But Can I Be Peter?

The readings today (Third Sunday of Easter: Acts 5:27-32, 41-44; Ps 30; Rev 5:11-14; Jn 21:1-19) got me thinking on an old topic.  A few weeks ago, I asserted that I am Judas.  A friend blogger begged to differ.  LuceMichael commented:

I dunno Ryan, I'm going to have to disagree with you on this one. What Judas did was purely evil. Not just sinful, but truly and historically evil. Saying "I am Judas" is akin to reckoning ourselves as the contemporaries of Jesus who condemned Him to death, a view which VII rejects, btw.

More appropriate is a comparison to Peter, or the other apostles who abandoned Jesus in fear and denial. They sinned, turned away from doing the right thing, but in the end, were redeemed and in the case of Peter, who was exhorted by the Lord to "turn back and strengthen" the others, much good came from a flawed man. In fact, the papacy and Magisterium came from him, once he was humbled, contrite and forgiven.

There is always the philosophical and theological conundrum of whether Judas is in Hell. While none of us can say for sure, there is at least a strong likelihood that he *is* in Hell, having sold out the Lord, and taking his own life in despair of mercy.

Judas and Peter make an interesting contrast in their response to the own guilt in the passion. But most of we Christians are NOT Judas; most of us, though we sin carelessly, thoughtlessly, or maliciously and with intent, still do not come to the level of evil that Judas attained. With the grace of God, I will never completely deny Jesus. Through all my sins and faults, I know Him to be my Lord and Savior.

And He is Risen!

My major point was that my sins are the things that necessitate the death of the Messiah.  In a way, Judas was less culpable than I, perhaps, because he was more confused about who Jesus is.  I, on the other hand, know precisely who Jesus is, and yet sin and sin again.  We must be careful here, because the sin that landed Judas in hell, if that is where he is, was not treason against God, nor was it apostasy.  Those sins are forgivable (Jn 20:23).  St. Peter committed the same sins after all, though in a different way.  The sin of Judas was rejection of forgiveness, rejection of the Holy Spirit prompting him to repentence.  Judas thought that somebody like himself, someone so enormously important who had done a thing so enormously wrong, could never be forgiven.  And, in a sense, he was right.  Without repentence, there can be no forgiveness of sins (Mk 3:29; CCC 1864).

But St. Peter repented.

Her point is very well made.  Judas killed himself (Mt 27:5-8) but St. Peter repented.  In today's gospel reading, our Lord asks St. Peter three times if he loved Him as they strolled along the beach together, perhaps arms-over-shoulders.  The threefold act of love that St. Peter makes rehabilitates him after the threefold betrayal.  Note well that these acts of love, these acts of contrition, do not undo what Peter has done, but rather, they set him on a new path.  So it is with the penances that we perform after our confessions.  They actualize our repentence and put us on a new path  So how do we get to be like St. Peter, who did so many wonderful things for the Church, even dying for the sake of our blessed Lord?

 

We repent.

Face it.  We are probably not going to stop sinning any time soon - though make no mistake: in grace, it is possible, so strive for heavenly perfection.  Strive for sanctity!  But, observing our own failure, our own repeat failures, even our own egregious failures, we must not give up.  We must not go hang ourselves as Judas did, either literally or metaphorically.  Do not say of our holy religion, "This is a hard saying; who can listen to it?" (Jn 6:60) and then abandon it as those who could not stand the Eucharistic teaching of our blessed Lord (John 6:66).  Examine your conscience and pray for the grace of honesty.  So many people are afraid to confront their own sins, so they say, "Oh yeah, well the Church sucks because of X."  When we have reached our maximal efforts and failed yet again, perhaps we will then realize on a deep, deep level that it is not our own efforts that save us.  Most of us, Catholic, Protestant, Evangelical, Pentecostal, really believe deep down inside believe that we can save ourselves, that we must save ourselves, that we must prove ourselves to God.  That is all bosh.

Jesus Christ saves us.

"While we were yet sinners Christ died for us," (Rom 5:8).  He loves us even in the midst of sin.  And no matter how badly we sin, we have only to turn back, confess our sins to a priest, and receive the gift of a fresh start.  We must pray for the courage to face our sins head on, for the grace to be St. Peter.

The Resurrection: Not Just for Jesus

For the trumpet will sound, and the dead will be raised imperishable, and we shall be changed.

1 Corinthians 15:52

An odd but often unconsidered or even unknown teaching of Holy Church is that not just Jesus, but every human being who has ever lived will be resurrected on the Last Day, at the very End of all things.

 

We gloss over it in the Nicene creed every week at Mass:

...We believe in one holy, catholic, and apostolic Church.
We acknowledge one baptism for the forgiveness of sins.
We look for the resurrection of the dead,
and the life of the world to come.  Amen.

 So what does this mean for us as human beings?  It means a few things, right off the top of my head:

1. Heaven will not be just a spiritual place - but will be a material place as well, because material bodies need a material place to be;
2. Our bodies, though very material, will be transformed into something very new, something not seen since Jesus ascended into heaven;
3. St. Paul calls these "spiritual bodies," (1 Cor 15:44) in contrast to "physical bodies," which can be confusing, because a body is physical, but it helps to be aware that physis in Greek does not mean material or corporeal, but rather, natural, so St. Paul almost certainly intended to contrast "spiritual" bodies with merely natural bodies;
4. Our bodies, then, though material, will not be natural, but supernatural or spiritual, as Jesus Christ's was after His resurrection;
5. These bodies, far from constraining, will liberate the soul;
6. We see examples of this liberation in accounts of Jesus' resurrection - how he could eat (Lk 21:41-3) and cook fish (Jn 21:13), and so was definitely material, and yet walk through doors (Jn 20:19), so definitely was not bound by time and space as normal matter is.

Suffice it to say that in the resurrection we shall not be zombies.  We shall be changed (1 Cor 15:52).  We will be the inhabitants of a new heavens and a new earth (Isa 65:17; 66:22; 2 Pt 3:13) in which heaven has come down to earth and God will make His dwelling, once and for all, among His people (Rev 21:1-5).
More than being pie in the sky, this knowledge, once firmly ingrained in our hearts, should transform how we do everything.  Merely passing concerns must yield to more eternal ones, practical questions to questions of our standing before God, lower things to the higher.  With this knowledge, we are encouraged to reject sin even if it kills us.  What does death matter when it will be followed by a new sort of life, a life that never dies?  The Maccabees were inspired because their confidence in God's justice convinced them that He must have some means - even after death - of rewarding those who sacrificed their bodies for His sake (2 Mac 7).  Have we, who have heard of a Man actually rising from the dead, who have experienced the power of the resurrection to some extent in our own lives, any excuse for being less brave in the face of life or death?

The Empty Tomb and the Power of the Resurrection

The deacon read this gospel passage at the Vigil last night at St. Matthew's Cathedral:

Now after the sabbath, toward the dawn of the first day of the week, Mary Mag'dalene and the other Mary went to see the sepulchre.  And behold, there was a great earthquake; for an angel of the Lord descended from heaven and came and rolled back the stone, and sat upon it.  His appearance was like lightning, and his raiment white as snow.  And for fear of him the guards trembled and became like dead men.  But the angel said to the women, "Do not be afraid; for I know that you seek Jesus who was crucified.  He is not here; for he has risen, as he said. Come, see the place where he lay.  Then go quickly and tell his disciples that he has risen from the dead, and behold, he is going before you to Galilee; there you will see him. Lo, I have told you."  So they departed quickly from the tomb with fear and great joy, and ran to tell his disciples.

Matthew 28:1-8

Here's my thought.  Most of us Christians live in this the morning of the first day.  By that I mean this: we Christians understand, mostly, that Jesus is risen from the dead.  We even understand that we are (supposed to be) somehow united to him in some way.  But we do not really understand what this all means.  It makes us happy, kinda; it makes a little afraid, too.  We are like the women, or Peter and the Beloved Disciple after them, staring into the empty tomb, confused and dazzled by the sunlight on the dawn of this new day in Christ.  Everything is different now.  We as individuals haven't all figured that out.  Some among us have.  Most of us kinda know things are supposed to be different now, but can't quite figure out what it means for our lives.  My hunch is that we, as a whole Church, are somewhere along these lines.  Among us there are some saints, radically transformed by the Resurrection of Jesus Christ in everything they do.  There are others, who are bumbling about as if nothing happened, or worse, who have missed the point of God's love and are hanging themselves alongside Judas Iscariot.  Mostly, we are in the middle somewhere.  We are yearning for a new life that we have begun to live but to which we have not quite given ourselves over yet.
Jesus Christ has triumphed over death!  The very worst thing that the powers of this world can do to their victims, their most very potent weapon, has been neutralized.

Death is swallowed up in victory. O death, where is thy victory? O death, where is thy sting?

1 Corinthians 15:55

Jesus Christ is the "first fruits" (1 Cor 15:23) of the resurrection.  We will be the harvest.
The power of God has been fully unleashed in the resurrection of the Son of God.  Now the tide is turned.  Sin obstructs and obscures it, but only like a sandcastle obstructs the ocean: for a few minutes, and then the jig is up.  Death's last blow will have been struck, and it will itself be dealt a death blow:

We shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, and the dead will be raised imperishable, and we shall be changed.  For this perishable nature must put on the imperishable, and this mortal nature must put on immortality.

1 Corinthians 15:51-53

But what does all this mean for us here and now?  What does the resurrection of Christ mean in the life of a Christian?

Do you not know that all of us who have been baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death?  We were buried therefore with him by baptism into death, so that as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, we too might walk in newness of life.  For if we have been united with him in a death like his, we shall certainly be united with him in a resurrection like his.

Romans 6:3-5

It is not only at the End, at the Resurrection of the Dead, that we shall be raised, but even here and now!  Here and now if we live in Christ and let Him live in us, we can have His kind of life, a life that bears immense fruit - here and now:

I am the true vine, and my Father is the vinedresser.  Every branch of mine that bears no fruit, he takes away, and every branch that does bear fruit he prunes, that it may bear more fruit.  You are already made clean by the word which I have spoken to you.  Abide in me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit by itself, unless it abides in the vine, neither can you, unless you abide in me.  I am the vine, you are the branches. He who abides in me, and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing... By this my Father is glorified, that you bear much fruit, and so prove to be my disciples.  As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you; abide in my love.  If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love, just as I have kept my Father's commandments and abide in his love.  These things I have spoken to you, that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be full.  This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you.  Greater love has no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends...  No longer do I call you servants, for the servant does not know what his master is doing; but I have called you friends, for all that I have heard from my Father I have made known to you.You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you that you should go and bear fruit and that your fruit should abide; so that whatever you ask the Father in my name, he may give it to you.  This I command you, to love one another.

John 15:1-17

How are we to live in Christ and let Him live in us?

Jesus then said to them, "Truly, truly, I say to you, it was not Moses who gave you the bread from heaven; my Father gives you the true bread from heaven. For the bread of God is that which comes down from heaven, and gives life to the world."

They said to him, "Lord, give us this bread always."

Jesus said to them, "I am the bread of life; he who comes to me shall not hunger, and he who believes in me shall never thirst.  But I said to you that you have seen me and yet do not believe.  All that the Father gives me will come to me; and him who comes to me I will not cast out.  For I have come down from heaven, not to do my own will, but the will of him who sent me; and this is the will of him who sent me, that I should lose nothing of all that he has given me, but raise it up at the last day. For this is the will of my Father, that every one who sees the Son and believes in him should have eternal life; and I will raise him up at the last day."

The Jews then murmured at him, because he said, "I am the bread which came down from heaven."  They said, "Is not this Jesus, the son of Joseph, whose father and mother we know? How does he now say, `I have come down from heaven'?"

Jesus answered them, "Do not murmur among yourselves. No one can come to me unless the Father who sent me draws him; and I will raise him up at the last day. It is written in the prophets, `And they shall all be taught by God.' Every one who has heard and learned from the Father comes to me. Not that any one has seen the Father except him who is from God; he has seen the Father. Truly, truly, I say to you, he who believes has eternal life.  I am the bread of life.  Your fathers ate the manna in the wilderness, and they died.  This is the bread which comes down from heaven, that a man may eat of it and not die.  I am the living bread which came down from heaven; if any one eats of this bread, he will live for ever; and the bread which I shall give for the life of the world is my flesh."

The Jews then disputed among themselves, saying, "How can this man give us his flesh to eat?"

So Jesus said to them, "Truly, truly, I say to you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of man and drink his blood, you have no life in you;  he who eats my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, and I will raise him up at the last day.  For my flesh is food indeed, and my blood is drink indeed.  He who eats my flesh and drinks my blood abides in me, and I in him.  As the living Father sent me, and I live because of the Father, so he who eats me will live because of me.  This is the bread which came down from heaven, not such as the fathers ate and died; he who eats this bread will live for ever."

John 6:32-58

We need to eat His flesh and drink His blood.  But how can we do that ?

Now as they were eating, Jesus took bread, and blessed, and broke it, and gave it to the disciples and said, "Take, eat; this is my body."  And he took a cup, and when he had given thanks he gave it to them, saying, "Drink of it, all of you; for this is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins..."

Matthew 26:26-28

Baptism introduces us into the death and resurrection of Christ so that we can share in His life.  The Eucharist brings us into the fullness of His life.  It brings His life into us.  This mystery is the great source of power of the Christian life.  Never underestimate its power.  By it, tyrants have been humbled, janitors have been made into great heroes, kingdoms of darkness have been made into harbors of peace, and martyrs have smiled at death.  So brothers and sisters in Christ, let us not be afraid or confused by dazzling sunlight of the dawn of this, the First Day of a New Week.  Instead, let us put on Christ, live His kind of life, and show the world a sort of love that transforms life, that is "stronger than death," (Song of Songs 8:6).

Haiti and God's Providence

There's been a lot of nonsense lately about Haiti - everything from remarks about it being divine retribution, to attempted pleasantries about it all being for the best.

Something I've been focusing a lot on lately, for personal reasons and because of more public affairs, is the authentic meaning of joy and hope.

St. Therese of Lisieux asked in a letter how it was that Jesus, without ever being deprived of the joy of the beatific vision, could yet experience such utter emptiness and abandonment on the cross. She answered herself that she did not know, but only knew that it was possible because she herself was experiencing it during her own painfully fatal conflict with tuberculosis. Joy, for a Christian, isn't mere happiness any more than love is mere warm feelings toward another. Joy is the knowledge of the presence of God's Kingdom, the knowledge of His will at work - even when it is hidden-and-not-yet-present.

The cheapness of religious cant isn't that it's false to say that God's Providence includes even the catastrophic suffering of innocents. If God's Providence doesn't include suffering and death, then it's worthless. It isn't false to say, "God has a plan, and this, eventually will be drawn into the good." But also isn't the point, and it is cheap to say to someone who is in the throes of suffering, unless you are darn sure they are prepared to hear it.

The cheapness of religious cant is that it subsumes one reality - that of pain, suffering, and death - into another one: the victory of God. It tries to make the sorrow "go away," and not for a commitment to truth or to the person suffering, but simply out fear of the discomfort of facing the truth of the person suffering.

When we are suffering, it is good to remind ourselves of God's Providence, and that He is as displeased with the pain we are experiencing as we are, and to ask ourselves, and Him, honestly, what role this might play in His plan for our lives. When others are suffering, it is probably better just to listen presently at whatever length, help them practically in ways they might need or request, let them ask their own questions in their own time, and let our presence in persona Christi serve as an unspoken answer.

A Good Reminder in the Onion

Thanks to The American Catholic for displaying that clip from The Onion. The video is really a clever reminder about how silly are many of our affairs, and how soon they will be forgotten, in the grand scheme of things. Let's keep our eyes fixed on the things that we can bring with us into eternity: friends and family, faith, hope, and love.

Dear Young People

Here is an excerpt from a simple speech of the late Holy Father, John Paul II of venerable memory. I love this one:

Dear young people, many false teachers point out dangerous ways that lead to fleeting joys and satisfactions. Today expressions of our culture are mired in superficiality... Refuse to sell your dreams too cheaply! Dream, but in freedom! Plan, but in truth!

The Lord is also asking you: "Will you also go away?" Answer with the Apostle Peter: "Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life" (Jn 6,68). God alone is the infinite horizon of your life. The more you know him, the more you will find out that only he is love and an inexhaustible source of joy.

But to enter and remain in contact with God it is indispensable to establish a deep relationship with him in prayer. When it is genuine, prayer spreads divine energy in every context and at every moment of life. It makes us live in a new way. Is it not prayer that made Francis a new man and Clare a source of light?

I love that speech to the second international meeting of "Young People to Assisi". You can read the whole, brief thing by clicking here. The quotation from St. John's gospel is among my favorite. It's a great one for prayer when I am tired of following Jesus sometimes, or feel like giving him an ultimatum to do things my way. "Jesus, you better... or else I'll walk!" So many times the words of Peter have drifted back into my heart and mind at those points. "Fine. I guess I'm still yours, thick or thin."

At this time of the year, we do especially well to reinvest ourselves in Jesus, who is the source and summit of authentic human happiness, and to ask him with renewed fervor to reinvest Himself in us.  Come, Lord Jesus!

Faith, Hope, and Love in a Book I'm Reading

Here is a quote from a short but deep book that I am reading, Fr. Jacques Philippe's Interior Freedom.  Check it out:

But always it is through an act of God, hidden or open, that faith, hope, and charity are possible.  The theological virtues awaken and grow in human hearts bu the work and teaching of the Holy Spirit.  That divine teaching is sometimes quite disconcerting.  Let us look at the way the Holy Spirit acts within us.

There is no way to chart all the Spirit does in any life.  We can't set rules for it or plan it.  "The wind blows where it wills, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know whence it comes or whither it goes," (Jn 3:8).  Yet, certain constants can be traced.  The mysteries of the Rosary can help us see that.

The Rosary is a very beautiful prayer through which we entrust ourselves to our Lady in order to enter into communion with the events of Christ's life.  But it is also a kind of symbol of every human life.  Just as the Rosary contains joyful, sorrowful, and finally glorious mysteries, it could be said of the work of the Holy Spirit in our lives that there are "outpourings" that are joyful, sorrowful, and glorious.  (That is the order of their importance, but they occur in a cyclical way.)

Some outpourings of the Holy Spirit illuminate and reveal, some strip and impoverish, and some confirm and fortify.  All three kinds are necessary: the first to give birth to faith, the second to teach us hope, and the third to give us the courage to love.

The author then proceeds to use details of the life of St. Peter that are recorded in the gospels as illustrations of his interpretation.  When I read this tonight in adoration chapel, I literally jumped in my seat.  "Holy crap!" I thought.  I know, not terribly pious - my apologies. "That's my life."

There's a lot of brain food in Fr. Philippe's words.  The book is simple to read, yet thick - one doesn't rush through such things.  I hope my mind isn't doing cartwheels still when I lay me down in a little bit.

My Gaudete

Today is the third Sunday of Advent, named on the Church calendar, as many Sundays are, for the first word of either the Epistle or the Gospel of the day, according to the lectionary before the liturgical reform. I believe that most of these readings now make up the Sunday readings for year A of the lectionary cycle. The epistle reading for today (Phil 4:4-7) begins, "Rejoice in the Lord always." The command form used in Latin to mean "rejoice" is gaudete. Hence, Gaudete Sunday. It is upon this Sunday of Advent that a little of the gloomy blue
is drained from the priest's vestments, leaving them rose in color ("It's not pink!" they're often heard to say).

And it was upon this Sunday, at about 2 p.m. I found myself unexpectedly standing in the rain along 16th St. NW, a heavily trafficked corridor, next to the-wreck-that-had-been-my-car-only-minutes-before. It was cold, and I was dressed nicely for a community service activity to which I had been running late, at which I would now be unable to attend, waiting for a tow truck and a ride from my roommate. It was only seconds after the car accident that my brain whirred, "I don't have full-time work. I don't have much savings left. My car is totaled. How can this be? Why me?" When I saw that the other driver was uninjured (as was I) but that her car had only some scratches and cracks in the bumper, my sense of the world's mocking unfairness only increased. But now, fifteen or twenty minutes after the accident, as the rain drizzled on my forehead, I realized, "This has all happened for a reason." In that moment of a grace, I felt a thorn or splinter remove from my heart, and the self-pity evaporated. The self-pity and the fear were alleviated. One moment they were there, and at the next they were not. Instead, a confidence of the all-encompassing providence of God's will began to penetrate into my heart.

Then a confirmation came to me from God. Actually, she drove up. She was an Ethiopian woman, and she rolled down her window and said me, "Are you alright?" When I nodded, she burst into a smile that chased away the clouds in my heart and made me smile as she cried, "Praise Jesus! I am so glad that you are well! See, it is a miracle, and for some purpose. Do you have anyone coming?" I told her my roommate was coming. She smiled and said, "It is for something. Do not forget that Jesus still has you!" And she drove off.

If I did not get the message, another Ethiopian woman drove up. I'm not kidding here. The odds seem slim, but it makes me wonder if the services of an Ethiopian church were letting out. She rolled down her window and told me that she liked my bumper stickers. Ending abortion is a passion of hers, she said, and that I should not worry about distractions and turmoil the devil will send to me. "You are well and God will bless you. Trust Him! Do you need to use my cell phone?" I thanked her and declined the favor, telling her that my roommate was on the way and so was a tow truck. She smiled and wished me well.  I noted that her car as well as the first Ethiopian lady's both had dents in them from collisions.  They had experienced my little trauma, and quite probably far worse.  But how they smiled!

After the tow truck took brought my car back to my home, and my roommate brought me back in his car, he and I went to Mass together. The priest punctuated a theme that my roommate and I had been discussing just a day or two earlier. Christian Joy is not a giddy thing, or a naive thing. It is not an emotion any more than love, he said, but it is an anchoring virtue, a continual knowledge or memory of the presence of God in our lives and in the events of our lives. Joy makes the deaths of loved ones tolerable, and weddings not merely happy, but hopeful and passionate. It makes births beautiful and injuries feel passing. Joy maintains an equilibrium, and without negating anything, accentuates the good in how we perceive everything. It does not dispel the troubles around us, but keeps them from penetrating too deeply into us. It keeps God in the back of our mind and disposes us to respond to Him in the events of our lives, rather than to our own emotional responses. We Christians make a grave mistake if we confuse joy with an emotion. If we think we are sinning by being sad, somehow disobeying the command to rejoice; or that we are "in grace" or consolation when things are pleasant, then we shall never see the face of God because we will have already forsworn the Cross without even noticing. Because joy is a knowledge and a decision, it is also a virtue, one that we can pray for and practice.  Joy is a virtue obviously connected to the virtues of faith and hope.

So though I felt sad at my loss, and still feel a bit of trepidation at the possible outcomes of my situation, my heart keeps gravitating, almost on its own, but really under the impulse of grace and the discipline of training, toward gratitude and trust. I am grateful that I have family and friends who care about me, limbs that are healthy and strong, a mind that is sharp, and possibilities unfolding before me, albeit slowly and in their own time. I am grateful that nobody was injured, rather than upset that my car will probably be totaled for a pittance. I am grateful for the gift of faith to see God's love even in darkness and in rain. I am grateful not to feel overwhelmed, but supported and protected.  And I have not given up waiting to see how Jesus is acting in my life.  I hope that you, dear reader, have not either.

This Gaudete Sunday, some key lessons were driven home to me, if you'll forgive the pun. Some other food for thought has been churning around in my head. I also have reason to believe from past experience that this day will turn out to have been a significant and good one when I reflect back upon it.

To Jesus Christ Our Sovereign King

Hint: click the song to hear it played and sing along.  I know, I'm wicked clever ;-)

 

The above is one of my favorite songs, and today is one of my favorite feasts.  We celebrate Christ in his Kingship on the last Sunday of the Church's liturgical year because on the last day of the world he will come in his glory to judge the "quick and the dead."  Two years ago I wrote a post on Christ the King and on Bl. Miguel Pro, martyr of the Mexican Revolution who died proclaiming that name.

We are living in darker and darker times, and great efforts are being made to muddy the waters, to keep things from being clear.  Sin abounds, and that makes it harder to see things clearly, harder to know what to do, harder to summon the courage to do it.

Here is a notable point.  In medieval times, the people did not defend their kings from barbarian hordes; rather, they lent their services to him so that he could defend them.  Jesus Christ does not need us to defend him or his honor.  His is not only our king, but our God; we need him to defend us.  Against all the pressures, deceptions, and coercion of sin in the world and in our hearts, let us have constant recourse to him, to our great and mighty King and to the heavenly host at his command.  By recourse to prayer and the sacraments, let us remain united in faith, hope, charity, and even in good cheer amidst suffering, which is surely one of the most powerful witnesses to those three great virtues.

Never Give Up - Nick Vujicic Explains Why

This guy's name is Nick Vujicic. He is amazing to me.

People like Nick are monkeywrenches in the abortion movement. Why do I say that? Because he is the sort of person whom they use as an excuse to abort babies - you know, "fetal abnormality" or "severe handicap." Funny thing is, he seems to prefer life to death; and what's worse for them, he seems happy.

A Thought During a Long Run

During my distance run with my roommate tonight, I had a thought at some point. But I'll share that in a minute.  At the start, we offered our run for different intentions.  In the last miles, we started offering particular miles for different people and different intentions. That helps me, and perhaps him, to stay tough during my runs. Running is largely mental, and so is toughness. People whose first contribution to a conversation about long-distance running is, "I could never do that," probably won't. But they could, even in a wheelchair. During the Marine Corps Marathon last year one of the things that inspired me most and made me most emotional during the run was to see how men in racing wheelchairs, and without functioning legs, could keep up with the runners. Some of them were born without legs. Some of them lost their legs in the war. They tended to get passed on the uphills, but man, did they compensate on the way down! And ten dollars says that not one of them spent the race saying, "I could never do that."

So here's the though that occurred to me: "Toughness and gentleness are not at odds with each other, but in fact are complementary virtues." When we say someone is tough, we usually mean that he or she can take a beating, can get knocked around, and still get back up. "Tough" is a very different thing than "violent," or "aggressive," or "harsh," and its contrary opposite is not gentleness, I think, but weakness or cowardice. "Tough" might be a modern word for something like "having perseverance," or "having fortitude."

Now, someone who is tough knows how to take a knock and not get knocked down, or at least how to get back up. A tough person knows what it is to suffer in the way that a coward does not. A coward goes to any length in order to avoid suffering, perhaps because of fear that it will break him, or perhaps out of simple decadent complacency in comfort. This evasion of suffering can obviously lead very quickly into all sorts of sins. The coward refuses to suffer, never learns of what mettle he's made, never knows triumph, what the Bible calls glory, what we are all made for - perhaps because he cannot conceive even the hope of glory. When we reject weakness and suffering, we will begin to reject it, resent it, in others as well.

On the other hand, the tough person knows what it is to suffer. He has quite likely suffered amply, suffered in a way that a coward preempts by saying, "I could never do that." It is no coincidence that children come to birth before they come to the point of hurting their mothers' hearts. The woman's soul is prepared for suffering by the suffering her body has already learned to endure. This capacity can make them seem amazingly hard to a soul more repelled by pain. "How can she kick her own daughter out of the house, just for doing drugs, or bringing strange boys home overnight?" The tougher person knows that there is a good out there, worth attaining, and greater in goodness than the intervening suffering is in badness. So the tougher soul hardens itself to push through pain and suffering, and wins the prize. (Think of Rom 5:3 or 8:18.)

Precisely because these tougher souls, women in pangs and men in racing wheelchairs, know what it is to suffer, I believe they have a greater capacity to accept it in others. They may not choose to do so, but I think they have a greater capacity to be genuinely patient with others' weakness, suffering, and sorrow. They certainly have a greater ability to help others endure their own difficulties. In an unexpected way, the spiritually tough person is much better at being spiritually gentle. And precisely because our bodies and souls are so thoroughly interconnected, a lesson we learn in one can help us to live better in the other.

So many modern "solutions" to problems come from a rejection of suffering. "I could never carry my child to term, having it remind me of the man that raped me," and others, accustomed to similar thinking, ignore the child's humanity and innocence and concede abortion in cases of rape. It's easier. Less suffering. I-could-never thinking. "But grandma is so old and weak, and tired, surely this disease will torture her to death if we do not put her out of her pain," and others, accustomed to similar thinking, ignore the fact that rather than comforting and loving her, they will only do the work of the disease. It's easier. Less suffering. I-could-never thinking.

The insanity is here: the coward who betrays his comrades to avoid being shot in battle might very well be shot after the battle, and if he isn't, will probably wish he had been, so great will be his interior agony, his self-loathing, his division. For it is a plain truth that we are either at war with sin or at war with ourselves. We can never be at peace with sin because peace is contrary to the nature of sin. The part of our soul that wants goodness will then wage war against the part of our soul that has made a pact with sin, agreed to rationalize and protect it. And the agony of a house divided, of a war within one's soul, of doing evil and hating evil at the same time, is far worse than simply dying. But we often select it because it seems easier, more pleasant, better, especially in the short term. But in the long term, it is a worse sort of death. It is disintegration of the self, the death that does not die, and in the very end, it is hell. Likewise, after the glamor of sin has lost its luster, the couple that have divorced rather than dig into their problems are rarely happier, even if their daily lives seem more manageable. The father who has rejected his homosexually-inclined son "as a matter of scriptural principle," is not at peace.  Nor is the mother who tells the same son that such abnormalities are normal, in order to be nice.  They have successfully split Solomon's baby in two by choosing either to hate the sinner or to love the sin, but they have not successfully saved their son as both of them have intend.

And let's face it: our culture hates suffering. According to Yoda (in Star Wars - you know, the little green dude), suffering is the worst evil. So it is in Buddhism. But in Christianity it was suffering on a cross that saved the world. Aside from the purely natural benefits of enduring suffering to attain a great good on the other side of pain, we who are baptized into and united with Christ have an amazing opportunity; we can offer our suffering in union with His to help Him to redeem the world (Eph 3:13; Phil 3:10-11; Col 1:24; 2 Thes 1:5). That is amazing. And we must remember that people are not the enemy, nor is even suffering, but the I-could-never thinking is. Just as a physically tough person can help a physically weaker person to attain new heights, we Christians, who know that Christ is the Helpmate of us all, should help others to attain new height by persevering through the more profound difficulties that are spiritual and moral.

We not only have to fight for laws that outlaw bad "solutions" to very real problems, but we also have to help those who are spiritually weaker, more vulnerable, more afraid, to learn to endure the difficulties of life by enduring them together. That is what "compassion" means in Latin, "to suffer with," not "to magically make suffering go away." It is what our Lord did by becoming human, and it is how we humans are to serve the Lord. Right now, crisis pregnancy centers and old folks' homes seem especially the places to be - the front lines of our spiritual warfare against I-could-never thinking. The reply to such thinking that arises everywhere and especially in such places must always be, "Ah, but you can do all things with Him who strengthens you," (Phil 4:13). And it must be followed by, "And I'll help you do it."

Tying it all together, in those last miles of the run, my roommate and I prayed for the grace to be made tougher, and we offered our little, voluntary sufferings in union with Jesus' for people about whom we care a great deal especially some people that Jesus is currently asking to voluntarily endure involuntary sufferings. Because running is largely mental, and the mental is half of how we engage in the spiritual, the devil can certainly try to slip in, to break morale, entice us to sin. When a pain the hip or in the glutes interpreted itself as, "Wouldn't it be best to stop now?" I grit my teeth, prayed for Jesus' help, and said, "F*@# you, devil. Go to hell! This mile's for so-and-so. They need it and you're not going to get it," and I pushed into the pain a little. And like the pangs of childbearing, these littler pains pass too. Now, the devil defeated - at least for a few minutes - and the post-run milkshake-and-burger-dinner inhaled and the endorphins making my heart happy in spite of stiff legs, because of stiff legs, I am starting to feel a little sleepy.

Here's what I will pray, I think, before I sleep:

Heavenly Father, please make me tough, so that I can run this race of life the way you want me to, with a gentle heart filled with love for you and those you give me. And now as I lay me down to sleep, please refresh me for another day of service to you, and grant me in my service whatever joys are necessary to sustain me in it, and to bring others to you by it. I ask these things in Jesus' Name. Amen.

Sorry for rambling so long.  It was a long run - there was lots of time to think.  In case you're curious, there's just

I'm weak and liable to spend lots of the next nineteen days thinking, "I could never do that," rather than "I can do all things through Him who strengthens me."  So let's keep praying, OK?

I Love Fr. Frank Pavone

I am honored and flattered to have him speak on our behalf as Christians in the face of a culture that cares little for human life. He undoes stereotypes.

God's Mighty Deeds

Yesterday, a good friend of mine was ordained to the Holy Order of Deacon, with a view toward ordaining him, if it please God, as a priest of Jesus Christ in the year to come. Dave Wells, the ordained man I have in mind, is generally a great guy. He is laid back as they come, yet not a slacker. He is intelligent, but does not think of himself as intelligent. At least, he doesn't come across as someone who thinks he's smarter than everyone else. He's athletic and cocky, but mostly in a playful way. I've gotten to know him reasonably well over the last 4 or 5 years.

And today, on Corpus Christi, A.D. 2009, he preached for the first time. It's twelve hours now and I am still reflecting on his words, which never happens to me. Normally, it's all in one ear and out the other. His homily shocked me because it was not like I had expected. I am not sure I expected one thing or another, but this homily was not it. His theme might be summarized as God's Mighty, Saving Deeds. He rightly focused heavily on the factual reality of God's real, miraculous acts in real history - from the Red Sea to Calvary to our modern, individual lives. His interpretation of the scripture readings for the day (Ex 24:3-8; Ps 116; Heb 9:11-15; Mk 14:12-16, 22-26) was simple but powerful. His theological development was solid, and substantial without the density normally connected with solid meat, and without the fluffiness that often springs from trying to be simple. His words were eloquent without being pretentious in the least. Most importantly with regards to his rhetorical style, he was concise. He laid out the basic message of the Gospel more clearly and directly than I have heard in a long time from the pulpit.

And his passion! I kept thinking, "Where is this man from?!" and "Is this the same man that had beers and pizza with me last week at my kitchen table?" and "He golfs too much to sound like this!" It was his first public preaching, to be sure, but his very few slight stumbles were covered over by his passion. No fire and brimstone from Dave Wells - just the burning passion borne of solid conviction about an important message and, I believe, deep prayer.

I've "heard" the Gospel a hundred times; this morning it woke me up again.

I wish more people could have heard the Rev. Mr. Wells' homily this morning at St. Pius X parish in Bowie, Maryland. You can read it by clicking here and I highly encourage you to take three or four minutes to do so. Hearing him preach made it easier for me to be hopeful for the Church. It was good to be reminded that God still does mighty, saving deeds. Real miracles. Like getting Dave Wells ordained a deacon. (Ha ha! Just kidding, Dave.)

The Fulcrum of Reality

Our Lord was raised bodily from the dead, but we must not make the mistake of thinking that he was some sort of zombie. What Jesus underwent was not a mere resuscitation, although resuscitation was involved in a sense. The empty tomb is mentioned in all the gospels, in the Acts of the Apostles, and in St. Paul's writings. It was an important fact, and it cannot be minimized that a real, material body got up and left the tomb. The risen body was the same body that died, but now, at the resurrection, it was transformed into something new, a new kind of body. St. Paul calls this a spiritual body, writing, "It is sown a physical body, it is raised a spiritual body," (1 Cor 15:44). But we must not make the mistake of thinking that our Lord was a ghost of some sort, or that his body wasn't material. The word translated here as physical is psychikon in Greek, which normally refers to a human life, mind, or soul. The word rendered spiritual is pneumatikon in Greek, always refering in the New Testament to supernatural power - the life of God Himself. The sentence might be rendered better as "It is sown a natural body, it is raised a supernatural body." Evidence of this interpretation abounds in the resurrection accounts of the gospels. In John 20:19, we are told that, on the evening of that day, the first day of the week, the doors being shut where the disciples were, for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said to them, "Peace be with you." A few verses later, St. John tells us that Jesus appears again and charbroils real fish, and with his hands breaks real bread (John 21:13-14). Ghosts cannot do that.

Jesus' body after the resurrection, we begin to sense, is not less real than our own, but more real, because even his body is no longer merely material. We experience our bodies as limiting factors, especially in childhood and in old age. A little kid reaches up to grab something on a counter that is hopelessly too high, and that the child simply cannot reach. An old person finds that his body doesn't work as fast as his mind does anymore, and that he cannot run or swim as he would like. Even in the flush of virile manhood, some things are simply beyond reach, and one's appetites and bodily urges often overrule, or at least interfere, with one's better intentions. Jesus, on the other hand, after the resurrection no longer experiences limitations on his body. And that makes sense - God did not give us our body to trap us in death, but as a beautiful way of living life. Sin and death intervene and interfere, but in the physical body of Jesus of Nazareth, sin is vanquished and death is slain: "O death, where is thy victory? O death, where is thy sting?" (1 Cor 15:55). Time and space, dimensions that arise to accomodate our bodies, no longer bind our bodies or dominate them. In the body of Jesus of Nazareth, all that we "know" to be real is set aside, when it comes to "life" and "the way things really are," from unruly urges to hopelessness to death. Jesus of Nazareth changes all of that, and so we recognize Him as the Christ.

But Jesus wants to live with us, and knows we need to live with him, like we live with our family and neighbors and roommates. "Abide in me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit by itself, unless it abides in the vine, neither can you, unless you abide in me," (Jn 15:4). Now Jesus did not come to be with us just to be with us, or rather them (the Apostles) for a few years and then to split, but to abide with us. Our God is NOT a deadbeat dad. Our God is a loving Father, more loving than any of us has experienced in human flesh. And he's not going anywhere, either. Jesus says to us, "I am with you always, to the close of the age," (Mt 28:20).

But how so. He certainly seems to have split, to have left the building, so to speak. Indeed.

For I received from the Lord what I also delivered to you, that the Lord Jesus on the night when he was betrayed took bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it, and said, "This is my body which is for you. Do this in remembrance of me." In the same way also the cup, after supper, saying, "This cup is the new covenant in my blood. Do this, as often as you drink it, in remembrance of me." For as often as you eat this bread and drink the cup, you proclaim the Lord's death until he comes. (1 Cor 11:23-26).

Already in just the decade following that in which our Lord suffered and died, St. Paul is reminding the early Christians in Corinth about the Lord's words. Jesus has left us his presence, not only spiritual, but physical as well, which is fitting, since he made us to be not only spiritual beings, but physical beings as well. We need both sorts of presence from the people that love us, and need to give both sorts to the people that we love. Nothing else will satisfy our whole person.

This explains the meaning of John 6. In that passage, Jesus multiplies the loaves and fishes to feed the masses. They want to make him king, because, hey, he can get the economy going again, right? Free food for everyone. You'll never have to work again. "Ugh," Jesus must have thought, and then set out to correct their mistake. He does not want to nourish them with ordinary bread. They can do that themselves. He wants to nourish them with himself. He wants to BE their bread. Think about it, our God loves us so much that he wants not only to be with us, but to be in us, to be united to us in every way - spirit and body. This is the manner in which he wants to abide with us for eternity. But how can that happen?

The resurrection provides the missing key. Because at the resurrection Jesus becomes unbounded from the normal rules of reality, time, space, and all that, Jesus can be anywhere and everywhere, all at once. Jesus can physically be in me, in you, and in the golden box on the altar, and sitting on a throne of glory in a realm we cannot attain by our own strength and senses - all at once. This is weird, and outside of our immediate experience, but it makes sense. Why should we expect the ordinary conditions of time and space to limit the Almighty who made them, or the weaknesses of a human body to cage him in, when even the tomb could not?

At the Eucharist, in the act of praising and loving God, those baptized into his body receive his body, and the new, spiritual sort of body is planted in us anew, and the new sort of life grows stronger and more vibrant in us, bit by bit, hindered only by our own willfulness and sin. Our ability to attain heaven, the life of God in perfect bliss, will not come in this life by the removal of exterior obstacles, but by the removal of the interior obstacles that prevent us from handling them in peace. The spiritual life begun in us by baptism will be awakened as we embrace it and make a concerted effort to learn to live it. On the cross, Jesus defied death to its face, and at the resurrection he overcame it. In the sacraments, Jesus has transmitted to us in bodily form this way of sharing in his bodily resurrection. The resurrection is the fulcrum on which the old "reality" is lifted and overturned, and the new one set in its place.

Palm Sunday of the Lord's Passion

Today the Church marks our blessed Lord's entry into Jerusalem. Over the preceding months and years, he had developed an enormous following. According to St. Matthew's account, Jesus tells his disciples that they are going to go to Jerusalem so that he can be killed, and after doing so, he leaves Jericho with the apostles (cf. Mt 20:18 ff.) and heads toward Jerusalem. A large crowd follows him (20:29). Along the way, people start calling him Son of David (20:30), a royal title. When he gets to Jerusalem, people crowd around him and start hailing Him as king - the phrase "hosanna to" is a tip-off. "Hosanna" is an Aramaic word meaning something like "God save..." and "to" is the writer's attempt to translate an Aramaic particle that doesn't really translate, and might as well in this case be translated "the" because it really just marks the object of the sentence. "God save the Son of David!" might be the best, though untraditional, rendering. God save the King. The crowds lay down palm branches so that even the donkey he rides won't have to get its feet dirty or muddy. "Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord," is a reference to the Messiah whom they had been awaiting for generations. This is it. He's here: the One who will unite Israel, as it hasn't been since the time of King David and his son, and drive out the foreign oppressors, as David had. At last, Israel will have its freedom and glory! The expectation was immense. Jesus goes into the Temple area and casts out those swindlers who had overrun the public sections so they could rip off the poor masses (21:12). Those who had been forbidden by the Temple authorities from entering the Temple, the blind, the lame, the 'defective', not begin pouring in, and Jesus heals them (21:14). He begins to teach in the Temple (21:23 ff.), and his teachings are, to put it mildly, offensive to the religious authorities (ch 23). He predicts, menacingly, that the Temple itself will be destroyed (24:1). As he overturned their tables, to all appearances it seemed as though he was overturning the old order. It becomes clearer why the Jewish authorities became murderously hostile, overcoming their mutual differences in order to agree on a plot to get Jesus.

It also becomes clear why everything came crashing down so suddenly. A traitor appears unexpectedly (26:47), the night before Passover, with a large group of soldiers (26:52). They seize Jesus, who, despite being at the pinnacle of his earthly "power" doesn't even seem to care enough to fight (26:52). The new king is arrested and taken into the power of his enemies. It is hard, really, to blame the disciples for scattering (26:56). Jesus' behavior was incomprehensible. To many of us today, it is still incomprehensible.

We have as hard a time with Jesus' message of redemptive suffering as the apostles did at first. We often nod and say, "...because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world," and like Peter, promise never to abandon Jesus (26:35), but to follow him with our own crosses. And yet, at the slightest pain and suffering, how many of us flee?! I know I do, often as not.

Lord Jesus, as we enter into the commemoration of your passion, give us, we pray, the good sense to seek your Cross, and trust in your plan for the Kingdom, rather than seeking the glory and leaving the Cross to you. Amen.

Losing Your Life

Before I put up posts on the priesthood, prophecy, and kingship of the Christian lay faithful, I have a brief observation to make.

"For whoever would save his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it. For what will it profit a man, if he gains the whole world and forfeits his life? Or what shall a man give in return for his life?" (Mt 16:25-26).

Many people may prance through life happily doping themselves up and dodging reality. They might try to do things their own way, and then find diversions and medications to cover up the pain - TV, sex, drugs, exercise, career, whatever. But we Christians do not have that option. We will either give up Christ's way or give up our own way. We can try to play it both ways, to serve both God and Mammon, but we will end up hating one or the other (Mt 6:24). Something has to give way, and if we continue to serve Christ, but have a hard time dying to ourselves, then Christ will kill us.

That sounds horrible, but I mean it, though not as it might sound. What I mean is that as we cling to him, he will will continue to work on us, to cut out the sick and cancerous parts of our souls. If we are recalcitrant and backslide, it will take longer to die to ourselves, but as long as we keep clinging to Christ, He will keep killing us, peeling away the things that we use to hide from Him, to hide from reality.

When we have finished dying to ourselves, or maybe even as we learn to die to ourselves (oh God, bring it sooner), a new sort of Life begins to grow in us. That Life is Christ in us, the engine (if you will) by which we are propelled into an eternity of joy. But the old way of living has got to die first.

Mmm, mmm, good.

Ok, so I'll be the first to admit that it is a small thing. Very small. But I made myself an omelet this morning for brunch after Mass, and man, was it good. It was stuffed with onions sauteed with garlic in butter, as well as a sampling of fresh red onion bits, some excellent Peruvian olives, and Swiss cheese. The egg shell was thin and even, with some fresh black pepper worked into it. I ate the omelet with some hot wild berry tea, heavily sweetened. I sat by the window, and the sun is just getting strong enough again that through the glass it warmed my skin. In the background a particular string quartet by Mozart played on my stereo, and the third movement, a mournful (but not overwrought) adagio, washed around my mind. I alternated between the tea, the omelet, my Hebrew homework (which is getting to be enjoyable), feeling the sunshine, and listening to the strings. My heart was at rest in the hours following my communion at the morning's Mass.

It was a little bit of what the Israelites would call hashamayim. Heaven.

Anyone else had little foretastes of heaven lately? Feel free to share. We need to think about heaven more.

Priscilla Ahn

Okay, so I don't know anything about this particular singer, except that this song of hers is really nice, in the best possible sense of the word.

So listen to this song and tell me that it isn't nice, in the best possible sense of the word. I dare ya.

Martinmas

Bishop (Nov 11)

That's today. In merry olde England, they used to refer to the major feast days by the person or occasion whose Mass was celebrated that day: Michaelmas (on the Feast of St. Michael the Archangel, now of all the Archangels), Candlemas (on Feast of the Presentation), Whitmas, Christmas, and so on. Today is the feast of St. Martin of Tours, in France, and it is a special day to me. The parish where I was raised is dedicated to him and under his patronage. A year or so ago, I read a biography of him written by a very interesting Frenchwoman.

Regine Pernoud, the biographer, was a professor of medieval history who lived from 1909 to 1998. She was elected to the Academie Francaise, quite an honor - maybe the highest for a French intellectual. She was not religious, as far as I can tell, until she began to write the lives of saints - first Joan of Arc, then Martin of Tours, and maybe others. Her biographies betray her conversion though, because while maintaining a rigorous standard of scholarship and thought, they have none of the dismissive anti-Catholicism that biases so much academic study of medieval history. She doesn't accept all the miracle accounts just because they are miracle accounts, but nor does she reject them just because they are miracle accounts. Some she accepts as well documented, and others she notes as nice stories, perhaps even true. A very sober, faithful, and ultimately pious approach. But I digress.

Martin was born in 316 in Hungary and as a young man was pressed into the Roman army's officer corps as a young man for the simple reason that his father had been an officer, and a new law required him to replace his father when his father retired. So Martin's early dreams of life in a monastery were dashed. He didn't abandon his Christian way of life though, not for a minute. Everyone around him marvelled at the care he took of his slaves, at how he tended them when they were ill, how he prayed during the night when he thought nobody was looking. There was even an incident when, on a cold day, he split his cloak, his precious centurion's cloak, and gave half it to a naked beggar on the road. This must have shocked his cohort not only for its practical implications (now both saint and beggar would be poorly clad!) but for its symbolic implications - the various implements of the legion were held sacred by the legionnaires. But that the Christian legionnaire held other things sacred, it was clear to all.

After departing from military service (perhaps simply by going AWOL after a decade or two), and settling in the western part of central France, Martin found himself ordained a priest. He tried to live quietly in the countryside, but there was so much need around him - material and spiritual especially. As the Roman Empire decayed, its deteriorating infrastructure left many abandoned of basic necessities. While the Gospel spread rapidly in the cities, out in the heath (countryside, hence the word "heathen"; "pagus" is the same thing in Latin, "a country district," hence the word "pagan") the Gospel spread more slowly and was easily mixed with local rites and gods. As he went from middle age to later years, his hopes of retirement to a monastery or better, a hermitage, were yet again dashed - Martin was elected bishop by the priests of his diocese.

As bishop, Martin wasted little time scolding lazy priests - he did their work for them until, shamefaced, they reclaimed their duties. He travelled throughout the diocese, throughout France and Germany, really, praying with his flock, preaching to them, administering the sacraments, defending them from local despots, and leading them to Christ. Miracle after miracle was attributed to him, and threats against his life by jealous clergy and irritated civil authorities were all thwarted. He is one of the few saints said to have raised the dead back to life. What marvelled people most was that, even as he entered his eightieth year he never stopped pouring himself out for his people.

The evidence of a person's greatness has to be found in the impact they make in the lives of others. At a certain point, words are no longer needed because the evidence is abundant. From Hungary to France there are thousands of churches and chapels named for the would-be hermit. Their number is bested only by the number of such places dedicated to the Blessed Virgin herself. He is one of very few saints that has an entire liturgy from Matins to Compline, with a Mass to boot, written in his honor, celebrated today. Martin is a very common name in France, Germany, Hungary, and elsewhere. Pernoud was able to write her biography using several sources written contemporaneously with his life, or shortly thereafter, including one source who was a childhood-friend-turned-admirer of the Bishop of Tours. My parish celebrates its patron each year with a parish dinner dance, and more importantly, by collecting from parishioners hundreds of winter coats to be distributed to the poor of our pagus... I mean, county. The important thing to note, and to replicate, about Holy Martin's generosity is that it was not out of his abundance. Remember how our Blessed Lord appraised the poor widow's generosity?

"Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all of them; for they all contributed out of their abundance, but she out of her poverty put her whole livelihood," (Lk 21:3-4).

This saint, who cut his only cloak in two, is one who should inspire us to dig deeper, trusting in our heavenly Father to provide all that we need, and looking to Him for that Providence, and being a means of His Providence for others.

Holy Martin of Tours, pray for us.

All Souls' Day

(2 Nov)

The genealogies found in the Old and New Testaments are often the most "boring" parts for us. Not so for our ancestors. Our Litanies of Saints call to mind the saints we invoke, but also, we believe, make them more present in a real, and not just a subjective way. So it was with our ancestors. The litanies of their ancestors surrounded them with the "great cloud of witnesses" (Heb 12:1) that came before. By invoking, "Abraham was the father of Isaac, and Isaac the father of Jacob, and Jacob the father of Judah and his brothers, and Judah the father of Perez and Zerah by Tamar, and Perez the father of Hezron, and Hezron the father of Ram, and Ram the father of Ammin'adab, and Ammin'adab the father of Nahshon, and Nahshon the father of Salmon..." the Jews were calling their ancestors to witness to their interaction with God.

We Christians call the saints to witness in like manner because of their heroic sanctity, we rely on their prayers and intercession and special favor with the Almighty. The Jews, in a sense, were at their best, even more humble, by calling all their ancestors to mind. Everyone descended of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob was called upon for assistance in this way, the good, the bad, and the ugly. They were not called in light of their heroic sanctity, but in light of the promise made to their Fathers, to Abraham, and to Isaac, and to Jacob, and their descendents forever. These fallen and fallible men were called upon in light of the simple fact of God's faithfulness to the promise, in light of the fact of His mercy.

Yesterday, we commemorated all the saints, who by grace have merited great favor with God, and whose aid will merit great grace for us. Today, let us not only pray for all the souls of those departed in Christ, but also call out to them for their prayers (CCC 958). They stand in purgatory, most of them, not as witness of God's justice, but undergoing His merciful cleansing, not because of their own merits, but because of His faithfulness to the promise.

Let's pray that we likewise be faithful to that same promise.

Holy Souls in Purgatory, pray for us who pray for you.