sunday to burn for ashes.

Don’t be sorry. Be better.

I recently finished a game called “God of War: Ragnarök.” Yes, I’m a priest who plays video games. I’m a millennial after all. Anyway, for those who do not know the game or the story I will leave it to you to look it up or play the game yourself for all the details. The central character is Kratos, the God of War who fled from his home country of Greece and made it to the land of the Norse to start a new life. He married and had a son named Atreus. Ragnarök (the apocalypse of Norse mythology) is on the horizon and Kratos and his now teenage son Atreus must contend with it. One of the key and most moving threads through the story is the relationship between father and son. Kratos’ wife is long dead, and he must raise Atreus as best he can. All the while Kratos wrestles with his own dark past, wishing something better for his son. While he only wants the best for his son, Kratos is tough on him. In the previous game, when the young boy Atreus made a mistake, he would apologize. Kratos would respond gruffly “Don’t be sorry. Be better.” At one point in the new game, Kratos apologizes to Atreus for being so distrustful. Atreus responds, “Don’t be sorry, father. Be better.” It was meant sincerely and affectionately, not sarcastically. It was a moving moment as you see father and son trying to navigate a dark and difficult world together, striving ever more eagerly to break the cycle of violence, to be something better.

Recently, a young man preparing for the Sacrament of Confirmation asked me to be his sponsor. I know him and his family well. I have every reason to believe that he thought this through. I very happily agreed and thankfully managed not to tear up in front of him! He will be my third godson. (Side note: in Spanish, the terms for Godfather and Godson (padrino and ahijado) are the same for both baptism and confirmation. I use this terminology because to call someone my “sponsee” sounds dumb. So there…).

I take this very seriously. A godfather/sponsor is supposed to be someone that can be a model and a support to help a person live the Christian life more fully. The fact that this young man asked me to be a sponsor means that he looks up to me and wants me to have a significant part in his life. He wants to follow Christ and in me he sees someone that can help him do that. This is an honor and I’m excited and thankful. It is also humbling and to be perfectly honest it frightens me a bit.

Responsibilities like this can be an occasion for fear and trembling. Or at least I think they should cause fear and trembling if we are taking them seriously. I imagine it is the same for parents when they bring a new life into the world. As they look at their newborn child and they realize that they are responsible for this person. That certainly means providing basic necessities. That also means ensuring that this child grows to be a good man or good woman. It means teaching virtue. It means leading this child to God to grow in faith, hope, and love. That’s a lot to handle. The complexities are enormous. No, being a godparent isn’t the same level of responsibility, but it is something. I have a real responsibility to model the Christian life for three young men I have the privilege of calling my godsons. They depend on me. They depend on my time, my prayers, my words, and my actions to show them Christ. Yet I still have to contend with my weaknesses, insufficiencies, and the reality of my sins. Responsibilities like this can be an occasion for fear and trembling as we wonder if we are up to the task.

At the same time, responsibilities like this can be an occasion to strive to be better than you are. Now, we should be sorry for sin, but don’t be sorry in the sense of wallowing in self-pity or making excuses for behavior you do not intend to remedy. Say you are sorry in the sense of true contrition which includes a real and firm purpose of amendment. It should be a “sorry” that moves you to be better. Instead of the self-pity and “woe is me” attitude, throw yourself at the Sacred Heart of Jesus. Ask for the grace to be better than you were yesterday. And then go do it. The battle is real, but so is the grace of God. Someone looks up to you. Someone depends on you. Don’t be sorry. Be better.

Image a screenshot from https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qdy7jRm_188

Requiem aeternam

For a long time, purgatory was a doctrine I didn’t really understand. I still don’t claim to be an expert on it, but thanks to Pope Benedict XVI I think I understand it far better than I ever have before. I was reminded of his teaching on the matter from an article published by Aleteia highlighting a section from Spe Salvi (Saved in Hope), his encyclical on the virtue of hope. The link is below. Please read it. It’s beautiful. And then offer a prayer for the faithful departed.

https://aleteia.org/2017/11/02/benedict-xvis-teaching-on-purgatory/

Image from https://www.latinmassfuneral.com/

Battle for Souls

Recently I had the opportunity to enjoy a nice dinner with some friends at their home. At one point during dinner their son Peter recited a poem by G.K. Chesterton entitled “Lepanto.” It is a rather lengthy poem, and it took a few minutes for Peter to get through it. The fact that he did was very impressive. I don’t know of many who could recite something like that especially these days when it seems we largely depend on our devices and the internet to remember things for us. You can read the whole thing online here:

 https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/47917/lepanto

 It also was a fitting poem to recite in October, the month of the Holy Rosary. Yes, that’s right. The Memorial of the Holy Rosary celebrated on October 7 has its origins in a battle. On October 7, 1571, the “Holy League” comprising the navies of Naples, Sardinia, Venice, the Papacy, Genoa, Savoy, and the Knights Hospitallers engaged the Turkish Ottoman Empire in a massive sea battle. The Holy League was outnumbered, but under the leadership of Don Juan of Austria managed to defeat the Turks, halting their expansion across the Mediterranean. In preparation for the battle, Pope Pius V had ordered that all the churches in Rome be opened day and night, and he encouraged the faithful to pray the Rosary to beg the Virgin Mary’s intercession for the success of the Holy League. Following the victory, the Pope named October 7 as the feast of Our Lady of Victory. His successor Gregory XIII renamed it Our Lady of the Holy Rosary as it remains to this day.

In our day, we don’t think much about the Battle of Lepanto. Our Lady of the Rosary, however, is also connected to a different kind of battle. The battle for our souls is no less real and the stakes are far higher.

We can look at this battle for souls through the lens of the first reading from Sunday October 16th (29th Sunday in Ordinary Time). The story is from Exodus 17:8-13. Moses is leading the people through the desert after their liberation from Egypt and the famous incident at the Red Sea. An ancient people known as the Amalekites attacked Israel. Moses and Joshua organize the resistance. As the battle rages, Moses takes his place on hill and lifts up his hands. As long as his hands are lifted up, the battle goes well for Israel. But as Moses tires his hands fall, and the battle goes ill. Aaron and Hur have to step in to help Moses keep his hands up. With their support, the Israelites carry the day.

On the one hand this is a story of an ancient battle. On the other, there is a deeper spiritual meaning. The Church as the Body of Christ is always engaged in a spiritual warfare for souls. One of the Fathers of the Church (for the life of me I couldn’t find the reference again) saw the enemies of Israel as images of our sins, evil thoughts, and anything that threatened to turn us away from God and the way of the Gospel. The Church engages in this battle by lifting hands in prayer and engaging in works of charity.

As members of the Church, we are soldiers in this battle. Each one has his or her role in this battle. We fight against the temptations to sin and turn away from God through persistent prayer. We also help each other. The Christian life is not a solitary thing. The lone warrior won’t last long. We need to hold each other up as Aaron and Hur did for Moses – through prayer, authentic friendship, patience, encouragement, and fraternal correction among others. So long as we are engaged in prayer the battle goes well. As our prayer fades so does our strength and the battle goes ill.

The Church has a large treasure chest of prayers and spirituality collected from different times and places and lived authentically by the saints. The Rosary has a special place in that treasure chest. While on the cross Jesus gave his Holy Mother to be our Mother. As a good mother, Mary supports us. Through her intercession our hearts and minds are raised up to God. So long as we do that the battle for our souls will go well.

Image from: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Battle_of_Lepanto ; “The Battle of Lepanto” by Paulo Veronese

Lady Goldberry

I recently started reading The Lord of the Rings again. This will be my third run through it. Often enough when you read through something multiple times one part or another will strike you differently each time. As I read through the episode with Tom Bombadil one of the scenes struck me. The poor hobbits had just barely survived an encounter with a murderous tree. They were saved by this mysterious man Tom Bombadil. He takes the hobbits to his home in the woods. As they near the house they hear a sweet song sung with a clear voice that was both young and ancient. Upon entering the house they are flooded with a golden light and a woman who says “Come dear folk! Laugh and be merry. I am Goldberry, daughter of the river.” Then it says that Frodo’s heart was moved with a joy he did not understand, a deep delight that was at once strange and familiar, as he exclaimed “Fair Lady Goldberry!” Honestly, I had completely forgotten about this character of Lady Goldberry. The previous two times I read this story she obviously didn’t leave much of a mark on me. This time was different. I was struck by how Frodo is overwhelmed by her beauty.

I had this on my mind a few weeks ago when I went hiking with my older godson Diego. We went up Big Cottonwood Canyon to Brighton - popular ski resort in the winter, and a great hiking spot in the summer. The trail rises steeply to give you a commanding view of the valley below. Several small lakes fed by the winter snows are all connected on this trail: Lake Martha, Lake Catherine, Lake Mary, and Dog Lake (seems a radical departure from the name theme here, but whatever).  Even after a long and very hot summer the place is still very green. Many kinds of flowers dot the landscape. Plenty of squirrels and chipmunks scrambled over the rocks and roots, deer bounded away as we drew near, and the large and immovable moose just stood there and continued munching as we walked by.

When we arrived at Lake Catherine we set down on a log on the shore. The sky reflected perfectly in the glass-like lake. As we watched, the insects came out over the water and the fish had a feast. This wasn’t the first beautiful landscape I have encountered, but the spellbinding effect was the same. After the fact, I begin to think: Why am I content to stare at this landscape for hours? Why do I feel reluctant to turn away? Why does it hurt when I finally do turn away and go back to life as usual? Like Frodo’s experience of Lady Goldberry, there is something overwhelming about beauty. Beauty touches the soul in a way that is captivating and delightful, and yet also stirs a longing and a hurt.

Beauty is obviously attractive. We long for it. It is delightful when we experience it. The ancient Greek philosopher Plato taught that beauty stops us in our tracks and demands our admiration because the beautiful has a sense of completion. There is something about it that is whole and as it should be. When something whole and complete touches our life we are captivated by it.

When something captivates us, we are reluctant to turn away. Still, we must turn away and go back to our lives. Eventually, I had to leave that log on the shore of Lake Catherine. Something about leaving it behind hurt. Beauty captivates us because it shows us something wonderfully complete and whole. It also causes a longing and hurt because it gives a glimpse of what we currently lack, and what we long for deep down – that completeness and wholeness.

Any encounter with true beauty is ultimately a touchstone with God because God is supremely beautiful. All beauty comes from Him because He is by nature whole and complete. Anything beautiful we encounter is a reflection of divine beauty. In the case of something like the landscape, the Book of Wisdom says, “For from the greatness and the beauty of created things their original author, by analogy, is seen.” (Wisdom 13:5 NABRE)

The saints all encountered God’s beauty. They were captivated by it and humbled by it. It may seem odd to us how much the saints talk about their sinfulness. We think “they are saints, how could they be sinful? Certainly, they are not sinners like the rest of us!” They saw their sin more acutely and were hurt by the beauty they encountered because they saw how far they fell short of the goodness and completeness of it. At the same time, the saints had hope because their encounter with beauty was not an experience of something inanimate or lifeless, but an encounter with a person. God is living. In Christ, we see the face of the Father. We can know him and love him. Through that healing love our lives are changed and that longing is fulfilled. I’ll end with the words of St. Augustine in his Confessions. Young Augustine had sought truth, beauty, and goodness in all the wrong places. Finally, he met Christ and found what his heart longed for:

Late have I loved you, beauty so old and so new: late have I loved you. And see, you were within and I was in the external world and sought you there, and in my unlovely state I plunged into those lovely created things which you made. You were with me, and I was not with you. The lovely things kept me far from you, though if they did not have their existence in you, they had no existence at all. You called and cried out loud and shattered my deafness. You were radiant and resplendent, you put to flight my blindness. You were fragrant, and I drew in my breath and now pant after you. I tasted you, and I feel but hunger and thirst for you. You touched me, and I am set on fire to attain the peace which is yours.

Thumbnail image: personal photo I took of Lake Catherine near Brighton, Utah

Here is a great article that helped me find the words to describe the effect of beauty, plus other good things I didn’t discuss:

https://thosecatholicmen.com/articles/why-beauty-hurts/

If we could just learn to shut up…

I recently read a fantastic interview of the Most Reverend Erik Varden, Bishop of Trondheim in Norway. The interview covers a variety of topics from the bishop’s origins as a Trappist monk, to prayer and spirituality, to the state of the Church in Norway. I highly recommend reading the whole thing:

https://www.pillarcatholic.com/were-addicted-to-disturbance-norways-bishop-varden-on-prayer-norwegian-catholics-and-trappist-beer/

For the purposes of this post there was one part in particular that stood out to me. Bishop Varden is commenting on prayer and says:

Sometimes, if we could learn just to shut up, and to open ourselves attentively, much of what we think of as our great spiritual crisis might actually be resolved.

Yeah, more often than not we just need to learn to shut up. We live and breathe distraction, it seems. The cell phones in our pockets and the endless social media posts provide plenty of ways to distract us. It’s unfortunate how many times I’ve sat down to read or rest, only to find myself scrolling mindlessly through YouTube. Or how about the family at the restaurant looking at their phones and not saying a word to each other or looking each other in the eye? These are just a few examples of things that disproportionately consume our time and attention to the neglect of far more important and worthwhile things.

We could blame technology, social media, and a host of other things for our lack of attentiveness or a host of other social ills. That’s not entirely wrong, though as with many things the truth is more nuanced. I think we often want to be distracted. In another part of the interview, Bishop Varden says that the human being is by nature contemplative. Being contemplative is about having a state of attention through which we can appreciate the whole. Such a state leaves us open to goodness, truth, and beauty. However, we are “addicted to disturbance” says the Bishop. I think he is right.

Silence is hard. Silence is hard because it forces us to think and confront certain truths about ourselves. Sometimes we want to be distracted or “disturbed” to avoid asking the deeper questions or dealing with the parts of ourselves we don’t like or are not proud of. Immersing ourselves in endless distraction keeps us from hearing the voice of God. Distracting ourselves doesn’t get rid of the deeper problems. Pretending you are not sick doesn’t make the sickness go away. It just means you won’t get the treatment you need and therefore will get worse. Likewise, we can distract ourselves from the deeper questions of life, we can try to ignore the effects of our sins, but they are still there.

My first real introduction to silence was on a weekend retreat to a Trappist monastery when I was in college. It’s hard to describe the silence. It was almost tangible in a way. At first, it was hard. I hated the first day especially. Suddenly dropping all the distractions is like an addict dropping his favorite drug. But after a while the silence actually has a freeing quality about it. When the heart and mind are no longer encumbered by disturbances, they are free to hear the Lord speaking. Yes, the questions and the wounds will be unmasked. That’s a good thing. What is revealed can be addressed in prayer and healed by God’s mercy. I was sorely tempted to leave the monastery by the end of the first day. I thank God that I didn’t run away. My experience that weekend gave me the final kick in the butt I needed to apply to the seminary.

Bishop Varden is right. Sometimes, if we could learn just to shut up, and to open ourselves attentively, much of what we think of as our great spiritual crisis might actually be resolved.

Image from http://www.mountsaintbernard.org/, Bishop Varden’s home monastery.

“Do it again!”

I’m bent over with my hands on my knees, breathing a bit heavily and my arms feel tired. My godson Matteo comes up to me for the fiftieth time (or the thousandth for all I know) and with glee in his voice says, “Do it again!” For a five-year old boy, “Rocket Ship” is one of the greatest games in the world. He is simply lifted high in the air and then flown around the backyard before crash landing into the ground, a bush, or one of his sisters. Just do that ad infinitum. Action, adventure – what more do you want? Though for the guy who plays the part of the rocket ship, it is pretty exhausting. Even so, I’m sure it will always be one of the memories of my godson that I will treasure.

Playing Rocket Ship with Matteo also shed some light for me on one of the Gospel readings for a daily Mass a few weeks ago from Matthew 18:1-5:

At that time the disciples approached Jesus and said, “Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?” He called a child over, placed it in their midst, and said, “Amen, I say to you, unless you turn and become like children, you will not enter the kingdom of heaven. Whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. And whoever receives one child such as this in my name receives me.

Note that Jesus says we should be “like children” and not “childish.” There’s a big difference between the two. The Lord does not desire immaturity in the faith. In his letter to the Colossians, St. Paul says that his goal in proclaiming Christ is to “present everyone perfect in Christ” (emphasis added). Other translations render “perfect” as “mature.” The original Greek is from the root word telos indicating completion or a goal. The goal here is fullness of the Christian life. The Lord wants us to be full to bursting in holiness and virtue, in faith, hope, and charity.

So what does it mean to be like children before God? Well, Jesus does mention humility directly. I’ll have to dedicate another post specifically to that virtue one of these days. For now, suffice it to say that humility is about being real. It seems to me that little children are very real. They don’t have any pretense. They are who the are and they live in the present moment very well. The humble Christian is open to God. He recognizes that he is a creature totally dependent on God. Because the humble person is open, he can receive grace upon grace and grow in virtue and holiness.

Humility enables a sense of wonder. Everything is wonderful and delightful in the eyes of a child because he is humble and therefore open to receive the goodness around him. He can play the simple game of Rocket Ship again and again… and again… and again. The smallest insect lumbering across the sidewalk is a source of endless fascination. He can be content for hours just noticing the color of things. For the Christian, humility allows him to acknowledge the goodness and beauty of God. With wide-eyed fascination at the creation and the work of redemption, the Christian is filled with a sense of wonder and awe.

When we are humble like children, we can approach the Father with the upmost confidence in His goodness and with awe and wonder in His creative power. I certainly pray for that humility for myself. I hope to become more like a child before God. I probably have a long way to go. Still, I think the Lord has pushed me along in that direction by having me play Rocket Ship a few hundred times.

Image from: https://iheartcraftythings.com/rocket-ship-drawing.html

Let’s see how this goes…

I’ve thought about doing a blog for years. It’s one of those things where you think “Huh, that might be cool” but then never actually get around to doing it. Well, that’s me and the blog. It was one of those ideas that kept getting pushed back for whatever reason, until about a week or two ago. I finally decided to go for it. Will it work out? Who knows? Maybe it will turn out to be something good I do for years and will be helpful to the people I mean to serve. Or maybe it will flop. Whatever the case, I’ll give it to the Lord and let him decide.

What I hope for in this blog is that it will serve one purpose only, and that is evangelization. I am a priest after all. I want to preach the Gospel and preach it well with the help of God. If this blog can help bring others to know and love Christ, then great! If not, then this blog should end. Anyway, go check out the “About” section on this website with some more info on what this blog is about.

So ends the first blog entry. Next time I promise I will try to have something much more interesting. Also, I’m still building the website and messing around with the settings. So you may see some changes in the weeks ahead.

One last thing - since it is the Memorial of the Queenship of Mary you should go pray your Rosary and spend time with the Mother of God. When it comes to evangelization, she’s the best :)